#also why are his feet out. ricky. buddy.

[frankenruth]

Ricky ilysm but what the hell was this

[ 📷 : some theatre company !!]

[citrinesparkles]

cat.

jason todd, eventually x gender neutral reader. 1,388 words. notes: this is part one of i don't even know how many and i cannot believe how wildly out of hand this got. this was a 500 word idea and it's gonna be at least three parts someone help (thanks to @angelz-dust for being so patient with me and encouraging on this!!! would never have made it out of the drafts without you <3) warnings: danger to kids, mention of a couple arguing, animal illness (spoiler alert: it'll be fine i Promise), a little (lot) different than my usual edit: part two here!

"let me be perfectly clear: if you even think about showing back up here, i will know, and i will make your life a living hell until i finally put you out of your misery. understood?"

"yes! yeah man i get it. understood."

"then i'd get going, if i were you." the man scrambled to his feet and bolted off across the playground, leaving jason to shout after him. "and warn any buddies you might have, too!"

he picked up the discarded knife and pocketed it. he then turned around slowly, hands visibly empty in a careful attempt not to scare the two kids behind him- well, careful not to make it worse, anyway. they, understandably, seemed a little shaken already.

"are you both alright?" he asked softly, slouching just a little to seem as harmless as possible.

probably would have been easier if they hadn't just watched him threaten someone.

the older kid- probably fifteen, if jason had to place a bet- nodded silently before glancing back at the little girl he was still hovering in front of protectively, who was just... staring.

she couldn't have been older than six.

"jazz?" the boy asked, voice tight. "are you hurt?"

he was ignored. "are you superman?"

the question, innocent and earnest and a little timid, made jason laugh. "not quite, kiddo."

she tilted her head like a curious puppy, furrowing her brow. "why are you wearing a jacket?"

jason glanced up at the boy, who seemed comforted by her mini interrogation. good.

talking was a good sign, too, so jason crouched down to meet her at eye level.

"because it gets cold out here!" he said, raising his hands up with a small wiggle of his fingers. "gloves, too."

"well, duh," jazz said with a giggle- a win, jason thought. "no fingerprints."

he nodded. "also helpful."

"and the hat to hide your face!" she said proudly, stepping forward a little to point at his helmet.

"wow, you've got the whole thing figured out, huh?"

"mhm! my friend ricky loves batman and his friends. he talks about batman and nightwing and spoiler and robin and red robin and red hood and batgirl all the time! they hide their faces like you, ricky thinks it's because of bad guys."

"they're kinda cool, huh?"

"nightwing's my favorite," she said firmly, as though it was something she had considered at great length and was fully prepared to defend.

"not red hood?" jason smacked a hand to his chest in mock hurt, shifting back dramatically. "i'm crushed, truly."

"no, ricky says red hood used to be an alien, but then got bored and now he annoys batman for fun instead. that sounds mean."

...well, okay, maybe he did annoy the big guy for fun a little. "that's an interesting theory, all right."

"ricky's got all kinds of theories. he thinks batman's a robot-" jason snorted- "and that nightwing was like pinochle."

"you mean pinocchio," the boy corrected quietly. "pinochle's what gramma plays."

"pinocchio!" she exlaimed, with a "ch" sound in the middle that made jason smile. "a doll that got turned human. that's how he does all the flips and stuff, he's got magic."

"hm, ricky seems like an interesting guy," jason said thoughtfully, making a big show of rubbing the chin of his helmet. "what do y-"

he was cut off by a loud, insistent meow, and jazz gasping even louder before taking off to the bushes.

"w- hey, don't rush off like that!" he said, shooting up off the ground as the boy sighed.

"there's this cat that she's been taking care of," he explained quietly. "the thing's got attitude for days but i think it's sick or something. jasmine's been bringing it little bits of tuna and chicken, but it's not like we can get it to a vet."

jason hummed. "why do you think it's sick?"

"it's thin, with its eyes all watery and sunk."

"might just be malnourished," he muttered.

"she's been trying to find it a home, y'know."

there was a wink-wink-nudge-nudge quality to the kid's voice that did not go unnoticed.

on one hand, it was good to hear something other than fear from him, but on the other... "what part of the tactical armor makes you think i'm an option?"

"the part where you just stuck around to check on us instead of running after that guy."

okay. maybe the quiet thing hadn't been so bad. the cocky 'amateur psychologist' thing was a little grating.

"you the real red hood?" the kid asked suddenly, shaking jason from his internal grumbling.

"what do you think?"

"i think you just saved our lives, and i wanna know who i'm thanking."

jason turned to him with a flourish. "red hood, baby saver extraordinaire. at your service."

"baby- dude, i'm seventeen!"

okay, so he would have lost his bet. "noted. still a baby, trust me."

"what are you under there, twenty something? whatever, grandpa."

jason chuckled, turning back to watch jasmine pet a small cat under one of the yellow lights littering the park. "you did well, looking out for her with that guy. you got a name?"

he scoffed. "would've been better if i'd kicked him between the legs right when he opened his mouth, instead of letting him get started on the whole 'what're you kids doing out so late?' bit," he muttered darkly, pausing for a moment before answering. "my name's jordan."

"well, jordan, what are you guys doing out so late?"

"mom works nights, and the neighbors were fighting. it was loud enough to wake jazz up, and it wasn't the kind of thing she needed to hear. i figured a trip to see her cat would be less awful than hearing them call each other things i wouldn't even call my friends." the breeze picked up, rustling the trees and catching on jason's jacket. "and then the asshole with the knife decided to make a bad night worse."

"is jazz your sister?"

"yeah, she's a good kid," jordan said, fond and warm. "sorry about the whole ricky thing, though. he's obsessed with those vigilante conspiracy videos and tells her all about them at school."

"no, no, it's fine. i can't wait to tell wing about his new origin story, he'll love that."

jasmine suddenly came bounding back towards them, grabbing their hands and yanking them to follow her. "c'mon, you need to meet cat!"

"you call it cat?"

jordan bristled subtly. "is there a problem with that, red?"

"no, no, it's an appropriate name. just making sure." jason waved his spare hand at his head. "helmet makes me hear things sometimes."

jordan opened his mouth, but his sister plowed right over whatever he was going to say, pulling on jason's hand again. "cat, meet... what's your name?"

"red hood."

"you can't be red hood!" she whirled around, indignantly putting her hands on her hips. "there's already a red hood in gotham. besides, you're not even wearing a hood, so it doesn't fit anyway."

jason turned his head to jordan, who was smiling- a good sign, but probably a bad omen for whatever he was about to say. "she's right, man. it's not a hood."

"tough crowd," jason muttered. "uh... then you can call me, uh-"

"bucket!" jasmine suggested happily, tapping his helmet. "because this looks like a bucket."

if there was one thing vigilantism had taught him, it was that sometimes you actually do need to pick your battles. this...

this was not worth fighting.

"sure, fine, whatever. hi, cat, i'm red bucket." he turned away from the kids- both of whom looked entirely too happy about the whole 'bucket' thing, he thought- and crouched down to finally look at the cat.

it did look a little sick, actually.

it was gray, and thin, and-

and now it was headbutting his knee like it was trying to push him over.

"cat likes you!" jazz cheered.

"sure does," jordan said pointedly. "isn't that interesting?"

jason opened his mouth, but his snarky comment died in his throat when the cat settled down right in front of him and blinked slowly up at him with a sweet tilt to its head.

...shit.

just- shit.

he sighed, standing up and looking back to jordan and his stupid, entirely-too-pleased-with-himself grin. "so, jazz," jason grumbled reluctantly, "where does cat live?"

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Eight: They Don’t Want to be Found

By SisterSpooky1013 / Read previous chapters here

Rated E / Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder calls in to work the next day, too sleep deprived and mentally exhausted to function. After sleeping until nearly noon, he gets back in his car and returns to Philly. He checks into a hotel that’s just a few blocks from the club and then spends the next several hours trying to watch TV, trying to read, and jacking off picturing Scully topless. A short time later, he jacks off again, this time imagining what he’ll see tonight.

He isn’t really sure what he’s doing or why he’s here. The best excuse he can cook up is that she doesn’t have a weapon and he’s protecting her, but realistically he knows she can take care of herself. Is it really just perversion, that he wants to see her…exposed? What will he say if she spots him? He can imagine her level of mortification if she knew he was here, that he’d seen her, and he feels guilt churn in his gut. She might never forgive him for this.

He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t seem to stop himself from going back. He has to see her again.

Scully had lay awake for hours after Angel left, thinking about what had happened, wondering how it happened in the first place. She’s on a case, how stupid could she be? What if it comes to light that she’s become involved with a witness in the case? She might be suspended. At least then maybe they’d never ask her to do something like this again. What if Mulder finds out? Would he feel betrayed somehow? Would it turn him on?

Somewhere around 6 am, she had finally caved in and slid her hand down the front of her panties, groaning when she felt how wet she was. She swirled her finger around her clit, using her own arousal as lubricant, and imagined what might have happened if Angel’s phone hadn’t rung. Would Angel have touched her? With her hands, or her mouth? Maybe both. Would she have touched Angel? She was approaching the brink just thinking about it. She stopped suddenly, remembering something, and grabbed the bullet vibrator from her bedside table, switching it on and pressing it to her clit as she plunged the middle finger of her other hand as far inside herself as she could reach. Within 30 seconds she was unravelling, images of Angel and Mulder dancing in her head as her walls clamped tightly around her finger. Finally, she had slept.

She manages to sleep until nearly three in the afternoon again, then spends the day getting her nails done, reading, and devising a plan for how she might look through the files in that closet. Without knowing what’s in them, she has no way of gaging whether Ricky is likely to notice if she takes a few at a time and returns them later. Worse still, Lexie is working tonight and that gives any risk she takes the potential to blow the whole investigation. She’s positive that given one more red flag, Lexie will sing like a canary. The silver lining is that Angel won’t be at work for the next three days, so they can get some space from what happened between them.

The evening is mostly business as usual, and she’s a bit horrified to realize that this is becoming as dull and predictable as any other job. She lets her mind wander while she flexes and rolls over horny married men, wondering what Mulder is up to, whether he’s worried about her or even misses her. Part of her wonders if he might realize that his life is less complicated without her, and that he prefers it that way. She feels an ache in her chest, a bit further north than she has grown accustomed to, and realizes how much she misses him.

When he enters the club, she’s at the bar. Half her torso is resting on the bar top as she shouts to be heard by the bartender, who’s laughing at whatever she’s saying. The position she’s in pops her barely covered ass out prominently behind her and his eyes go big at how exposed she is, and how comfortable she seems with it. Her bare breasts are smushed against the lacquered countertop and he feels his cock twitch thinking about how hard her nipples will be when she stands up. Unfortunately, it would be too risky to stick around and find out, so he tugs his ball cap lower and finds a table in the back. The dancers never seem to come back here for some reason.

He keeps his head trained towards one of the other dancers at all times, while his eyes follow Scully’s every move. If he knows one thing, it’s that Scully can feel his eyes on her, so he needs to be careful. His disguise is painfully basic and all it would take is one solid look for her to know it’s him. He watches her give a lap dance to a blushing young woman, a soft smile on her face the whole time, and he can’t decide if he’s more turned on or touched by how hard she’s working to make the woman feel comfortable. The aching hard-on in his jeans suggests the former.

This time he’s mentally prepared for her stage set, and also realizes she can barely see beyond the tip rail with all the stage lights on her, so he lets himself enjoy it. He’s known from the moment he met her that Scully is beautiful, sexy, incredible in every way imaginable, but he never could have imagined her moving like this. She’s so graceful and captivating. He lets himself block out all the other jerks who are leering at her, stuffing bills into her underwear, and just watches her. His Scully. She’s ethereal.

“Seems like you’ve found your ATF,” a voice to his left startles him from his reverie.

“Huh?” he turns to see the same waitress who’d served him last night, clad in a fishnet body suit.

“You were here last night, right? You like Desi?”

He panics. “No! I mean, yes. But, don’t send her over here or anything.”

She nods in understanding. “You like to watch. That’s cool, whatever floats your boat, man. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah, can I get a Captain and Coke?” He walked here, why not enjoy himself, right?

Four drinks for him and ten lap dances for her later, he stumbles into the balmy night and back to his hotel room where he jacks off again. Twice.

Everyone is trickling out slowly at the end of what has been a busy shift. Scully takes her time counting her tips, sharing a cut with her bird dog and the bartender on shift tonight. While she would not say that she likes working here by any stretch of the imagination, her coworkers at the club are her only source of socialization and (with the exception of Lexie) she truly enjoys their company. She’s helping one of the custodial staff, a wiry young man they called Don Juan, put up the chairs on the club floor so he can mop when Ricky approaches her.

“Desi, can I see you in my office, please?” He has a somber demeanor that concerns her.

“Um, sure, of course.” She bids the young man farewell and follows Ricky down the hall. He closes the door behind them and she feels her heart start to race.

Ricky sits down behind his desk and motions for her to take a seat across from him. She’s reminded of her first day here and the feelings of fear and anticipation.

“I need to ask you something, Desi, and I want to make sure you don’t mention it to the other girls.”

“Okay,” she responds, taking shallow breaths to obscure the fact that she’s afraid.

“Angel told me what happened.”

Her mouth falls open but no words come out. Is she in trouble for kissing Angel?

“That’s why she was so upset the other night, when you saw her in here. She told me that she’d talked to you about her past a bit,” he shakes his head ruefully. “Some gall those dirtbags have, shaming her for being sexual in any way, then coming to a titty club on the sly.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Right, yes, the people who came in. She was very upset. “

“It was really nice of you to spend some time with her after work. Anyway, I gave her a few nights off. She needs a break.”

Scully nods. “You wanted to ask me something?”

“Right! So, Angel is my right hand gal, she helps me with a lot of stuff around here. With her being out, I wanted to ask you to kind of be her backup, if you will.”

For a moment she’s afraid Ricky is asking her to perform some kind of sexual favor, but she recalls that Angel had said he’s gay. “What did you have in mind?” she asks hesitantly.

“Well mostly, I wanted to give you a set of keys for the club. Angel has one, in case something happens to me and I’m not here to open and close the doors, stuff like that.”

A set of keys? Scully feels a flush of adrenaline. “Of course, I can do that.”

“That’d be great, Desi. I know you haven’t been with us all that long, but you seem pretty trustworthy, at least compared to the other girls. Like I mentioned, I’m hoping we can keep this between us, just so there are no hurt feelings from anyone who’s been here longer than you.”

Her heart is pounding with excitement at the opportunity to gain access to those files. “Is there an alarm code or something I should know about?” She recalls a sign on the door for ADT.

Ricky dismisses her concern with a flick of his wrist. “No, nothing like that. I should get one, but I just pilfered those signs from my buddy to scare off vagrants.”

She nods in understanding.

“Ninety-nine percent chance nothing will happen and there’ll be no need, but thanks for being on deck, just in case,” he says as he hands her a playboy bunny shaped keychain with a single key dangling from it.

Scully smiles at him. “I’m more than happy to help.”

After she leaves the club, she first goes home to stash her tips and change into comfortable, dark clothes, and then gets a big cup of coffee and a disposable camera from the 7-11 near her apartment.

By the time she’s lurking in the corner of the club’s parking lot, watching the door, it’s nearly 4am and there’s still a light on inside the foyer. She sips her coffee and waits, shuffling her feet to keep warm. Finally at 4:50, Denny and Ricky emerge, locking the door behind them. After they leave the parking lot, Scully waits another 20 minutes before she creeps around the perimeter of the lot and approaches the door. Glancing around to be sure no one is watching her, she turns the key and steps inside, locking it behind her.

The quiet stillness is eerie in contrast to the throbbing hive of activity it had been earlier in the night and she flicks on her flashlight, making her way to Ricky’s office. She fits the same front door key into the lock and sighs in relief when it turns. Ricky’s security standards aren’t incredibly high, apparently, but in this case it’s to her advantage. She tries the key on the hallway closets just in case, to no avail, and returns to the office. Navigating to his desk, she pulls open drawers quickly, scanning their contents. Nothing is of interest, and she’s disappointed though not surprised that his keys to other areas of the club aren’t in here. That makes things more challenging, but not impossible. She’s spent her days off at the library researching how to pick locks, including buying a lock picking kit and some padlocks at the local hardware store to practice with, and she feels relatively confident she can get this door open without a key. She might just have to be the one to pick the lock next time she and Mulder have the need. She smiles to herself knowing how impressed he’d be.

Back in the hallway, she pulls the small lock picking kit out of her back pocket and kneels in front of the door, the pen light perched between her teeth. She studies the lock and then inserts a torque wrench at the bottom, turning it slightly to put resistance in the direction it will spin when unlocked. From the kit, she selects a straight, flat pick and runs it from back to front at the top of the keyhole a couple times. Next she exchanges it for a pick with a curved end, pushing it as far back and high as she can reach as she holds her ear close to the lock in the stony silence of the hallway. Bumping against the pins inside the lock, she listens and feels for a small click or give that indicates the pin has settled in its unlocked position. She continues this until she counts five pins clicking into place, then removes the pick and turns the torque wrench.

The lock releases with a soft click and she laughs out loud as the door swings open, beyond pleased with herself. Stepping into the closet, there’s enough room for her to close the door behind her and she does so, pulling a cord to turn on the overhead light. Taking stock of the beige bank of file cabinets, she works top to bottom, left to right, and immediately feels her heart sink when the first four drawers she tries are empty. Would this be yet another dead end? When the fifth drawer snicks open, she sees a small set of files hanging towards the back. She quickly checks all the other drawers so she’ll have a good idea of how much material she has to review, but they’re all empty.

She pulls the files out and sits down with them on the floor, setting the disposable camera near her thigh. There are eight folders nestled inside the hanging file, each one with a set of initials on the tab. The first one is marked “G.A.” and inside she finds an intake form, a personal statement that’s filled out by hand, and a release of liability form. The intake form is sparse and includes nearly no identifying information. The name is listed as simply GA and the fields below it include “entry date,” “exit date,” “reason for sheltering,” and “responsible individual.” On the form for GA, the entry and exit date are both a year and a half prior, about six months apart. Reason for sheltering is listed as “threat of violence-domestic,” and the responsible individual reads “brother.” She turns to the second page, which contains GA’s personal statement.

Continue Reading Here

[sinemoras09]

1.

The remains of the Citadel lie crooked against a starscape of blues and blacks, the long arms connecting individual spheres of cities jutting out like jagged bones. On the inside, Construction Ricks rappel down the city towers, small and ant-like compared to the gleaming city structures below them.

Militia Ricks step out, ferrying the dead. A dusty truck crunches over debris and broken glass, while bodies are rolled up in thick stripes of canvas and tossed into the back.

In a subterranean basement, Caretaker Ricks rush around the large glass columns of yellow liquid while thousands of clone bodies are decanted, sputtering and slimy, a thousand reborn Ricks coughing and crouching on the ground.

*****

The artificial light is stuck in perpetual dawn or dusk, the entirety of the skyline barely visible in the dying half-light. In the middle of the rubble, Slow Rick is crying, a lone figure crouching among a throng of dead Mortys, his yellow shirt scuffed and his temple caked with old dried blood.

"Can, can, can anybody help me?" Slow Rick says. He hugs his arms and limps, accidentally kicking a dead Morty in the shoulder. He starts crying harder. "I-i-is anybody there?"

Cop Rick is digging in the rubble when he sees him and comes running over.

"Are you, are you my new Rick?" Slow Rick says. Cop Rick kneels down in front of him.

"Y-yeah. Yeah buddy, I am for now," Cop Rick says. He reaches back into his holster and grabs a tablet, quickly scrolling through the Citadel database. Slow Rick, it says, also known as Tall Morty, from dimension K-32-ipsilon-9. He suffers from Savant Syndrome and excels in electronics and rapid calculations. He invented a portal gun, accidentally portaling himself into Federation Space, where he became frightened and started calling out for his caretakers.

"Your name is Slow Rick, Rick?" Cop Rick says. Slow Rick shakes his head.

"My name is Tall Morty," Slow Rick says. Cop Rick touches his shoulder.

"All right, Tall Morty. Let's get you some help, buddy."

"Thank you, Mr. Rick," Slow Rick says. Cop Rick nods.

"Hey now, just call me Rick," Cop Rick says, and he helps him up from the ground.

*****

2.

They found him living in an adult care facility in a dimension 70 iterations off the Central Finite Curve. It wasn't surprising: ever since the Council of Ricks implemented routine brain scans across the multiverse, they found non-scientist Ricks in all sorts of places. There were Ricks who became school teachers and Ricks who were truck drivers, working stiff Ricks with the same potential and IQs.

The portal opened, and they expected that this Rick was a caregiver, maybe a physician or a nurse working in the facility. They weren't expecting to see him as a resident, wearing a bright orange shirt and eating a popsicle.

*****

"I didn't know Ricardo had a twin brother," was the first thing the receptionist said, as one of the Citadel Ricks conducting surveillance filled out his paperwork. The Rick opened his mouth, about to answer, when his other Rick partner stepped up behind him.

"Yo, I just did a preliminary scan, the Gromflomites have this place under surveillance." The second Rick walked toward the first Rick, where the receptionist choked on her coffee and did a double take. "Oh. Shit."

"Yeah. We're, uh. Triplets." The first Rick handed her the clipboard. "Uh. Monozygotic," he said, and he thumbed between the two of them. "And with little Ricky, uh, dizygotic."

"Oh. I see." The receptionist smiled kindly.

"Hey. I don't know you," Slow Rick said, as the two Ricks flanked beside him. The caregiver tsked at him.

"Ricardo. These are your brothers, Rick and Rico," the caregiver said.

"That's okay, ma'am. We don't blame him - we never really visited." The Ricks glanced at each other, uneasily. "Hey buddy. You playing with blocks, man?"

"Yeah!" Slow Rick said, and he beamed up at them happily. Warily the Ricks sat down at the table, watching him.

"Why the hell are the Glomflomites keeping him under surveillance? All he does is play with blocks and fingerpaints." The second Rick frowned, looking around.

"Hey, check it out," the second Rick said. Slow Rick started writing a bunch of numbers on a notepad. "Watcha doin' there, buddy?"

"I'm making a formula!"

"Oh, wow, buddy, real cool there, let's see--" he picked up the paper. His eyes widened.

"Bro," the second Rick said, and he handed it to the first.

"Did he...did he just come up with a grand Unified Theory of Everything? On the back of a fingerpainting?" Technically, all standard Ricks solved the riddle of marrying quantum physics to the theory of relativity decades ago, but given Slow Rick had the mentality of a 6-year-old, they were impressed.

"Ma'am? Is it okay if we take him out for day-long excursions?" The Ricks had radioed their findings to the Council, who ordered them to bring Slow Rick in.

"Of course!" the caregiver said, and she handed them the paperwork.

*****

Slow Rick - or Tall Morty, as he was now called - loved the Citadel. The Rick caretakers gave him candy. Everybody was really nice to him.

"What's this?" Slow Rick said. The Ricks set down a small glass of portal fluid, which glowed a hazy iridescent green.

"I-it makes things go other places. See?" One of the Ricks loaded it into a portal gun, shot two portals, and tossed a ball through. It sank into one membrane, then bounced off the second, making Slow Rick laugh hysterically.

"You think you can make that, buddy?" The Ricks provided all the materials. They would sit down and watch him to make sure he didn't do anything too dangerous. Slow Rick grinned and nodded.

"Yeah! I can do that!" Slow Rick said, and he started grabbing materials.

Like the other Ricks, this Rick had a genius's intuition. This Rick threw together the ingredients of portal fluid without measuring it. The two Ricks watched as he loaded his finished fluid into the portal gun, then shot two portals. They tossed in a ball, which easily slipped through it.

"Good job, buddy! Y-y-you think you can solve this equation?"

"Sure!" Slow Rick chirped, and he started writing down the math, chewing on a piece of licorice and kicking his feet under the table.

*****

3.

A circle of Militia Ricks surround a fallen Gromflomite, who's lying on his back and shaking. Wordlessly they all unholster their ray guns and shoot, the purple rays searing the Gromflomite's carapace and liquifying its insides.

"Geez," a Militia Rick says. Another Gromflomite charges at him but the Militia Ricks pull out their ray guns, easily neutralizing him. "How many fucking more of these Federation goons are left?"

"Hard to say, D-23. That's why we're patrolling each sector searchin' for them."

"Ugh, I wanna go home," the Militia Rick says. Another Gromflomite pops up to the side of him, but he points his arm and shoots him dead without even looking at him. "This sucks." Another Rick nods.

"Yeah, I know."

More digging. They throw pieces of rubble into a pile, hoisting up the dead bodies crushed beneath the debris. The Ricks are sweating, wiping their foreheads with their sleeves, when behind them there's a flurry of action.

"We got more survivors!" a Militia Rick says.

There's a group of Mortys huddled beneath the remains of what used to be a pharmacy. Around them, overturned shelves and broken bottles are scattered by their feet. The Mortys are miraculously intact, holding each other and crouching beneath a cardboard Rick sign advertising Energy Juice.

"W-w-w-what's going on?" a Morty says. The Militia Ricks flash their flashlights on him, the beam cutting a white line through the shadowed ruins. "Why were they attacking us? What's happening?"

"I don't know." The Militia Rick digs him out of the rubble. "What's your designation?"

"I-I-I don't remember. But they called me Glasses Morty." Glasses Morty isn't wearing his glasses. The Militia Rick grunts and hefts him and his friends out of the pile.

*****

In a remote outpost on the farthest corner of the Citadel, Cop Rick walks with Slow Rick following an abandoned street. The asphalt is cracked and jutting out at odd angles, the buildings surrounding it bombed out and crumbling. Cop Rick walks and he hears a few errant bricks falling off. He pulls out his scanner and searches for other biosignatures. No one else is alive.

"M-M-Mr. Cop Rick?"

"Yeah, Tall Morty?"

"W-w-when can I go home?" Slow Rick hugs his arms. "I'm scared and I'm cold."

"It's okay, Tall Morty. I-I got separated from my unit, but whatever was attacking us seems to have gone home." Cop Rick looks around. "Sorry, buddy. To tell you the truth, I-I-I'm just a rookie, I haven't even graduated from the Academy. Sorry you got saddled with a useless Rick like me."

"Y-y-you didn't gradutate yet?"

Cop Rick smiles. "It's graduate," he says, gently. "And no, I-I'm still part of the Academy."

They keep walking. A column of smoke rises from another ruined building, and Cop Rick hears someone yelling.

"Help me!" It's a Morty. "Help, can somebody help?"

"I'm coming!" Cop Rick says, and he breaks out into a run.

He can see a flash of yellow peaking out from a pile of debris. Cop Rick skids onto his knees, then starts digging through the rubble.

But it's too late. The Morty is guppy breathing, skin clammy, the blood that was tamponaded by the rubble suddenly rushing out. His lung is punctured and his pelvis is shattered. The Morty gasps, then chokes for air.

"Are you, are you a cop?" The Morty's eyes drag listlessly up toward Cop Rick's. "Are you gonna rescue me?"

There's no way the Morty will live another day, let alone the next ten minutes. Cop Rick grasps his hand.

"Yeah, buddy," Cop Rick says. "Reinforcements are coming, just hang on."

The Morty smiles. It's a sickly smile, wan and pale, until his pupils dilate and he stops breathing.

"Shit," Cop Rick says. He wipes his eyes angrily.

In the background, Slow Rick whimpers. Cop Rick straightens, dusting the front of his uniform.

"C'mon," Cop Rick says. "It's getting dark.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24816478

[lumiolivier]

The Good Old Days Chapter Twenty-One: The Borderlands Job

A/N: Hi, friends! Alright. I know. I'm a little late with this, but it's also been a hell of a week. And again, I know. I need to put these on a schedule. Load them into the queue as soon as I finish them. That'd be a good idea. But anyway, here we have it. Enjoy.

ICYMI: Chapter 20: Heart to Heart

So, this was it. Walking into hell with the two people I trust most in this world. Well…Not quite hell. Hell adjacent is more like it. Here we are. Out in the borderlands. And for what? That’s right. The Old Man has a big ass payout from this place. It seemed like a classy place. When we walked in, the furniture was all leather. The walls were crushed velvet. Damn, Old Man. What the hell did you send us to? But the humidors behind the bar and the heavy smell of smoke told me all I needed to know. Cigar bar. Got it…Until I saw the stage and the runway in the middle of the room. Alright. Gentlemen’s club. Got it. Not judging.

“Alright, boys…” I stood in the doorway, doing a quick check of the place. It’s awfully quiet in here. Maybe that’s a good thing, “We’re going to collect and get the hell out of here. I know he says it’s cool if we enjoy ourselves a little, but this place is making my skin crawl.”

“That’s because you got a girlfriend, Frankie,” César pointed out, keeping his voice down. And getting an eyeful of the lovely young ladies center stage. Between César and Tony, César always was the poon hound, “Not all of us are so fortunate.”

“This place feels like the type to pay for regular health screenings.” Granted, César was a slut, but that didn’t mean Tony couldn’t appreciate the art in the museum, too.

“Probably,” I still couldn’t believe those two. They’ve both tried taking me to strip clubs before, but…Even before I started dating Vanessa, they just…weren’t something for me. They made me feel weird. And not the good kind of feel weird they were supposed to make me feel. Nine times out of ten, I’d be asking the girls when they’d get off and buy them a drink afterward. I’ve made a few friends like that, “But focus. We got work to do before you two can drool. And remember what your jobs are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” César brushed me off, his eyes wandering a little more, “Make sure our hermanito doesn’t get into trouble. Got it.”

“You two disgust me,” I shook my head in disappointment, “I hope you know that.”

“Excuse us for having a libido.”

“Hey!” a big mother fucker from the bar stepped up to us. Under normal circumstances, I’m sure he’s intimidating as hell, but I had an ace in the hole, “Who are you? I’ve never seen you in here before.”

“What?” I shrugged, “I can’t try somewhere new?”

“It’s not that,” Big Guy pointed out, “You don’t just walk in here off the street. You get invited here. And I don’t remember anyone saying you or your buddies were invited tonight.”

“It’s fine,” I knew how to handle assholes like this. And I was taught well. On top of that, I’ve been given express permission to name drop if I had to. Or, in dire situations, assume someone else’s identity. Especially if it was for the sake of saving my skin. And it always helps that the Old Man is kind of a recluse, “I’m sure a man of my standings has a permanent spot on that list.”

“You seem to think so,” he scoffed, “Get the fuck out of here before you’re forcibly removed…”

“People call me the Old Man,” I carried myself with the same sense of well deserved respect the Old Man did, “I’m here to pick up a little something, something, if that’s alright with you. Now, I’d like to speak to the bartender please.”

“You…” Big Guy backed off a little, “You’re the Old Man?”

“That’s right,” I held my ground.

“You look a little young for that kind of title,” he argued, “Are you even legal to drink in here?”

“More than legal,” I growled, still keeping a level head, “I can’t help I got good genetics and a pretty face, friend. Boys!”

“Yeah?” Both César and Tony hopped to my side. Alright. That’s comforting. If this guy wanted to pick a fight or found out I’m not the Old Man, it’s good to know I had backup.

“Why don’t you two keep our new friend here company?” I suggested, “I’m going to go pick up what we’re here for and then, if there’s time, maybe have a drink or two. After that, we’ll leave. I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked your name yet, man.”

“It’s Todd.”

Really? I didn’t think someone that’s easily six and a half feet tall and a perfect bowling ball to be named Todd. But who was I to judge? I gave him a nod, “Alright, Todd. Why don’t you make sure these two are taken care of? I got a package to pick up.”

I didn’t even give him a chance to answer. I had bigger shit to worry about. And if all else fails, I know Tony and César can hold their own in a fight. That’s just something I don’t want to have to explain to Mama in the morning. Although, I’m sure if I point all fingers toward the Old Man, I’d be absolved of all crimes here and everything would be fine. Except for the fact that my brothers’ faces would be fucked up. A sacrifice I’m willing to make.

I went into the back where an older man stood behind the bar, “Excuse me…”

“Yes, sir,” he smiled politely, “How can I help you? If I overheard you right, you’re the one they call the Old Man around here, right?”

“That’s right,” I kept up the façade. At this point, I think it’s what’s keeping my ass alive, “And I’m thinking there’s something waiting for me here.”

“No,” the bartender shook his head, making sure to keep his voice down, “You’re not the Old Man.”

My stomach dropped. Oh, shit. This guy knows. But I couldn’t let him see me sweat, “Excuse me? Yeah, I am.”

“I know Gregorio,” he pointed out, “I know him very well. Sit down, son. Let’s talk.”

“Ok…” I wasn’t sure where this was going, but the Old Man didn’t tell me he was sending me to a friend, “I mean, I am Gregorio, but I don’t remember us meeting.”

“I’ve known Gregorio for a very long time,” the bartender got an envelope from under the bar. And a damn thick one, too. Then, he poured me a glass of brandy with a splash of peach tea in it. I never was the type for brandy, but I could stomach it for the sake of keeping up appearances, “He and I went to school together for a while. Around the time he first came here. I found myself falling on hard times years later and I told him about it. My landlord was about to evict me. I was lucky if I could feed my kids. You know what he did?”

“What?” This story was feeling a little familiar. It was at that moment I realized the Old Man had a soft spot for a lost cause.

“He took my wife and my two kids for dinner that night,” he smiled, “He was telling me all about this new job he got and the man he was working for and how he had a little bit of power in this town now. When we were still in school, I was always the one mixing drinks for people. He got me the job here. And I’ve been here ever since. Mostly just to oversee things. Kind of like when some random punk off the street comes in and impersonates him. Before your mind jumps to conclusions, I’m not going to out you and I’m not going to take you out in the alley. I just want you to be honest with me.”

“Ok…” I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I was starting to love the Old Man a little more every day, “What did you want to know?”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Me?” I thought it over for a minute or two. Do I be honest with him or do I tell him I’m still the Old Man? Obviously, he knows I’m not him, but if I fold, I could be fucked. I think I could trust his story, “Francisco Mendoza.”

“I’m guessing you work for him, don’t you?”

“I do,” I nodded.

“And just out of curiosity,” he wondered, “How did you know I wasn’t going to pull a gun from under the bar and put a bullet between your eyes for impersonating one of the best men to walk the streets of New York?”

“You really want to know?” I smirked a bit, “I watched you pour my drink.”

“That could’ve also been poisoned.”

“It wasn’t, though,” I explained, “The Old Man’s drink of choice is brandy and peach tea. It was the same thing he was drinking the night I met him. You’re not the only one he’s pulled off the streets and given a better life.”

“He’s a good man,” the bartender told me, “Stick around with him. He’ll make sure you’re taken care of. But trust me, Francisco. You don’t ever want to betray him. I’ve seen what happens when that kind of shit goes down. It’s not a pretty result. But on a less fatal note, can I let you in on a little secret?”

“Please,” I insisted, “Be my guest.”

“If Gregorio didn’t see something special in you,” he kept his voice down, sliding the envelope across the bar, “You wouldn’t be here right now. Don’t squander what you got.”

“I didn’t plan on it…” I liked this guy. He was alright. I took the envelope off the bar and felt it a bit with the utmost discretion, “Since I told you mine, would you tell me yours?”

“Sure,” he gave me a nod, “It’s Ricky. When you get back to the Narrows, tell Gregorio that Ophelia still has those legs for days.”

“Ophelia?” I wondered, assuming it was some kind of code, but I didn’t know what it was. I’ve never heard the Old Man talk about anyone named Ophelia before.

“My wife,” Ricky chuckled to himself, “He was never the type to go domestic, but there was a young lady that we had a class with that had her eyes on both of us. And she knew Gregorio wasn’t the domestic type, so she went with me. And he’s been kicking himself in the ass every day since then. I like to rub that in his face every once in a while.”

“And what if the Old Man hands my ass to me for that?” I got nervous.

“He won’t,” he swore, “He’ll get a cheap laugh out of it if anything. It was a pleasure meeting you, Francisco. Truly.”

“It’s actually Frankie,” I corrected him, “That’s what everyone else calls me. Except my mother.”

“Alright,” Ricky let me go, “Hopefully, this won’t be the last time we see each other.”

“Likewise,” I finished off my drink and took off with the envelope. But before I left, I needed to get my boys, “Oi…Pendejos…Vamanos.”

“We’re leaving already?” Tony asked, both him and César drenched in sweat. Oh, Jesus…What did they do?

“Yeah,” I nodded toward the door, “Ahora.”

“Ok,” César, the one that I thought was going to be like pulling teeth to get out of here, was awfully quick on his feet. I’m not sure what transpired while I was in the back, but I feel like it’s better that I don’t ask.

“And Todd,” I gave the big guy a pat on the shoulder, “Pleasure meeting you, man.”

“You, too, sir,” Todd sent us off. It’s good to be the Old Man some days. I liked it. Maybe if I get lucky, I’ll take his spot one day. He did say he wanted me to succeed him. I could get used to it.

Once that night air hit my face, everything was right in the world again. I peeked in the envelope and did a quick count of the money. Every last cent was there. Good man, Ricky. Good man. But then came the hard part, “Alright. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Tony kept his mouth shut, “Everything was fine.”

Which was how I knew he was lying. Or hiding something from me. Thankfully, I had César, who would occasionally lack a verbal filter. Not nearly as bad as Tony, but enough, “Tony wanted to take one of the girls home with him.”

“Goddammit, Tony,” I hung my head, “I ask you to do one thing. I take you along for one reason.”

“Don’t goddammit, Tony me,” Tony got defensive, “I did not!”

“He struck out big time,” César laughed, “It was probably worse than watching you try to flirt with Vanessa the first time you two met, Frankie. It was beyond a crash and burn. That was the Hindenburg.”

“See if I take you back here,” I rolled my eyes, “On the bright side, I think I might have my own spot on the list here. Me, not the Old Man. I mean, the Old Man’s got one, too, but because the bartender knows him and knows him well. He’s a good guy, too.”

“He knew you weren’t the Old Man?” César gasped, “Frankie! And I thought I had to keep Tony from getting bitch slapped by a stripper. You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

“But he knew the Old Man,” I explained, “Don’t worry. I knew what I was doing. I had this.”

“And what if you didn’t?” César snapped, “What if the guy was testing you? What if he was calling your bluff and you just fucking folded? I don’t ever want to have to make that phone call to Mama…”

“César…” I knew where he was coming from. It’s what I’ve been doing for those two for years. But César was different. Tony was lucky his head was attached more often than not, but César knew he wouldn’t have to worry about me. That wasn’t going to stop him from worrying, “I told you. I had this. And if I didn’t, I knew I’d have you and Tony watching my back. All I’d have to do is say the word and I knew damn well you both would come running. I know you want to make sure I’m ok. And fuck, I love you for that. But I can handle shit, too.”

“If you ever do something so fucking stupid again,” César threw an arm around me, his demeanor a little lighter, “Don’t ever do it alone.”

“Of course not,” I laughed it off, “I’m stupid, not suicidal.”

“Bueno…” he mumbled to himself, “So? Where to now?”

“Back to the Narrows, as far as I know,” I decided, “Unless you wanted to actually grab a drink. But something tells me that even though the Old Man has told us to skim off the top from time to time, tonight isn’t one of those jobs. He’d probably kick all our asses for something like that. He told me tonight was the biggest score I’ve ever had.”

“You’re not wrong,” Tony knew that as well as I did. Usually, when the Old Man had big collections, he’d tell me to get my brothers. They knew when I was working a big job. And Tony’s beautiful mind could keep track of that shit like nobody’s business.

“So,” I thought it through, “You two come back with me to the Narrows, we’ll have a drink there, then we go home? Sound like a plan?”

“That does sound like a plan,” César agreed, his nerves a little shot tonight. He could use the liquid hospitality.

I don’t know why the Old Man would’ve been so nervous about us visiting a part of our own territory just because it was on the outskirts. Regardless, the boys and I headed back toward the Narrows and made ourselves at home in the bar. This place already was my second home. Even more so today than any other day. I wasn’t complaining. I liked this little bar. I didn’t drink publicly much, but when I did, it didn’t hurt to be somewhere familiar. I left my brothers at the bar and headed to the Old Man’s office.

“Old Man?” I poked my head in the door, “You alive?”

“Pretty alive,” the Old Man let me in, “How’d it go, Frankie?”

“Pretty good,” I threw the envelope on his desk, “I got the money. I got out of there with my life and my brothers intact. I can call that one a win.”

“That’s the attitude to have in this business, kid,” he applauded me.

“Oh,” I remembered, “And by the way, the guy that gave me the money told me to give you a message.”

“Did he?” the Old Man wondered, looking at me strange, “And what’s that?”

“That…” I had to get this right or it’d probably just sound like nothing, “Ophelia still has those legs for days?”

“That son of a bitch!” he snapped, only to laugh his ass off in the next breath, “You met Ricky tonight, didn’t you? Damn, I was hoping he was the one behind the bar.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, a wave of relief washing over me, “Why?”

“He’s a good man,” the Old Man explained, “You kind of reminded me of Ricky. Damn good head on his shoulders, but life doesn’t give him the best hand. You know? How’d he know you were there for me? Did you tell him?”

“I, uh…” I twiddled my thumbs, “I was walking into foreign territory, Old Man…So, I kind of…Told the bouncer that…”

“You were me,” he figured, “Alright. I understand, Frankie. You were right to do that. And that explains how Ricky knew you were there for me. But you do know that one day, your own name’s going to have that kind of power, too, right?”

“I hope so,” I winced, “But today’s not that day.”

“Soon enough,” the Old Man threw the envelope, “There. That’s yours.”

I froze completely, “You going senile on me already?”

“I’m not senile,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m serious. Look, Frankie, you got shit to take care of. I don’t need the money. I’m not near hurting. Your little aristocratic princess deserves a nice fucking engagement ring. You go get her something nice and head home for the day. You’ve done your bit for god and country. Besides, if I give you tonight’s collection, then, I don’t have to pay you for working the bar.”

“Hell of a tip, Old Man,” I still couldn’t believe he was doing this. But at the same time, I could. It’s the Old Man. To hear Ricky talk about him only solidified his ranking in my mind, “Thank you. I will.”

“And if you want,” the Old Man kicked back at his desk, “Throw a few bucks to your brothers. They work hard, too. I’m sure they kept a close eye on you.”

“My brother bitched at me,” I told him, “And they kept the bouncer off my ass, but…Ok. So, we do a three-way split?”

“They don’t know how much I’m giving you,” he gave me a nod, “You split it however you feel. You’re the one that’s going to be paying them one day anyway. Might as well start now.”

“What do you mean…?”

“I would’ve thought you’d bring your brothers on with you when you take over,” the Old Man sighed out, “Guess I was wrong. I mean, if it were me, I’d want the people I could trust most close to me. That’s what I got you for. I’d trust you with my life. But you know…That’s just me. Now, I want you to take your cut and get something nice for Vanessa. She’s a good girl and deserves it.”

“Thank you, Old Man,” I did my best to not start crying right then and there, “Really…For everything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he sent me out, “Good luck, kid.”

“Thanks…” Because I don’t know how I’m going to do it or when, but dammit, I’m going to propose to Vanessa. Eventually. And the Old Man’s right. She does deserve something nice.

I grabbed my brothers, dropped ten grand in their hands (with intentions of paying them with whatever’s left over after I get Vanessa’s ring), and the three of us headed home. Tonight’s been a night. And the thought of crawling into bed was awfully tempting. Yet, I had a little something still left in me. Maybe I could find Abuela’s food truck before she closes up for the night. Before the club crowds start damn near shaking her down. But when we got back to our building, there was a perfect package on our front steps.

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” I took her hands and pulled her onto her feet, “I don’t think you live in these parts.”

“My boyfriend does, though,” Vanessa stole a quick kiss, “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” I melted inside. Damn, this girl’s got a hold on me. She always did.

“Hi, guys,” she smiled.

“Hey, Vanessa,” César gave her a little smile back. He and I had a brief moment of mental telepathy and César, God bless him, dragged Tony inside.

“So,” I wondered, “What do you think about going to the Downtown tonight? Rumor has it, they have some killer coconut cream pie.”

“I’d love to,” Vanessa put my arm around her. I love when she does that.

“Are you sure this is ok?” I worried, holding her close, “I mean, I’m not kidnapping you again, am I?”

“Nope,” she kissed my cheek, “Come on. I’ve been thinking about that pie all day and if I don’t get it in the next ten seconds, I’m cutting a bitch.”

That’s my girl, “It’ll be a few minutes in the cab, though, Vanessa.”

“Fine,” Vanessa let it slide, “Then, we have a few minutes and ten seconds to get me some fucking pie.”

“I love you…” Hard to believe I’m already thinking about marrying her.

“I love you, too, but pie, Frankie…I want pie…”

“Alright then,” I got us a cab, “Then, let’s get some pie.”

[cadetcama]

RINI #60

Ok this one absolutely got away from me and also ANGST ALERT. Ricky’s doing some processing of his mom leaving and he’s upset (and not thinking rationally but hey hes 16 so we’ll cut him some slack) but its a good thing his BUDDY Nini is around to listen. 

Thanks for the prompt, anon! 

--

#60 - “There are plenty of people out there who love you.” “Yeah, like who?” “Like me.”

--

Ricky was throwing himself a pity party. That’s what Nini was calling it, anyway. Ricky thought he was perfectly justified in moping. His mom was moving to Chicago. What had started out as one temporary assignment for work had turned into a more permanent offer that she accepted. That had been weeks ago, but it was this week that her stuff was finally all out of the house and that the legal separation papers (which made way for the divorce papers) were signed.

So naturally, Ricky was in a mood.

“She isn’t leaving you, Ricky.” Nini was very patiently trying to talk him into not feeling so sorry for himself. “She’s just moving—“

“To Chicago. Yeah.” Ricky cut her off, bitterly. They were in the drama room, after school. Ricky was avoiding going home to seeing so much stuff missing from the walls or his mom’s favorite throw blanket that had been his Nana’s not in its usual spot. “People get divorced all the time. I get that. But her job was here. She chose to transfer to Chicago. To leave. And I guess I just don’t…” he huffed and kicked out at the leg of a chair as he walked by it.

“You don’t what?” Nini asked softly, from her spot on the piano bench.

Ricky paused. He hated what he was about to admit but it had been weighing him down and he had only recently been able to put the feeling into words.

“I don’t understand why I wasn’t enough to make her stay.” He said finally.

Nini was on her feet in a second, making her way over to him. “It wasn’t anything to do with you.”

“But wasn’t I a factor? Shouldn’t I have been?” Ricky gestured aimlessly. “I love people and I’d never move away from them.”

“Ricky—“ Nini tried, sounding heart broken, but now that he had started, rational or not, he was having trouble stopping. He just needed to stay it and get it out of his system so he could stop being so mad at his mom.

“And I get not wanting to see your ex, I do, okay? But it’s not like she had to live next door or even in the neighborhood. She was always complaining about her commute.” Ricky was on the verge of tears now. “She could’ve moved closer to her office or downtown and I could’ve spent every other week there. There were so many other ways this could’ve happened. But she just left. I guess she didn’t love me enough to stay. So now it’s just my dad…”

Nini took his face in her hands, making him look at her. “There are plenty of other people out there who love you.” She was crying now too, and part of Ricky felt bad for putting all of this on her. The other part of him was still spiraling.

He snorted softly. “Yeah, like who?”

“Like me.” She looked at him fiercely, daring him to disagree. And he didn’t dare, so he just nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve and trying not to start crying all over again.

But Nini wasn’t done: “And Big Red loves you too. And my moms. And Ms. Jenn. And Carlos, though he’d never admit it. And the rest of the drama club.”

He cut her off with a weak attempt at a joke: “Except EJ.” He was feeling a little better and had pulled out of his downward spiral enough for his defense mechanisms of making jokes to go back into effect.

“Except EJ,” Nini agreed with a smile.

After a long pause, Ricky broke the silence: “Thanks for listening.”

“Any time. What are buddies for?” She took a step back, grinning as Ricky threw his head back, laughing, feeling lighter than he had in days.

“Oh no! We’re not going back to that, are we?”

[danetobelieve]

Fangs For Dinner || Miriam and Winston

Well, if she wasn’t sure of it before, she was sure of it now; Miriam hated cellular phones. They were wretched awful things. Why wouldn’t they work properly? All she wanted to do was pull up the Google so that she could get the number to Al’s. She needed Elle to watch the house that night since she planned on being out hunting, and she promised the girl she’d order her take out. Standing on the street near the police office, Miriam had thought that she’d call the restaurant before she headed over to spare a bit of time. Instead, it looked like she was going to have to order at the counter. “Eleanor Sinclair,” she muttered at the phone, partly knowing that her assistant couldn’t hear her but also unsure as to whether or not she’d hung up properly, “I hope you know the trouble I go through for my assistant.”

Winston fucking loved burgers. They couldn’t explain why. But there was a holy tinge to the fact that there was a combination of meat and cheese that they could devour enclosed in a bun. Winston had been eating at Al’s their entire life and they had decided that they were too lazy to cook that night. As they joined the queue behind a blonde lady, they had to admit that the cacophony of noises and smells that enveloped them every time they entered Al’s was always a pleasure. The blonde in front of them seemed to be struggling with their phone, Winston could already tell that they would be able to help them. But they were off duty and they really didn’t want to, so for the moment they kept their mouth shut and watched. Itching to intervene. 

Miriam still hadn’t figured the damn thing out by the time she got to Al’s. At this point, she’d managed to do something, and the screen had just… blanked. It was gone. All she could see was the damned black screen. Oh. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. Miriam had a good rapport with her assistant, perhaps too good, and she just knew that Elle would laugh at her if she broke another piece of technology. She couldn’t bring back the girl’s burger with a broken phone. Not if she planned to go out hunting tonight without a rather unfortunate sense of embarrassment. Miriam Flemming didn’t do embarrassment. Quickly, she looked behind her. Seeing that there was indeed a person there, Miriam put on her most winning smile. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I’m very new to this… type of cellular phone, and I can’t tell if I’ve killed it or what. Would you possibly be able to help me?”

Sometimes, Winston wondered if their whims could influence the world. It seemed as if they were sometimes able to change the very fabric of things with their wishes. Obviously it wasn’t true and this was just a coincidence, but this was quite the coincidence. “Oh,” Winston looked up and hooked an earbud from their ear, allowing it to hang from the wire around their neck and looking up at Miriam, “I don’t mind helping, do you mind if I take a look at it?” Without waiting for her to agree Winston reached out and gently plucked the phone from her hands before flicking the button on the side and watching it glow to life. “I think your battery died,” they reached into their pocket and pulled out a small portable charger, slipping the lead into the port they watched as the phone glowed to life, “give it a few minutes and that should give you enough juice to get home, then you can charge it up or whatever.” 

Miriam sighed in relief, grateful that the problem wasn’t something unfixable. “Right, of course, charging it. It’s been quite the day, that didn’t even occur to me.” With all of the dark, she’d been able to go into the store every single day, which meant that she actually had to be around people every single day. That wasn’t the problem; Miriam was a people person, and there was nothing she loved more than making people love her (except for, of course, causing pain when the mood hit her). The problem was the fact that all the things she usually put off until the end of the week were done, which meant that new problems arose. She was expected to be in the office more, learning about people and making in person connections, and Miriam was no fool. She knew that the ever present night wasn’t liable to last. She was simply dreading the day that the sun decided to come up, and every day that it didn’t, her dread only grew. Still, here was this kind person that helped her with her phone, so perhaps the day wasn’t completely soured. With luck, she’d even have a good hunt. The line for togo orders moved a bit, and Miriam was next. “Here,” she told the stranger with a smile, “go ahead and order. I’ll pay for your food. If you hadn’t helped me, I would have had to ask my assistant for help, and Elle has a penchant for laughing at me when I don’t understand technology, so you’ve really helped me out.”

Raising an eyebrow Winston shrugged a little. Honestly they didn’t really know how people were able to exist in this day and age without being able to competently use technology. The truth was that in this day and age there was really no excuse to not be aware of the fact that your mobile phone needed charging. “Sure, I mean, you should probably get into the habit of plugging it in when you see this icon get really low,” they pointed out the battery in the top right corner, “you can even switch it on so it gives you information on battery percentage if that would help.” And then there was a completely unexpected moment of kindness and Winston was blown away. “Really? I …” they stammered out of shock because after all people didn’t just offer to pay for things for them, Winston wasn’t someone that people bought drinks for or food for, infact usually it was the other way around so this was a welcome treat, “that’s really kind of you but you know that you don’t have to, besides I was kind of going to pig out and,” they didn’t say smoke a joint with my seal housemate buddy and eat a shit load of meat (weed was decriminalised for recreational use in Maine) but it didn’t really sound that great, “I don’t want to cost you a load of money because you borrowed my phone charger you know… so are you sure? No one likes being laughed at so I was happy to help really.” 

As the stranger pointed out where the battery on the phone was, Miriam felt both perplexed and sheepish that she hadn’t seen it before. Of course, she knew the damn thing needed to be charged, but she rarely used it, so she just learned to plug it in at night. It usually lasted her through the whole day. Of course, she had been using it a lot more. “Well, you’re quite the lifesaver,” she said. As the stranger mentioned the object of money, Miriam had to laugh. Money? She’d been left with more money than she knew what to do with at times. That’s what happened, of course, when you came from a generations old company of expensive luxury goods. She probably could have gone a couple of decades without working, devoted all of her time to hunting witches, but Miriam liked her job, her company. She wasn’t giving that up just because she had a few million dollars to her name. Conspiratorially, she leaned in a bit, a smirk on her face. “Between the two of us, money isn’t really that much of a problem for me. I’m quite certain I can afford to pay for your ‘pigging out’ as it were. Besides,” and Miriam allowed an actual smile, “you’ve done me a great kindness, and kindness should always be rewarded.” 

“I’m sure you’d have managed on your own sooner or later, but I’m glad that I could help avoid the potential humiliation from your assistant,” Winston gave them a slight smile. They got a lot of shit from some of their co-workers. They called them the coffee guy or the kid or whatever and Winston honestly didn’t love it. They didn’t know her but they were always happy to help with a kindred spirit, or a potential kindred spirit. Pausing, Winston shuffled their feet somewhat nervously and swallowed. They never wanted to say no to a free meal. Especially not with the amount that they were planning on spending. “Okay, I really appreciate this and there’s no pressure from me, if you really want to do this then great and if not then please let me know. But I’ll order and then you can tell me if you think it is too much.” They didn’t really give them that much time to reply before smiling. “Hey Cindy,” they said to the girl behind the counter, they were in a few of the same post grad classes together, “please can I have three big boys, can you hold the fries and bun on two of them, then can I get two buckets of chicken, one wings and one popcorn chicken, can I get two beef dripping fried onion rings and can I get some mozarella sticks as well. Thanks.” 

Blinking at the sheer amount of food in the order, Miriam waited a second before she started laughing. “My, it sounds like you’re feeding a pack of ravenous werewolves,” she said, taking the stranger in. Small and kind of lanky, and without that lovely wet dog smell, Miriam couldn’t see the stranger being a werewolf, but appearances could be deceiving. Then again, the kid might just be a stoner. Weed seemed to still be in style in this modern world; plus, Miriam had heard that it was legal to smoke dope, now. Whatever the case, it hardly mattered. She walked up behind them and smiled at the girl at the counter, “And, separately but on the same ticket, I would like a cheeseburger with extra pickles with,” she checked the sticky note where Elle had written her order, “crinkle-cut fries.” The girl rang up the total and Miriam handed over her credit card without a second thought. Knowing it would probably take a while for all of their food to be prepared, Miriam turned to the stranger, still trying to figure out if they were a werewolf or not. Most likely not… Most likely. “So,” she said, “are you throwing a party or simply stocking up on food?”

“Uh, sort of,” Winston was getting food for two but Ricky ate a lot with his weird diet. Being a selkie helped with that. “Obviously not a literal pack of werewolves, because you know, they’re not real.” Winston gave a nervous laugh. “But my roommate is like super into fitness and apparently this is his cheat day so he gave me a big order and asked me to make sure that I got larges of everything. I’ll probably make it through one of the burgers and half of the fries before I fall into the deepest food coma that anyone has ever experienced.” They shrugged. “My roommate will probably clear up most of the rest and if not I’ve got left overs so i don’t have to cook, so I can’t really complain you know.” They smiled gently at their peer before turning to the lady with phone trouble. “I really appreciate you paying for this, if you ever need help with your phone or anything please let me know, I’m actually kinda good with this stuff so if I can’t help I can at least pass you to someone else that can, but any issues let me know, my way of saying thanks.” 

The way that the stranger reacted to werewolves gave Miriam a pause. Interesting. “Oh, no, of course they’re not. A joke, you know.” But the story did make sense. She’d seen how much young men that went to the gym could eat, so, if it really was their roommate’s cheat day, this didn’t seem to be too much of a stretch to get that much food. “Well, your roommate is very lucky to have a friend that will go through all of this trouble to get them something to eat.” At the thought of making another contact in town, someone who actually knew something about technology, Miriam brightened up. “You’re an absolute lifesaver! I’m afraid I just might have to take you up on that offer as well. I’m horribly out of my element with most technology.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse. “Could I have your name and phone number? As a way to contact you should things go awry?”

It didn’t take a genius to know that they shouldn’t have made the joke about Werewolves being not real. Winston should’ve known better but they were still somewhat thrown when something like that happened. Trying to walk the fine line between openly discussing the supernatural and not appearing entirely insane was not exactly something that Winston excelled at. “Oh, obviously, I was joking … too.” Winston swallowed. Is that what they really meant? No. But it wasn’t something that they were about to admit to at this point. They just hoped that this wouldn’t be noticed by her. “I mean, we kind of alternate, and I was working and this is on the way home so it makes sense…” they shrugged, they’d never given it much though. Winston raised an eyebrow at the piece of paper and quickly scribbled their details on it. “If you want, you could give me your name and number and I can then call you and then you can just make a contact for me in your phone and if you ever need anything it’s all in one safe place, y’know?” They paused for a moment. “I’m Winston by the way,” they said flipping the paper over and pointing at their name, “Winston Dane.” 

“Well, it’s still very kind of you to pick up food, and that you both alternate. Not all roommates get along so well.” Not that Miriam would know. She’d never exactly done the “roommate” thing. Unless you counted marriage. She pocketed the piece of paper with WInston’s information on it. “It’s lovely to meet you, WInston. Here, my number is xxx-xxx-xxxx.” She said the numbers slowly, glad that she’d memorized the number. Some might not think it necessary, what with technology making it so easy to just look up your number with the click of a button, but Miriam thought it important to always have her personal information locked up in her head. “And my name is Miriam. Miriam Flemming. Though, most people call me Miri or Mim.”

“I guess, my room mate is a really good guy, I get a really sweet deal and Ricky doesn’t have to give me so sweet of a deal, if that makes sense. But I really appreciate it and we’ve become very good friends which is nice.” Winston wasn’t sure why they were being so open about their living situation but there it was. Winston quickly tapped in their number before pressing call, allowing it to ring three times and hanging up before she could accept the call. Swallowing gently, Winston looked up at her and felt sweat bead around their scalp. Giving her a nervous smile, Winston swallowed and reached up to fiddle with their glasses. “It’s lovely to meet you too … Miriam, is there something you prefer? Like Miri or Mim or is it like Miri and Mim because you don’t really care….?” They were sweating. This was her. This was Miriam. This was the person Nell and Morgan was worried about. Did that mean she knew? She couldn’t know. Only four, maybe five people knew what Winston was but if they weren’t careful that could change.

Miriam wasn’t expecting the sudden nervousness for Winston to go through. She watched perspiration collect around their hairline with her head cocked gently. Perhaps Winston had simply just realized how pretty she was. That did tend to happen, on occasion. Miriam had that kind of effect on people. She gave a gentle smile. “Either is fine darling. Miriam is a bit old-fashioned, though, so I rarely even use it in professional circumstances. Those that I work with just call me Miri or Ms. Flemming. Though, most,” her smile widened a bit as she thought of Morgan, of teasing the other woman both in person and over the internet, “call me Mim. Short, sweet, and to the point, don’t you think?” 

Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston wrestled with a combination of anxiety and existential dread that was settling in their chest. But they were determined to make it out of this. Maybe they could use some of this information to help someone come up with some way of stopping Miriam before she killed again. She seemed nice enough, but Winston knew better. They had been warned. “Sure, Mim it is, I think Ms Flemming might be a bit weird, you’re not my teacher or … anything.” They’d been about to make a sex joke and then they’d remembered three things. She could probably hamstring them with their pinky, she was way hotter then she had any right to be and three she killed witches, wizards and mages for fun. Not Winston’s idea of fun. “You can just call me Winston, people sometimes call me Win … but never Stone…” they frowned unsure why they were diverting to their own name, they needed to get their food and get out of here before they accidentally used magic or something.

Winston was a very nervous creature, Miriam decided, but harmless overall, and very sweet. Those were her favorite kinds of people, sweet and harmless. “Yes, Ms. Flemming would be very strange. I rarely feel old enough to be a Ms.” Much less a Mrs., but she’d been one of those, too. “Mim it is. And I’ll stick with calling you WInston for now. Perhaps we can work our way up to Win?” The nickname seemed to make them uncomfortable. Perhaps public interactions were what made them so nervous. How quaint. Just then, an employee came out of the back with their many bags of food. “Wonderful. Well, Winston Dane. It was so very lovely to meet you, but I have to get this back to my house before I go out for the night. If I need technology help, I’ll certainly be in touch. And I promise to pay handsomely, and not just in food next time.” With a wink, Miriam picked up Elle’s take out, giving WInston a pat on the shoulder as she walked by.

“Which is kind of weird because Ms. is just meant to be a term for someone who is a woman right, like doesn’t matter if you’re married or not, so irrespective of your age it shouldn’t make you feel old. But obviously because no one uses honorifics anymore it does.” Winston realised that once again they were motor mouthing and they decided that they were going to shut the hell up again. “We can try if you want, but honestly I’m not really bothered about what you call me as long as I know that it is addressed to me.” There was a moment of relief as Winston heard someone call out their order and hand over some bags of food. “Thank you for this again, and if you get stuck with the tech just text me or call, you don’t have to pay, if you came down to the police station I would be doing this stuff for free anyway so I wouldn’t charge you.” They weren’t sure why they were telling someone who might well kill them that they should contact them if they ever needed help. 

[writingismyhappytime]

I'm thankful for friends, making new friends, meeting the band in two weeks, and road trips ❤️ hope this works in a magical way as a fic

You squeeze your arms around Chris, a warm, fuzzy feeling settling over your shoulders as you look around the home you’ve made together. It’s perfectly decorated for the holidays, much to his dismay, but it’s important to you to get into the spirit. You want to wake up every day to the smell of gingerbread candles or pumpkin spice, shove your feet into warm slippers and walk into a livingroom prepared for Christmas despite Halloween was two days ago.

“This is going to be such a good year,” you say excitedly, pleased at the Christmas tree looming in the corner of the room, decorated in reds and golds on one side, blacks and silvers on the other --- neither of you could agree on the colors, so you compromised.

Honestly? You kind of like it, it shows both of your personalities, both of your tastes.

“You’re not going to try to get out of meeting my parents this time, right?” You ask after a moment, twitching your eyes up at the tall black-haired man beside you who was looking at his phone rather than at the decorations you’ve been laboring over for days.

“Last time was an accident,” he mumbles defensively; it’s not his fault that there was an emergency band meeting about the album that he sort of planned as a way to get out of meeting your very country-bumpkin parents for the first time. He just knows they’re not going to like him, and you’ve only been dating a year! Isn’t it a little fast to meet the family just yet?

Sure, you might be living together, you have for the last six months, but that’s different! Sure, you might also be in one of his music videos, and on one of his bank accounts just in case there’s an emergency, but --- well, those things had all seemed natural to happen at the time! No rush, no force, not like this whole parents thing.

It makes him uncomfortable.

He’s an adult, technically old enough to be a parent himself now, but that doesn’t make the impending situation any less doom-filled. Maybe he can say one of the band broke their leg and he has to go to the hospital, and make one of them limp around for six months in a cast when you’re around. That seems like a more logical thing to do, actually, maybe Ricky would ---.

“Chris.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop plotting for a way out of this,” you wag your finger firmly at him as you step away, gathering errant tinsel decorating his black livingroom suite. “You can’t bail on me this time, I won’t allow it. I don’t care if someone is dying, you’re meeting my folks.”

Folks.

“Ugh.”

“Do I have too?” He grumbles unhappily, sitting down heavily in the armchair, grimacing as he realizes he’s squishing Rudolph. He’s not near as into the holiday spirit as you are, and it sort of irks him to come home and see all this nonsense hanging around, but you were just so excited to decorate he couldn’t exactly tell you no. He frowns down at the reindeer he holds in his tattooed hands, the bright red nose he has the sudden urge to rip off.

“They’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time, Chris, so yes! We’ve been together over a year now!’

Not quite a year, Chris thinks. He tosses Rudolph away from him, not caring where he lands as he looks at you. “Yes, but we don’t want to rush anything. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind giving us more time before they meet me.”

“Are you afraid of my parents?” You frown at him, garland hanging from your neck as you try to gather your holiday supplies. You have some glitter on you from who knows what, some ornaments are hanging off your fingers by their delicate strings, and under one arm is apparently sticks you can buy to apparently stuff the tree and make it look fuller? He’d never heard of such a thing before. “Is big bad frontman of a metal band afraid of meeting two old people? My mom crochets and my dad runs the local bingo, they’re not exactly feral.”

You look... amused.

Chris face sours. “I am not afraid of meeting them! I just --- well, I don’t know. It just seems soon. Why don’t we wait another year?”

“Why? Do you plan on breaking up with me sometime next year?” You quirk a brow at him curiously, slowly putting your ornaments away. “Is that why you don’t want to meet them?”

“No.” Chris squirms.

“They’re just people, Chris, you meet new ones every day! There’s nothing different and nothing to be worried about,” you sound exasperated, struggling too get the tinsel off of you and into the designated box.

“But it’s different,” he replies, getting to his feet to help you. He lifts the tinsel off of you, tossing it into the box already overflowing with decor. "It's your people."

"They're going to like you," you say, brushing at your ugly, obnoxious cat sweater. He swears you've pulled out a box that has a sweater for every single day until the holiday, and now you're talking about making him wear some! He does have a reputation to uphold! Although, it would be a funny card to send out, both of you wearing horrid looking sweaters.

Actually, that would be cute, he's not quite so opposed now.

"Are you sure they're not going to think I'm the devil luring their little girl to the dark side?"

You roll your eyes. "No. If anything, I think I'm more devious than you are, you just look the part. Don't let my cat sweater fool you, Mr. Cerulli, I'm quite the devil myself."

"Oh really? Chris chuckles, feeling your arms curling tightly around his waist again as you snuggle into him. He holds you, giving you a light squeeze as he presses his lips into your hair.

Yeah, still doesn't want to meet your parents.

Still will try to find a way out of it.

Just won't mention that detail to you.

"Oh, and when we sit down at Thanksgiving, we have this tradition of going around the table saying what we're thankful for because we really are that basic, but you're going to have to play long. Say something cheesy, my mom will love that," you say, your voice muffled by his shirt. "It doesn't matter if you really mean it or not, but that'll make them like you more. Which I also don't think you have anything to worry about. My mom keeps telling everyone she slept with a member of Motley Crue back in the day, so I don't know how true that is or not, but be prepared for that story since she knows you're in a band."

Chris chuckles, his lips curving. "Sleeping with the band runs in the family, huh?"

"You could say that." You reply, shrugging your shoulders. You nudge him until he's taking a few steps back, falling back into the armchair still warm from his occupation earlier. You sit down in his lap, curling your cold toes against his leg as you snuggle into him, his warm arms keeping you against him. "Do you want to practice what you're thankful for?"

"Not really."

"Oh, come on," you shuffle a little, letting your head rest against his black-clad shoulder. "Humor me."

Hmph.

"I'm thankful for --- you being my girlfriend. Baking lots of cookies, making it smell girly as fuck in here at all times." Chris glances dubiously at all the lit candles.

"Well, there's a start," you bite your lower lip, cheeks pinkening. He started off so well.

"I'm thankful for --- all that we have together," you say after a moment. "Our apartment, the things we do together."

Oh, are you going back and forth now? Crap, what else can he be thankful for?

"Uhh --- I'm thankful for... um... I don't know." he grimaces. This is a lot harder than expected. What is he thankful for? He tries to think, but his mind is just completely blank.

"Well, I'll go again. I'm thankful for friends, making new friends," you chew your lip thoughtfully. "Meeting the band in two weeks." You haven't met any of them, not because you don't want too, your life is just busy and they're his work buddies, you don't think it's important to meet them until he wants you too --- turns out now he does, which made you so happy to know he wants you more involved in his life! "And road trips."

"Road trips?"

"Yep. We're taking one next year, remember? You might have got to see all fifty states, but I'm still lacking seven of them! I need to finish my tshirt collection."

Oh god.

Chris forgot about that.

"I can always buy you one when I go through the state."

"It's not the same! I want to see it for myself. You did promise me, remember?" You boop his nose lightly with your finger, amused when his pale cheeks turn bright pink. "I want us to go together for the experience. It'll be fun. You can take a week off work, and we can just spend it together."

Ahuh.

"Like... are we driving or flying?"

"Well, we can rent an RV, really spend some close time together," you say, pretending to be thoughtful and not ignore his horrified look. "You remember that movie with Robin Williams? It'll kind of be an adventure like that! It'll be fun!"

Absolutely not.

Chris has not sunk that low!

"Doesn't he get run over by the RV?"

"I'm sure you'll be fine, honey." you pat his shoulder reassuringly.

Chris sighs.

Sure he will.

"You know what else I'm thankful for?" You say after a moment, snuggled in his lap in your warm sweater, his arms keeping away the chill of the room. You love little, simple moments like this when it's just the two of you, when it's quiet and peaceful, all you're missing is the crackling of an open fire.

"What's that?"

"You." You press a soft kiss against his chin, smiling. "Putting up with me and my holiday obsession, letting me decorate this space and tease you about RV's but going along with it anyway. I love you, and you're important to me, I'm so thankful that I met you and that we've been able to spend all this time together."

Chris blinks, his cheeks a nice rosy hue as he absorbs your words.

"How am I supposed to top that?" He mumbles, and you smile warmly at him, snuggling close again.

"You're not supposed too, so long as you feel the same."

His arms around you tighten. "I definitely feel the same."

He gives it a moment, then, "But were you serious about the RV thing? Because we can seriously just fly to whatever state you want to start in and rent a car or something."

"Well, I'll guess we'll find out next year when we start planning for our trip, won't we?" You say lightly, drawing circles with your fingertips along the lines of his dark shirt. "After you meet my parents."

He frowns.

Why do you have to keep reminding him about that?

[rndyounghowze]

Second Helpings: Hairspray Edition

By Ricky Young-Howze

Sometimes a show is so good or there is so much to talk about that I can't fit it in one review. In a review there is only so much space and often I have to make tough decisions about what's staying in and what doesn't get included. It's been eating me up so much that Dana and I had to create a whole new series called Second Helpings. It's a series where we get to delve into all of the things, people, and ideas that couldn't make the review.

First let's talk about some lovely young performers! When I'm writing a review I usually only have space to talk about the great work of ten or so actors that just wowed me or stuck with me in some way. It doesn't mean that anyone else wasn't doing well it means that there wasn't room for everyone to get a mention. So that means that some very great young performers get left out of the mix and it eats me up every time! So let's start talking about them now!

In the "Welcome to the 60's" number we see the wonderful Dynamos, a Supremes style girl group filled with powerful voices! These three gorgeous young women were played by Mara Platt, Kayla Muniz, and Sunrose Rousnee. Mara is a veteran voice on the Absegami stage and you are very familiar with her great vocals. You can pick her voice out of the crowd anywhere she is.

But if you zoom in you also see Sunrose and Kayla: two ladies who I think are getting showcased for the first time! Where have these ladies been!?! I definitely want to see more of them in the future especially taking center stage and showing off those pipes!

With Corny Collins (played by Connor Morrissey) I swear he not only got taller over the summer but way more confident! I've seen him all over the Gami stage but I don't think I've seen him more calm and sure of his lines with such a great energy. Keep it up kid!

Velma von Tussle (played by Andrea Brandt) was in the perfect role for her vocal talents and her energy. When you're playing a villian we have to have enough faith in you to hate you. It sounds crazy but it's true. And boy did she deliver! And in a wig that made her about three feet taller.

Amber Von Tussle (played by Samantha Garofolo) was such a sleeper hit! It's very hard when you have all these outlandish characters and brilliant performers to truly appreciate the artistry it takes to be such a little guttersnipe. But she certainly delivered all the way! A wonderful performance!

I have definitely seen Elliot Neumann on the Oakcrest stage before but correct me if I'm wrong in saying that this was my first time hearing him have lines as Gilbert! Great job buddy and keep up the good work!

This is the one that killed me the most. I kept trying to find ways to squeeze Wilbur Turnblad (played by Dakota Palumbo) into the review especially since I was able to fit the other two Turnblads in. I really admired his energy and grace in the "Timeless to Me" number. It takes a lot of talent to match the crazy energy of a guy in drag who is playing your wife and he did it! By Jove he did it! I was so proud of him!

And now let's wrap up with a little behind the scenes moment. A lot of times in my blog you'll see me say that something "prints" in my head. That's a Ricky-speak for that feeling when you're so in tune with what the actor, performers, designers, directors, etc are doing that it's as if they are permanently chiseled into the stone tablets of your memory.

Think about any scene from a play or musical you saw when you were a child and try to describe it to someone you know. Whatever details and moments that you've taken with you this far in your life are what has "printed" for you. When I'm writing a review one of the two or three things I'm trying to do is describe what printed in my mind, why they did, why it's important that it did. And I only have a short time to do it in. I'm usually writing the review as the show is going on so that you get the most detail.

On the rare occasions like this past review I have to take extra time it's because I have to sleep on it and go with what stayed in my head the morning after. That concept is one of the core pillars that keep people coming to the theatre to watch because a show first did it to them and they want to add more.

I encourage you to start thinking about that in the next show you see and start wondering why something printed or not. And if you can tell someone else why it did in an interesting way then you're halfway on your way to being a reviewer!

What was the first show that printed in your head?

All my photos were lovingly stolen from Chip Garrison or Kim Tunney. No harm intended.

[okimargarvez]

REUNION

Original title: Reunion.

Prompt: Luke and Phil, with their girls, go to the Reunion of comrades.

Warning: O.C.

Genre: comic, comedy, friendship, romantic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Phil Brooks, O.C.

Pairing: Garvez, PhilxO.C.

Note: oneshot, part 40 of Garvez canon Life.

Legend: 💑😘🎈.

Song mentioned: None.

GARVEZ STORIES

Hey, in this story you'll finally met Phil’ girfriend, Samantha. I thought she is played by Amanda Righetti, because I loved her in The Mentalis as Grace Van Pelt. She will appear also in another pieces of this collection.

REUNION

 -Hey, hey, look who's standing almost alone!- Luke lets go of Penelope's hand to walk towards his best friend, who shakes his head, amused.

-Bro, you have to thank the crutches and the presence of these two ladies, otherwise I'd show you who needs help to stand upright.- he answers with the same tone, before they give a brief hug. The two women silently laugh, each one from their position.

-I love you too.- the Latin gives him a pat on the back, not too strong.

Shocked by chills of cold, the redhead decides to break the atmosphere. -Guys, may we come in?- she hides her hands in her coat pockets. Phil reaches her at the entrance to the club.

-Yes, I'm anxious to hear some embarrassing anecdote about you.- says Penelope, a mischievous grimace on her lips, the fire burning in her eyes.

-Uh, so did you come here just for that reason?- he asks her only to provoke her. Phil and Samantha rotate their eyes in perfect sync, then burst out laughing.

-It seems obvious to me.- she says, before leaning towards him, who does the same thing, and getting lost in his mouth. Phil looks at his girlfriend, who spreads her arms.

-Buddy, Samantha and I, we are entering. You do as you please.- two thumbs up indicate that they have heard it, but they continue to kiss passionately.

-It looks like they've just started dating!- says the redhead, keeping the door open for Phil. -But how do they do it?- but he doesn’t have an answer. Shortly after they are joined by lovebirds.

-I... maybe...- Penelope seems suddenly uncertain, less sure of herself. -... yes, I think it's better than I’m going to the bathroom.- but Luke grabs her by the edge of her coat.

-Oh no, now you're staying here.- he presses her against his chest. -It's a week that you make fun of me about this evening, I will not let you escape because suddenly you feel that you aren't as the other wives and girlfriends.- he whispers, in a low voice, making her shiver.

-I hate profiler.- she answers, in a groan. Then they come off, just in time, because a blond man, with short hair and light eyes, approaches them. He holds her by the side, moving his fingers imperceptibly.

-Hey, but look who is here!- they shake hands. -Alvez! How are you doing?- he asks.

-Good, Edwards.- he replies. -This is my fiancee, Penelope.- she smiles at him and greets him with her free hand. -We both work for BAU.- he exclaims proudly.

-Wow, you have made strides.- he seems amazed, and he is actually, but to see him with a woman. -Instead, I moved to the navy. I saw beautiful places, of course, in horrible conditions...- the eyes wander behind them. -...hey, but is that Brooks? Why does he bring crutches?- Luke feels his tongue paralyzed.

-It was about five or six years ago, during a mission, when Luke was part of the fugitive team. It was during the Crimson King' mission, Daniel Cullen.- she explains in his place.

-Oh, damn it.- Edwards raises an eyebrow. -I'm going to say hello, we'll see you later.- they both nod, then he lets a sigh go.

-Hey, baby, thank you.- he strokes her cheek. -You were not required to speak in my place. By now I should be over it, do not you think?- she shakes her head.

-Is there an expiration date, for traumas, like on a yogurt?- she asks him ironically. -And there is no problem. It didn't weigh me, doing it.- she says firmly. -Hey, there's a man who's doing everything to get your attention.- he's bald, with two broad shoulders and a hard face.

Luke looks in that direction. -I can't believe it!- he walks towards the man. -Richard Pawloski?- he asks, uncertain. The other's face melts into a smile.

-Luke Alvez.- he gives him a pat. -I don’t see why you should be so surprised to see me slightly balding, when you're holding hands with a beautiful blonde...- he turns to her. -I’m Richard.- he says with a gallant tone.

-Penelope.- she says, with a smile.

-I'm being indiscreet, but how long have you been together?- he asks.

-Almost two years.- Luke answers first. Richard whistles to express his amazement.

-However! I would say that we lost the bet.- seeing the uncertainty of Penelope, he hurries to explain. -You have to know, darling, that Luke was constantly being teased because he never allowed himself a story, a fling... neither with women, nor with men.- he wants to specify. -It seemed that he didn’t care about sex, but I see you've changed your mind...- he winks.

-Yes, Ricky.- he tries not to sound too exasperated.

-I'm happy for you.- he finally says sincerely. So he pulls something out of his pocket. -Hey, Penelope, if things go wrong... this is my number.- and hands it to her. -Call me!- he says before saying goodbye. Penelope looks at the note in disbelief.

-But has he really flirt with me?- she asks perhaps more to herself than Luke.

-He flirts with all the women.- he answers. -And usually, he reaches the goal.- he seems a little annoyed. -Don't think about his physical appearance... the girls all fell on his feet.-

 -So, girls, what are your thoughts about the evening?- Phil asks, sitting in the passenger seat.

-Mah, I'm disappointed.- the blonde responds first. -I haven’t discovered anything new about you.- Samantha bites her lips, undecided, finally, explodes.

-Are you sure you can handle the blow?- she asks. -I know the real bomb of the century.- she announces.

-Sammie, you scare me.- she answers.

-And you should be.- she says. -Ready?- she waits for her to nod. -Ok. Phil had a crush on you.- she says, going straight to the point. She has always been a direct girl.

-Samantha!- her boyfriend scolds her, turning to the women. She shrugs.

-What???- Penelope seems really in shock. -Are you joking?- she asks her, but the other shakes her head. -Luke, did you know?- a suspect makes its way into her mind.

-Crash and burn.- says the driver.

She looks at them one by one. -Everybody knew about this except me?- silence embarrassed.

-Sorry, Penelope, when you two came to me that day, I immediately thought you were very pretty and interesting.- Phil feels the need to justify himself. -I did introduce Lisa and Luke and I tormented him for months, but he always ignored me.- he concludes.

-Now different things make sense.- meditates the blonde.

-Are you angry?- Luke asks, looking for her eyes in the rearview mirror.

-I don’t know. It's all like that... wow.- she shakes her head.

-I warned you it was a bomb.- reiterates Samantha. -What's there, what did I say?-

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee​  @arses21434 @kathy5654 @martinab26 @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @thinitta   @myhollyhanna23 @garvezz @mercedes-maldonado  @shyladystudentfan

[punk-rock-pixie]

1-100

I need to be careful what I ask for lmao

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora?

Spotify

is your room messy or clean?

It’s messy rn just cuz I was looking for something

what color are your eyes?

Hazel

do you like your name? why?

Yeah. Picked it myself.

what is your relationship status?

single

describe your personality in 3 words or less

Really McFuckin Gay

what color hair do you have?

Black and blue

what kind of car do you drive? color?

Grey chevy cruz

where do you shop?

I’m a slut for Barns and Noble lately. Dropped $60 on classic ghost stories, Norse Mythology, and a Deathly Hallows journal. I’ve dropped over $100 literally in the last two months on books. I don’t work anymore though so that won’t be a thing anymore

how would you describe your style?

Sad college kid chic 

favorite social media account

Youtube

what size bed do you have?

Queen

any siblings?

One older sister.

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

The Nordic region. They’ve been doing so much right in terms of education and gender equality. 

favorite snapchat filter?

The anime one

favorite makeup brand(s)

NYX, E.L.F. and Bare Essentials

how many times a week do you shower?

I shower every other day, but I wash my hair like every 3-4 days to keep the color in.

favorite tv show?

Currently, really love trollhunters. 

shoe size?

Like a 7 in mens or something

how tall are you?

5′6.5″ The half is so important to me because I’ve hardly grown since 2012 

sandals or sneakers?

Trick question- no shoes at all. Our feet get hurt like men.

do you go to the gym?

Rarely, but yes.

describe your dream date

Dear god. Almost any date I’d be okay with. Coffee? Sign me the fuck up. Hang around a park/go on a walk? Lemme get my heckin sneakers. Cryptid hunting in the wee hours of the night? You just won my heckin heart buddy.  

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

Like $30-$40 I think????

what color socks are you wearing?

None sock

how many pillows do you sleep with?

Too many for my own good.

do you have a job? what do you do?

Not anymore :)))) There weren’t enough hours.

how many friends do you have?

How many friends? Many. How many close ones? Like 3-4

whats the worst thing you have ever done?

Something I’d rather not say.

whats your favorite candle scent?

Lavender always but peppercorn and pumpkin are the ones I’ve been using lately.

3 favorite boy names

Marshal

Ethan (NOT BECAUSE OF NESTOR)

Quinn

3 favorite girl names

Rose

Sadona

Rickie 

favorite actor?

Always and forever Chris Evans, but also Hugh Jackman found his way back to my heart recently. The Rock, Ramin Karimloo, Sean Gunn, Michael Rooker

favorite actress?

Zoe Saldana, Zendaya, Melissa McCarthy, Allison Janney, Julie Andrews, Maryl Streep.

who is your celebrity crush?

See above two questions, but mainly Hugh Jackman, Chris Evans, and Zendaya

favorite movie?

If you couldn’t tell, I’m hyperfixating on Greatest Showman, but also Book of Life, Monster in Paris, 1937 Phantom of the Opera

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book?

My favorite book is Dracula currently, but I also love Dodie Clark’s “secrets for the mad”, most of Shakespeare’s plays and Edgar Alan Poe’s works

money or brains?

Brains. 

do you have a nickname? what is it?

I have way to many dude.

how many times have you been to the hospital?

Like 7-8 I think???

top 10 favorite songs

In no order:

-I’m counting all of greatest showman as one

-Cat Stevens: Father and Son

-Raspberries: Go all the way

-Silver: Wham Bam Shang a Lang

-Babeo Baggins: Thunder Bird

-Dodie Clark: You

-Beatles: Wanna Hold Your Hand

-Vanessa Paradis and Sean Lennon: La Seine 

-Dear Evan Hansen: For Forever

-Karen O: Moon Song

do you take any medications daily?

No but I should probably get back on them.

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

Normal to oily

what is your biggest fear?

Abandonment :) Also I have claustrophobia

how many kids do you want?

I mean if we’re talking baby goats, as many as I can afford.

whats your go to hair style?

I kinda just brush my hair back and hope for the best

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc)

It’s not a mansion, but it’s pretty big

who is your role model?

@thatsthat24

what was the last compliment you received?

From @mild-soapog something about how I deserve a wholesome life and honestly I just love Elle???

what was the last text you sent?

“Hey, how are you feeling?” to a former coworker

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

I grew up Jewish so I never really thought it.

what is your dream car?

I don’t really care tbh. I’m pretty happy with the one I have.

opinion on smoking?

You do you just not around me cuz I will cough like a mad man.

do you go to college?

Soon

what is your dream job?

Professional film or stage actor or singer/guitarist in a band

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs?

suburbs

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels?

Nope. I’m a good noodle.

do you have freckles?

Several

do you smile for pictures?

Yes, but only after make a bunch of stupid faces

how many pictures do you have on your phone?

659

have you ever peed in the woods?

Yes and uh 4/5 would not recommend 

do you still watch cartoons?

Yup

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?

Neither.

Favorite dipping sauce?

hek dude idk 

what do you wear to bed?

Usually like a tank top and underwear. if it’s super cold I’ll wear sweats too

have you ever won a spelling bee?

Have I ever even competed in one????

what are your hobbies?

Guitar, singing, ukulele, drawing, writing poetry

can you draw?

I’d say so

do you play an instrument?

Check hobbies with the addition of bass guitar

what was the last concert you saw?

I think it was a Beatles tribute band???

tea or coffee?

Both

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

Starbucks

do you want to get married?

Honestly, first let me find someone local that will love me for more than 4 months

what is your crush’s first and last initial?

HJ, EJ, EN. 

are you going to change your last name when you get married?

You mean… IF I get married

what color looks best on you?

Blacks and purples

do you miss anyone right now?

Several people

do you sleep with your door open or closed?

usually closed

do you believe in ghosts?

Yes and no???

what is your biggest pet peeve?

chewing with your mouth open, snoring, pen clicking, leg jiggling (if it’s in my peripheral vision)

last person you called

My crush actually. He and I are friends and I asked if we wanted me to hang with him after school since he had to stay up until I had my callback scheduled

favorite ice cream flavor?

Chocolate chip cookie dough and cookies and cream

regular oreos or golden oreos?

What the shit are golden oreos

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?

Rainbow cuz I’m queer

what shirt are you wearing?

 A black tank top

what is your phone background?

a greatest showman wallpaper

are you outgoing or shy?

it depends on the situation

do you like it when people play with your hair?

Yes but ONLY IF THEY ASK BEFORE HAND.

do you like your neighbors?

I don’t even know my neighbors

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

Both

have you ever been high?

nope

have you ever been 

Nope

last thing you ate?

Like half a pizza

favorite lyrics right now?

Idk my favorite currently, but these are the ones that keep circling my head

“When the world becomes a fantasyAnd you’re more than you could ever be‘Cause you’re dreaming with your eyes wide openAnd you know you can’t go back againTo the world that you were living in'Cause you’re dreaming with your eyes wide open

So Come alive”

summer or winter?

Winter

day or night?

Night

dark, milk, or white chocolate?

All????

favorite month?

October-November

what is your zodiac sign

Scorpio

who was the last person you cried in front of?

Honestly, I have no fuckin clue lmaooooo

[sending-the-message]

In The City Of Meatbot-Powered Killers (part 8) by molotok_c_518

Table of Contents

Part 7

(WARNING: Due to the graphic nature of this series, reader discretion is strongly advised. Contains cannibalism, strong language, violence, and a mention of suicide.)

A bit of dark web wizardry to fill in the gaps...

Video footage from a Reaper drone, designated RB-4, on station over [REDACTED]:

A Chinook twin-rotor cargo helicopter comes in from the south, towing a huge crate underneath, roughly the size of an industrail AC unit. After some fancy piloting, it manages to set down the crate with minimal swinging. The sides drop, revealing a pile of beef sides, enough meat to start a Texas-style barbecue for 1000 guests, give or take.

Immediately, a swarm of little stick figures, like ants at a picnic, converge on the beef. They nearly trample the small know of people at the site that have been eating each other for the past several days.

The frenzy goes on for about a half hour.

Suddenly, the focus of the video shifts upwards, to an incoming A-10. It comes in low and slow, and drops...something... from underneath.

RB-4 tracks the dropped item... a canister? a bomb?... all the way to the pile of beef and bot-ridden.

Just before it would hit, it explodes, throwing fire in every direction. The little bug-people right underneath are incinerated immediately; others take longer.

Like the downtown attack, some of the infested run like hell away from the flames; many, many more run towards them, throwing themselves on the pyre, in defiance of survival instinct.

RB-4: God... damn... that's gonna need some serious brain-bleach to scrub that shit away. Good hit, sir.

A-10 Pilot MAJ {Brown}, call sign "Anvil": Roger, RB-4.Feels fucked-up to be dropping on US civvies.

RB-4: They ain't exactly human anymore, sir. Some Ebola shit or something.

Anvil: So I heard. Do you actually believe the White House on that?

At that moment, a burning man breaks loose and begins running towards a long, two-story building in the background.

RB-4: It may not be Ebola, but... we Chair Force guys have seen some serious shit, sir. One of my buddies just checked out... ate his sidearm.

Anvil: Fuck... condolences.

RB-4: Thank you, s... whoa!

The burning man reaches the building. He slams his fists against a door, and the whole top of the building explodes.

Anvil: Shit! Shit! Shit! We were supposed to be careful not to hit that complex!

RB-4: The explosion was from inside, sir. Glass all blasted outwards.

Anvil: Gas leak? Triggered by the burning idiot?

RB-4: Unknown, sir. I will say it doesn't look like anything you could have anticipated.

Anvil: ...fuck.

RB-4: Hope you brought marshmallows, sir,

We ran.

The double doors opened on a wider tunnel, brightly lit, that ran for 1000 feet, terminating in another set of doors. It was deserted.

Halfway down the tunnel, my email reached the phones. The whole tunnel shook like Richter's best wet dream, and we were thrown to the tunnel floor.

"I... I think I overdid it," I muttered.

We got back to our feet and ran for it again.

{Jane} was a bit faster than me. As a result, she hit the doors a few steps ahead of me, and got ambushed by the four infested on the other side.

She yelled as she was dragged to the floor, but managed to get the machete into the head of the first one as she fought. It jumped back screaming.

I got there a few seconds later, and slammed the axe into the head of another one, throwing it back into a wall. Another swing removed the top of a third one's skull.

This gave {Jane} enough room to slam the last one into the first one, and the two went down in a tangle of limbs and a spray of meatbots from the head wound of the first infested.

The second one had recovered enough to come charging at me. I swung upwards, taking it in the gut with the poll of the axe and putting that spike right into its ribs. Intestines unraveled and spilled on the ground; the last infested jumped on them and began to devour them while the badly wounded one tried to shove him off.

"C'mon!" I said, grabbing {Jane}'s arm and dragging her to her feet, then propelling her to our right, and another tunnel.

The lights had flickered a few times as we fought. Now that we were free, they threatened to go out as we escaped.

Another infested came out of an alcove to our right. {Jane} took it high, lopping its head off with one clean stroke.

"A little further up, we take a left," she panted. "It will take us across campus."

"Are you hurt at all?"

"No. Looks like they couldn't get a grip or bite on me."

"Okay. If you are, let me know... I brought some more anti-bots with me."

She stopped. "Wait... you have more of those things?!? And you're willing to actually use them on us?"

"Well... yeah. I mean, that's how I recovered you in the first place, and kept myself from getting infested when you attacked me."

{Jane} grabbed me by the lapels and slammed me into the wall. "DO NOT PUT THOSE THINGS IN ME," she growled. "If I get ridden again, just burn me."

"Okay, okay," I whispered. "I get it."

I didn't, really. I also didn't mention that she might still have some dormant counter-bots in her system.

See, the actual programming called for a short "maintenance" period, where several classes of 'bot would go into "sleep mode," as it were, awaiting the chemical trigger to awaken (wounds, cancer, etc.). After a while, they would run out of fuel, deactivate entirely, and get flushed.

Sometimes, ignorance is the best policy.

We set off again, taking that left and charging into increasingly more dimly-lit sections of tunnel. We got hit a few more times, but it seemed like they had all gone above-ground and joined the cannibal bonfire.

Then a familiar smell hit me: raw meat, unwashed bodies, spoiled flesh, blood, cake frosting.

"Stop," I said.

{Jane} looked at me funny. "What?"

"There's an orgy of infested ahead."

I could hear it now, too: That squishy, slithering, chewing sound.

"Is there a way out of these tunnels and back to the surface from here?"

"Just around that corner ahead of us. Probably through the orgy."

"Backtrack?"

"We'll be out in the open, visible to any recon drones, for about a half mile."

"Fuck."

"We can take them," {Jane} said confidently. She swung the machete like a pro now.

"No. We try to get around them. A few, we can deal with... more than 20 or 30, and we could end up like them."

{Jane} looked me in the eye: a hard stare, more than a little bit homicidal. "Maybe I should push you in. Serve you right for making them like that."

"I thought we were past this."

"...wait..."

"...what?"

The sounds had stopped.

"Uh-oh."

"Run through them," {Jane} mumbled, swinging the machete.

"Wait..."

"NOW."

And she charged.

"Fuck." I hefted the axe and followed.

Around the corner was a knot of infested, slowly disentangling themselves from each other as they heard {Jane} running around the outskirts of them. She was swinging at limbs that reached out to her, lopping them off, as other hands reached out to grab the newly liberated snacks.

I followed at a bit of a distance (I deemed it unsafe to get that close to an angry woman with a big knife), kicking severed hands into the pile, swinging at any arms that got too close.

One hand reached out and grabbed her pants leg, and she went down hard. I chopped into its wrist, and the hand flew across the tunnel into the wall, tangling in a small nest of cables.

I ran past, grabbing her by the collar and hauling her up. She limped on, and I supported her weight as we passed the feeding frenzy.

"To our right. Up those stairs. I think it's the chem building."

"I thought we were going to the dorms."

"No. Mall."

We slammed through a door. The stairwell beyond was empty and dark, and utterly silent once the echoes of our abrupt entrance faded.

I lugged her up the stairs. She weighed a bit more than she had when I rescued her, but I felt it was wise not to mention that.

"Why are we going back to the mall?"

"Food. Shelter. Real clothes." She gestured at the mish-mash of men's clothes I had scrounged up for her. "Hair dye, so I can go blonde again and hide the grey."

"What grey?"

"Plus, we have a plausible story to tell the Army if they roll through asking survivors how they kept from getting infested: 'We locked ourselves in the mall and stayed put.'"

"You know that most of them will have seen Dawn of the Dead, so they'll know it's reasonable..."

"Right."

"I just came from the mall, though. Locked myself in there after Bobby and his wife got taken in."

"You mean Ricky."

"No, Kentucky Bobby."

"It was Ricky. Bobby was the one that was always in the bathroom."

"Really?"

"Are we going to the mall or not."

"Car."

"There's a lot full of them."

"No keys."

"I can hotwire one. My ex taught me. It's apparently a big thing in Russia to know how to steal a car."

"I've never heard that."

"You have now."

I sighed. "Let's go, then. I duct-taped a latch on the south side. We can get in there. Also, we should snag an electric or hybrid. Quieter. Won't draw as many."

"Let's roll."

She seemed a little better on her feet as we climbed the stairs to the first floor and went out into the bright, late-summer sunshine. I didn't comment on it, figuring she'd put it down to just twisting her ankle.

Outside, the way was clear, right up to the cars in the parking lot. A good half-mile walk.

Right out in plain view of any drones or satellite coverage.

"They'll see us if we go out there," I said.

"They'll be distracted by that," she said, pointing back at a pair of thick columns of black smoke.

"Good point."

RB-4: This is RB-4 to RQZ Six.

RQZ: This is Six, go ahead.

RB-4: Sir, it appears that our target has been heavily compromised. Seems that there was some kind of gas leak at objective 2, and it... well, it exploded. Sir.

RQZ: Can you confirm casualties from up there?

RB-4: Negative, sir.

RQZ: I would hate to have lost our best chance at curing this damned thing.

RB-4: Is it that bad, sir?

RQZ: Officially, it's contained.

RB-4: ...officially, sir?

RQZ: Unofficially, we may have a few isolated cases in an outlying suburb.

911 (dispatcher, just outside [REDACTED]): 911, what's your emergency?

Man: Help, my wife's gone fuckin' bonkers!

911: Where are you?

Man: I'm in my house, at [ADDRESS]. My wife brought home a stray dog, nice animal, collar and everything... it bit her, and she started... well, eating everything (BANG BANG BANG in the background) in the house.

Woman: LET ME IN, JERRY. I JUST WANT TO TALK!

Man: You already stabbed me with a fork, Ethyl, I'm not falling for it.

911: Officers en route, sir, stay on the line.

BANG BANG BANG

Woman: JUST OPEN THE DOOR, JERRY, WE CAN WORK THIS OUT.

Man: You've got rabies or something... I'm just getting you an ambulance.

Woman: I DON'T NEED A FUCKING AMBULANCE! YOU WILL IF YOU DON'T OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!!

911: Where is the dog now?

Man: She ate it.

911: I... see. Hold for a moment, please.

Man: Wait...

bang bang bang

Woman: Honey, I'm sorry. Just come out and we can have a nice dinner.

CRASH!

Man: Fuck, Ethyl, how did you... AHHHHH!!! THAT FUCKING HURT!!!

The car we managed to snag was a Honda hybrid. Silent as the grave. {Jane} drove.

We went out the north entrance of the campus. Along the way, we saw sporadic knots of infested laying very still, with only a cursory glance at us as we drove by.

"Probably almost starved to death," {Jane} muttered.

"Yeah," I said.

"So you're just... letting the Army kill them all?"

This again.

"Yes. Better that than put the nanobots in the hands of anyone else."

"And you're okay with that?"

"No. I'm not. It hurts that I can't cure them. It would take more than I believe we have to cure them all. Plus, they did... things. We've seen them burn themselves to death rather than run from the fire. It's a good probability that most of these people would prefer to die."

{Jane} navigated to the entrance of [REDACTED] Mall and drove to the back side, where I had taped the door open.

She shut off the car, and stared out the window for a moment.

"I still need to figure you out. I'm not sure I totally trust you."

"Okay..."

"I know these... things... can affect the brain. They made me okay with killing and eating people. How do I know that you didn't program them to make me follow and obey you?"

"I wouldn't... couldn't... do that. How about, I take one end of the mall, you take the other..."

"Okay."

"If we stick together, we can get out of this. It's entirely up to you."

"Okay."

"Go think on it. Get real clothes. Get whatever food you want. I'll be in the electronics store."

An hour later, and I'm hiding in a mall bathroom with a fire axe. Again.

One last step, and we can be free of [REDACTED], out of the quarantine zone, and on our way.

[flauntpage]

The Ben Simmons vs. Donovan Mitchell Debate Is Interesting, but Ultimately Pointless

If I had to go out on a limb, I’d say that Ben Simmons is the Rookie of the Year front-runner in Philadelphia while Salt Lake City is leaning toward Donovan Mitchell.

Both fan bases seem totally baffled by the idea that their opinions could ever be disputed, but I think we know that Sixer fans didn’t watch many Jazz games and Jazz fans, like Mitt Romney, probably didn’t watch a lot of Sixer games.

So we could defer to the opinions of national people, but how much attention do you think a guy like Reggie Miller or Kevin McHale really paid to both players over the course of a full season?

This whole thing is ultimately a wash, in my mind, because Ben Simmons and Donovan Mitchell are COMPLETELY DIFFERENT players. Simmons is a 6’10” converted point guard with a pass-first mentality who plays in an up-tempo and mobile system. Mitchell is a stone cold killer, the leading scorer on a top-five Western Conference playoff team.

That’s why the raw statistics are ultimately useless when you add a bit of context, but we’re gonna go down that rabbit hole anyway for the sake of the article, so here’s how these guys stack up against each other:

The nice thing about Simmons and Mitchell is that they both averaged very similar minutes this season – 33.4 per game for Mitchell and 33.7 for Simmons. Per-game numbers are going to look almost exactly the same as per-36 extrapolations.

Ben is obviously averaging more rebounds and more assists and shoots at a higher percentage because he rarely tries anything outside of the paint. Mitchell was a 43.7% shooter in the regular season and hit at 34% from three, averaging 10.2 two-point attempts per game and 7 from deep. Simmons didn’t shoot three pointers and his free-throw percentage was very poor compared to Mitchell’s. As a primary ball handler, Ben turned the ball over more frequently, but his assist-to-turnover ratio was, obviously, significantly higher.

On the other end, Simmons averaged more blocks and steals and finished with a 102 defensive rating. Mitchell logged a 105. Ben’s offensive rating was also better, with a 111 compared to Mitchell’s 103.

A big reason for that discrepancy is because Mitchell just requires more shots to hit his averages. He needed 17.2 average field goal attempts and 3.8 free throw attempts to average 20.5 points. Simmons needed 12.3 field goal tries and 2.4 foul shots to average 15.8 points, and that was without even trying three pointers. So even though Mitchell is more of a pure scorer, his efficiency is lacking, which is why the advanced stats like true shooting percentage, effective field goal percentage, and player efficiency rating all favor Simmons:

Among qualified shooting guards, Mitchell only had the 17th-best field goal percentage, finishing below guys like Buddy Hield, Courtney Lee, and Evan Fournier.

For comparison, look at a guy like Klay Thompson, who played 0.9 more minutes than Mitchell, shot the same amount of three pointers, and averaged almost the same exact point total, but did it with one less field goal attempt and 2.5 fewer free throws per game:

There was a little bit of Allen Iverson to Mitchell’s situation, where Utah was fine with him putting up 17+ shots per game. He had a 29% usage rate on that team, which is wild for a rookie. Simmons was a facilitator and involved a lot of his teammates while Utah needed Mitchell to be the primary scorer. Even though Simmons always had the ball in his hands, he wasn’t asked to carry the late-game scoring burden in the same way Mitchell was.

That sort of leads us into the whole issue of who played on the better team. Was one guy surrounded by better players?

I don’t think so.

Utah was missing Rudy Gobert early, struggled for a bit, then Mitchell found his feet and they went on a tear, putting together win streaks of 11 and 9 to finish 48-34 in what was probably the tougher conference. Philly similarly struggled out of the gates, going 14-18 through the hardest part of their schedule, then transformed into a different team after the All-Star break and finished by winning 16 in a row.

In a vacuum, both teams have elite defensive anchors in Gobert and Joel Embiid, both of whom are top-ten NBA centers. Gobert doesn’t have Embiid’s offensive chops, but he finished the season strong and is now averaging a playoff double-double. Both teams played chunks of the season without their big men, and both Mitchell and Simmons continued to perform at a high level without those guys on the floor.

Ricky Rubio isn’t an elite point guard and never has been. Joe Ingles can shoot the ball as a small forward. Dario Saric and Derrick Favors are different types of power forwards, so it’s hard to make a comparison there. I think you’d look at both squads and see that the biggest takeaway is that they were exceptional defensively, finishing #2 and #3 in DEFRTG after 82 regular season games. The Sixers liked to sling the ball around and play fast while Utah had the 25th lowest PACE in the league, so the style difference is apparent.

When you look at the talent on each team, I guess you could say the Sixers are better, but Simmons is surrounded by guys with a lot less NBA experience than Mitchell. Saric, Embiid, and Robert Covington don’t have half as many games under their belts as Rubio, Gobert, Favors, or Jae Crowder. Philly’s veterans are JJ Redick and a pair of bench players who were added in February. To that point, I think you’d have to be impressed that Simmons is orchestrating an offense that features two second-year guys and a Process-era success story.

Ben certainly benefited from being able to dish off to a variety of high-level perimeter scorers, but it’s not like Utah is chopped liver; they’re a damn good squad. If either one of these guys did what they did on the Suns or Nets, then the “better team” angle might be legit, but I really do believe that both teams are pretty good and I don’t see too much to pull from this storyline.

Here are a couple of other narratives being tossed around relating to ROTY:

What is a rookie?

Of course you’ve heard this thing about Donovan Mitchell being a “true rookie” while Ben Simmons sat out injured last year. Some people slap Ben with the “redshirt” label and feel like he had an advantage this season because he was familiar with the NBA game and the NBA environment even though he didn’t actually play last year.

Here’s Mitchell’s take on the redshirt thing:

“So, let’s say you have an exam to take on June 1 and you have a whole year to study for that exam, you’re going to get a pretty good grade on it, aren’t you?” Mitchell said. “But some people may not have all that time to prepare for that exam. So, that’s how I look at it and I hope that puts it in perspective for people.”

Simmons has brushed that off in the past.

Brett Brown is on the record with this:

I don’t have too much to add beyond that. Blake Griffin won ROTY in this “redshirt” fashion, and I don’t recall a ton of bitching about that, although Twitter and social media were not as “robust” back then. There’s a portion of people out there who felt like Simmons could or should have played last year, but that the Sixers were being extra cautious and simply looking ahead to this season.

Simmons and Mitchell are both 21 years old and were born about 50 days apart. Both were in the same class coming out high school. Ben was injured last year while Mitchell played an extra season at Louisville. Who really has the advantage here? I could see that argument being made.

If you want to slap an asterisk on the ROTY entry on Wikipedia, I think that’s justified, but it doesn’t hold a lot of tangible weight, in my mind.

Triple-doubles and double-doubles don’t always tell the story

I see people roll out all these arbitrary stats, like “Ben Simmons is the first player to do blah blah blah since Oscar Robertson did blah blah blah back in 1961.”

I’m not a fan of that stuff because I can easily just find a bunch of parameters I like and keep tweaking them until it fits my narrative. I can say, “well Joel Embiid is the first non-American right-handed Sixer since Manute Bol to average 10 points, 3 rebounds, and 2 blocks while a Republican is in the Oval Office.”

Philly fans see those types of tweets and go crazy, like, “wow that’s an incredible piece of information,” when it’s really just fudging a bunch of criteria instead.

To that end, I think triple-doubles and double-doubles often lack nuance. For instance, Ben Simmons had 10 rebounds in game five against Miami. One was on the offensive glass and 9 were on the defensive end.

A portion of Ben’s rebounds are usually uncontested snags where he then quickly starts moving up the court, stuff like this:

There’s no statistical value in that.

That’s an uncontested defensive rebound with no opponent within 10 feet of Simmons, yet it counts just the same as a tough offensive rebound in traffic. This was one of 10 boards that got him over the hump for a double-double, and then you’ve got Sixer fans saying, “well Simmons is averaging a double-double when Mitchell doesn’t do anything besides shoot.”

It’s similar in the sense that…

…sometimes assists don’t check out, either

We’ve all seen a ton of amazing passes from Simmons this year. You could put together a 20-minute highlight reel of needle-threading if you really wanted to.

Sometimes he also gets the benefit of the doubt on his assist totals, when a guy takes a dribble or two and pulls up, or Simmons simply just dumps the ball off to a wing player for a catch and shoot:

Same thing there. The discrepancy is between some of the amazing passes he throws versus those gimmes is significant.

Take that play there and compare it to this:

My God, that Ben Simmons pass pic.twitter.com/QCMpMqv5Xc

— Good Takes NBA (@GoodTakesNBAPod) April 19, 2018

You see how one might carry more weight than the other, yea?

It does, of course, go both ways, and you can apply these same things to Mitchell, too. Difference is, we aren’t using rebounds and assists as main part of the argument as to why he’s a better player. There’s just a lot more nuance in Ben’s game, stuff that requires you to pay closer attention. It’s very easy for the casual NBA fan to say, “wow what an amazing three pointer in the 4th quarter!” versus watching how a rookie ball handler runs an offense or picks out passes or positions himself for offensive rebounds. Ben’s game has more layers to it.

As an exercise, say that each rebound, assist, and point counts for one “unit” of production in an NBA game. Considering what I wrote above, look at these three statistical lines:

30 points, 0 rebounds, 0 assists

20 points, 0 rebounds, 10 assists

10 points, 10 rebounds, 10 assists

Option three looks the most balanced, right? Even contributions across the board, yea? But what if 4 of those rebounds are uncontested on the defensive end? What if two of the assists are just dumping the ball off for a catch and shoot?

That’s why the raw numbers are weird, because you just can’t take rebounds and assists at face value. Raw point scoring is much less nuanced. It’s more about what I mentioned above, the efficiency with which a scorer reaches his totals. If a guy scores 10 of his 30 points from the foul line, of course that’s worth noting, but the ball is going in the basket either way. Rebounds, to me, have the least amount of importance in a Simmons/Mitchell argument. One guy is a point guard and the other is a shooting guard and they’re playing completely different roles for completely different teams.

Of course, the fact that Ben can rebound the way he does shows how much more well-rounded and expansive his game is, but it’s more of an eye test thing and less about just data mining for triple-double and double-double narratives.

Consistency

One area where I think Simmons has a clear advantage is that he was performing at a high level from day one. He started 81 games and really didn’t have many clunkers at all. The Memphis loss stands out to me (6, 3, 7, four turnovers and five fouls). His numbers dropped a bit in December when he went through a deferential month where he wasn’t putting up as many shot attempts as he did in the two months prior. Otherwise, he showed incredible regularity throughout the year.

Mitchell started the season on the bench but ended up finishing with 79 appearances and 71 starts. He was a little slow to begin and threw up some rough lines, notably a 3-21 effort at home against an Embiid-less Philly and a 4-17 shooting night in Milwaukee. However, six of his ten single-digit scoring outputs took place in October and November. He finished the regular season with 24 straight double-digit scoring games.

So they both were excellent for LARGE chunks of the season, certainly light years ahead of anything Malcolm Brogdon did last year. But if we’re paying close attention, Simmons technically did what he did from day one while Mitchell needed a little bit of time to get rolling.

The Verdict

There really is no verdict. You just have to decide which type of player has more value. Do you rate dagger-dropping two-guard as more valuable than a unique and well-rounded point guard?

I don’t know if there’s a right or wrong answer to that, but if you’re making me pick one guy over the other for an ultimately meaningless award, I’d probably have Simmons as 1A and Mitchell as 1B. I think Donovan Mitchell is a LOT better than most Sixers fans give him credit for, but I feel like there’s at least one Mitchell in every draft. I see a smooth scorer who is going to be a perennial All-Star for years to come. But when I look at Simmons, I see a freak athlete with a wildly unique skill set who reminds me of Magic Johnson. I see “eye test” type of stuff that makes me believe his ceiling is much higher than Mitchell’s ceiling. It’s not off-base to view Simmons a potential LeBron James type if he develops a jump shot.

That said, I don’t know what typical national media person thinks. I get the sense that there is a bit of an anti-Process crowd out there that might lean towards Mitchell out of spite, but I’m really not sure. That’s just a hunch. One thing that should help Simmons’ case is that Salt Lake City ain’t exactly a massive media market. If Donovan Mitchell played for the Knicks or Lakers, he’d be getting 10 times the coverage and plaudits he’s currently receiving.

At the end of the day, both of these guys are gonna be elite ballers for years. We’re talking about two different players in two different systems playing two different positions. One guy is asked to score and the other is asked to facilitate, and both are exceptional in their respective roles. If you wanna stand firmly on one side of the debate, knock yourself out, but it’s also acceptable to straddle the fence.

  The Ben Simmons vs. Donovan Mitchell Debate Is Interesting, but Ultimately Pointless published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[giantsfootball0]

Questions about Takk, Lions predictions, Sanu formation names, new stadium, more

Good morning and welcome to Straight from the ’Beek! It’s Friday and that means we’re another day closer to the Falcons-Lions showdown in Detroit – and you’ve got questions. Just remember that all opinions you see in this space are mine, unless otherwise noted.

And we’re off.

David from Brooklyn, NY

Hi Beek. Do you think fans are putting too much pressure on Takk? Sacks are not easy to come by.

Matt: No, I don’t think so at all, David. Yes, you’re right, sacks are not easy to get in the NFL, but guys like Takkarist McKinley are highly motivated, regardless of what the fans say. They’re professional athletes and relish the opportunity to go out and compete. And he’s a first-round draft pick for a reason – because the Falcons believe he has what it takes to be a force at defensive end. He’s got a big opportunity in front of him this weekend in Detroit. Thanks for your question.

Oran from Marietta, GA

Trade Coleman?!! Are you crazy? All we need is for Devonta Freeman to go down for weeks or the season and then what? I see Tevin Coleman still improving with experience and coaching. Depth is critical for a contender and RBs are prone to leg injuries.

Matt: You’re obviously referring to Kit from Canton’s suggestion, and I couldn’t agree with you more, Oran. Coleman is an integral part of this offense when he’s on the field and depth is crucial at that position. Those guys take a lot of hits throughout the season. Thanks for your comment and, no, I’m not crazy.

Jack from Chattanooga, TN

Hello, Matt. I’m from 100 miles up I-75 from the great Falcons city of Chattanooga and I have loved this team since Tommy Nobis earned his way to becoming one of the premier linebackers of all time. I wanted to comment on a previous question about Falcons fans leaving early. This has been a ‘quality’ of our teams’ fans for 50 years and I had hoped the new stadium that Mr. Blank has given us would change that. I’ve been to many games over the years with my best old Falcon buddy and we never once considered leaving a game early for any reason. It’s becoming increasingly difficult for us blue-collar types to even afford to come so, once again, I’m begging all the corporate season ticket holders … either support the team or give your tickets to someone who will. The best thing that ever happened to this team, aside from William Andrews and many other players, was Rankin Smith selling to Arthur Blank. So get on his bandwagon and us working faithfuls will stay glued to our tubes till the final gun every week. Thanks for your column and Go Falcons!!

Matt: Even though you didn’t really have a question, I think it’s important for loyal and longtime fans like you have a voice and share your perspectives – so I ran it. Thanks for your comments, Jack. And thanks for reading.

Zamir from West Milton, PA

Hi Matt! Your prediction for the last game was 27-24. Mine was 34-24, so I think I got that one, but most importantly the Falcons won! What is your prediction for this game? Mine is 31-17.

Matt: Hi, Zamir. Wow, you weren’t too far off. I didn’t think we were competing, either. As fas as the Lions game goes, I think the Falcons offense is starting to get back on track – and we saw that against the Packers last Sunday night. I think it continues in Detroit, too. So if I had to make a prediction, I’d say Atlanta by two scores — Falcons 28, Lions 14.

Ricky from Atlanta, GA

Just wanted to say I love the column. The question I have is why is it that when the Falcons get somewhat of a lead, they go into that prevent defense? It’s killing us because it takes the momentum out the game and fans get frustrated. It’s making them want to leave the game early because now we look like the Falcons of old. Can you please talk to the defensive coordinator and the coach and let them know? Let’s keep the gas on these guys throughout the whole game and you’ll have a bigger fan base. Thanks.

Matt: Ricky, you Falcons fans should know by now that a player as good as Aaron Rodgers is never going down quietly without a fight, right? Even when the Packers were down a few touchdowns (24 points, in this one), did you really think that would be the final margin? So they ended up scoring twice, but that shouldn’t make Falcons leave early or get frustrated or quit following the team, in my opinion. You’ve got a great team that’s built to win now. Enjoy it. I could back and explain (again) why the Falcons were not taking their feet off the gas pedal, but I won’t. Thanks for reading and glad you love the column.

Ayush from West Windsor, NJ

Hi, Straight from the Beek. This is my first time asking a question, also I’m a newer fan of the Falcons and my question is, what will happen to the old stadium?

Matt: Hello, Ayush from West Windsor. Welcome to Straight from the ’Beek and the Falcons are lucky to have you rooting for them, Ayush! The old Georgia Dome is scheduled for implosion on Nov. 20, 2017.

Devonte from Portsmouth, VA

What’s up, Matt. I was wondering what you think about us making history this year? I feel like we have something to prove to the whole league and that last year was just bad play calling, and this year will be the beginning of a dynasty.

Matt: Hi. I’ve been asked this a lot and I’ll you this much, Devonte. The Falcons have the core of their offense back, including players at key positions. They’ve also improved the defense, in my opinion, by going out and signing some key free agents in Dontari Poe and Jack Crawford. They also drafted Takkarist McKinley. I think the Falcons are built to win now and can make a deep postseason push. Now they still have to go out and execute and win. They’ll also need to stay healthy – and a little luck along the way always helps, too. Last year is last year. So forget it. As far as any dynasty talk goes, look, you have to win the big one more than once to warrant consideration for that label, at least in my book. I’d say it’s a bit premature. Hope that helps and thanks for reading.

Isaac from Athens, GA

Tell DQ that they should call the Sanu formation the Rise Mo!

Matt: Will do. We’ve gotten a ton of great suggestions so far. And thanks, Isaac.

Jose from Mesa, AZ

Hey Beek. This is not a question. Rather it is a suggestion for the name of the Sanu/wildcat formation: Call it the “Dirty Bird” formation. Thanks.

Matt: Noted, and thanks Jose.

Josh from Soperton, GA

Hi Matt. How long do you think the Super Bowl loss is going to be brought back up every time there is a momentum shift in regular-season games? Also, I consider you part of the team, being that you are able to answer almost anything about the team. So, do you make the sixth or seventh Matt? RISE UP!!!! LET’S GO DIRTY BIRDS!

Matt: Hey, Josh. I think just about everyone is tired of hearing about last year’s Super Bowl. It’s a different year and this is a different Falcons team – with some different players and coaches, too. That said, I think the topic is going to be brought up throughout the season, regardless if the Falcons win or lose. And if the Falcons make a deep postseason push, I’m sure someone will bring it up then, too. You have to give this team credit, though, because they’ve answered every question with class and never dodge the topic. To your other point, yes, there are a lot of Matts on the roster and there are more walking this building. Of course I’m biased but … it’s a great name and all the credit goes to my late mother, who insisted on Matthew. Thanks for reading.

Lakeem from Atlanta, GA

Hi. My question is, do you ever think Julio Jones will have competition against any cornerbacks in the NFL?

Matt: Well, let’s put it this way … Julio certainly faces competition week in and week out, Lakeem. And sometimes it comes in the form of double- and triple-coverage. It might not seem like it to the casual fan at times because he’s just that dominant. The Falcons and their fans are lucky to have him – he’s one of the best of his generation.

Daniel from Woodstock, GA

Hey Beek, thanks for the write-ups, I really enjoy them. I’m curious from a player’s perspective if the game on Sunday felt like playing inside or outside? Have any of the players been asked this? I know the roof was open, but watching on TV it still felt very much like an indoor game.

Matt: Hey, Daniel. That’s an interesting take – and part of me agrees with you. With the way some of these new stadiums are constructed, it does feel like it’s still an indoor stadium sometimes – and I totally get what you’re saying with how it looks the same on TV. And if it does rain or snow, they’ll keep the the roof closed. I remember going to games in the old Texas Stadium, which was covered but featured a large hole in the roof over the field – I saw some games there in November and December and it definitely felt like an outdoor stadium when the temperatures dipped or when it snowed. We’ll try to get a player’s response to that and share it. Thanks for reading.

Joel from Boston, MA

Hey Beek. Good stuff, as always. As a Falcons fan right in the middle of New England’s rowdiest crowd, it’s been a tough offseason. Your condolences would be appreciated. Anyways, my question is in regards to our current CB situation. Tru showed a lot of life last week, but his two big plays were more the ball coming to him rather than him making a play on the ball (albeit a pretty catch on the INT). That in conjunction with Alford’s incessant holding/PI flags — do you think we have what it takes to contain Stafford and the Lions’ WRs while matching up in man coverage? I think we win, but I see it being a shootout coming down to the final drive or two.

Matt: Hey, Joel. The good news this year is that the Falcons will be heading your way on Oct. 22 – hopefully you score some tickets to the game. To your question, I think between Golden Tate, Ameer Abdullah and Theo Riddick, the Lions have three running backs/receivers who are tough to tackle in the open field and Matthew Stafford does an excellent job extending plays – and dispersing the ball. I grouped Tate in there because he runs like a running back. They have a decent tight end and, yes, their receivers can make plays downfield, too. The Falcons and guys like Desmond Trufant will have to do a good job wrapping up and tackling on Sunday, but I do like how they match up.

Steve from Buffalo, NY

Hey Beek. Today was my first read of the column (newb), but I plan to continue. As a die-hard fan, I travel to ATL at least once a year for a game. I will be at the Buffalo game next week and was shocked how much tickets in decent seats were going for. Do you think this is because of the nostalgia of a new stadium? Offsetting the concession prices? Or just the new “normal” based on recent success?

Matt: Hey, Steve. First, thanks for reading and welcome to Straight from the ’Beek. I’ve been in a lot of stadiums and this really is a one-of-a-kind experience. I’m also from Upstate New York (know where you’re coming from) and I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised. I’m not sure where you’re sitting and I’m not involved with ticket pricing, but there really aren’t any bad seats at Mercedes-Benz Stadium. Please write back and let me know how the trip went. Safe travels.

C. O’Neal from Varnville, SC

Hey Beek, enjoy the Q&A. My question is, why doesn’t Matt try more corner end zone over-the-shoulder throws to Julio, Sanu or the big tight ends? Is he uncomfortable making that throw?

Matt: Hi, and glad you enjoy it. I don’t think Matt Ryan is really uncomfortable throwing any sort of pass to Julio Jones, Mohamed Sanu or Austin Hooper. I think the Falcons have designed plays and routes for short-yardage and end-zone situations – and they work on those a lot during minicamps, training camp, preseason and throughout the year. Hope that helps.

HAVE A QUESTION?

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[thecloudlight-blog]

New Post has been published on Cloudlight

New Post has been published on https://cloudlight.biz/celebrate-mothers-day-with-these-beauty/

CELEBRATE MOTHER'S DAY WITH THESE BEAUTY

Mother’s Day presents do not have to be “mother-ish” (ahem, gardening sets and appeal bracelets). Moms love looking good and getting pampered (take it from this one), and makeup and splendor objects could make a pleasing alternative to the conventional bouquet.

Considering that masses of splendor merchandise are as pretty as they promise to make a woman look and sense, the packaging may be present in itself. Here are a few Mother’s Day splendor ideas to do not forget for mom this 12 months.

The holistic beauty emblem created by using movie star facialist Tammy Fender

(fans of her products consist of Alicia Silverstone, Julianne Moore, and Alanis Morissette) is inspired with the aid of the recuperation and rejuvenating properties of rose and permit’s mom indulge while not having to leave the house.

Considering the superstar fans of this makeup line (Gisele Bundchen, Selena Gomez, and Sofia Coppola all had Marc Jacobs Beauty appears for the latest Met Gala), mom is positive to revel in the cool component that includes this product series, all housed in a collectible makeup bag stimulated by the Marc Jacobs spring 2017 runway.

Why We Celebrate Holidays

Most people celebrate vacations – Christmas, Halloween, Valentine’s Day – however why?

Of course, we celebrate some vacations due to our religious ideals. However, there are different motives why we keep to these joyous events. These vacations cut up the float of the 12 months and bind us together as families and communities.

We celebrate vacations due to the fact we want to have fun. We need a run from our ordinary schedules,

Jobs, and many others. Without vacations, our weeks could run collectively into years of humdrum mediocrity. What is October without youngsters ringing our doorbells soliciting for candy? What are November without turkey at the desk and own family around it? What is February without heart-formed bins adorning the kitchen counter? The answer: dull months, I say.

We also have good time holidays because they’re motives to reconnect with family and lengthy misplaced buddies. Although we are able to make an effort to peer circle of relatives and near pals each time, many people do now not. Many people make vacations the times they attain out to other humans. And no longer handiest is it essential to us to sense the warm temperature of family, we enjoy holidays due to the fact they create out an experience of a network. The brilliant pink hearts decorating branch stores in February, the blinking lights strung on lamp posts in December, those assist us to feel linked to something large than ourselves.

In a global, wherein get-togethers and barbecues do now not occur as an awful lot as they used to in decades beyond.

In an international in which nobody borrows sugar from his or her neighbor to any extent further or bakes a cake when a person actions onto the block, holidays tie us together.

I urge all of us to no longer throw vacations to the aspect of the street. Get out and enhance your property at Christmastime. Surprise your partner, boyfriend or female friend with Valentine’s Day present. And genuinely have fun at Halloween. Even if you do now not experience Halloween, I guarantee the kids to your community will appreciate you dressing up, setting a graveyard to your the front yard and passing out sweet.

Best Gifts For Mother’s Day

A mother is a person who is going thru the painstaking adventure of wearing her child in her womb for 9 months. So there’s rarely a person who wouldn’t want to position a grin back on his/her mom’s face. There are limitless picks we are able to make in terms of choosing a gift for Mother’s Day. From decorative mugs, stylish bracelets, elegant sarees to sublime dinner sets or a coveted bestseller, you can literally fall for some of the tantalizing gifts for Mother’s Day event.

The flicker of the smile that you get to see your mom’s face when she receives a gift is valuable. You may even delve into your mother’s hobby and find out what she desires the maximum or what is that astounding dream that she usually wanted to meet? The preference that your mom feels is satisfactory for her may be whatever and the entirety, it can be as easy as the sunshine or something as wacky as a tribal art set! All you want to do is pinpoint your finger at the sensational object and the arena is at your feet. Let’s test some of the objects trending as the favorite Mother’s day present-

1) Cake-

You can order a favorite chocolate cake, strawberry shortbread cookies or delicious blueberry truffles in your mom as her last mom’s day gift, from any of her favored bakeries. A decent surprise for her would be if you can bake a cake yourself and pinnacle it up with an extraordinary icing.

2) An Assorted Gift-

Buy a number of her favorite beauty or tub products and present to her as an assorted gift, wrapping it up in an attractive style. You may go for a sweet-scented deodorant with a dreamy fragrance or a high-quality moisturizer that she would like.

3) A Designer Outfit

A cool choice of garb is something a mother appreciates. It doesn’t need to burn your wallet, however, look for a layout which you think your mother will recognize. Discuss together with your father or husband approximately your mom’s fashion picks.

4) Chocolates

Chocolates are the maximum common mother’s day gift which melts in your mouth and melts your hearts too. If you cannot have enough money something fancy like a steeply-priced brand perfume, you can gift your mother her favorite candies and she won’t thoughts. Dark chocolate, milk chocolate, mint chocolate, orange chocolate, caramel chocolate, and nuts will make her experience eternal bliss.

5) Jewelry

We understand that a diamond is all the time and it’s a woman’s fine friend. But you don’t need a luxurious piece to make her satisfied. It may even be a fab plastic, terracotta, shell or metallic fancy jewelry to make your mom experience like a goddess. Besides, in case you’re lucky then nothing turns up the magic just like the glitter of gold, deliver the single in in your mom’s eyes. Whether you’ll pick out real jewelry or style jewelry, your mom could be extremely joyful to have quite things to wear.

American Beauty Semiotic Analysis

American Beauty, thru its use of symbols and the title of the film itself makes us observe the characters and their philosophies (American dream, their ideas of fulfillment, beauty, and many others.) each as they may be and as they may be perceived. No one within the film is truly as they appear. In the cease the creepiest (Ricky) is the nicest, the successful spouse is an unstable ruin, and the American splendor is as an alternative plan.

The pink rose pedals, which seem numerous times all through American Beauty area image for romance, sensuality, and energy. However it’s far vital to be aware that in the course of most of the movie the crimson roses are implicitly an phantasm. The red roses within the context of an illusion come to stand for a sugar covered fact.

By sugar coating I mean that which covers up the natural stimulation

(taste, sight, contact) via “sweetening” it. In all however one of the scenes, the purple puddles are around Angela overlaying her bare frame in a manner which makes whatever lays beneath, that rather more engaging, through the use of sensual reds and the sexiness of mystery. Not to mention extreme spectacles which frequently accompany Lester’s dream scenes.

However inside the scene wherein Lester eventually gets what he has been wishing for Angela has no red peddles around her. Unlike her breasts in the first scene which had been protected up with colourful petals, this scene exposes her body for what it’s far, we adore Lester begin to sense like Angela may not were all she was cracked up to be. It isn’t that Angela is not stunning, it’s miles that no person should live as much as the god like expectations that Lester’s wild fantasies created.

After Lester reveals out that Angela is a virgin and in no way

What the notion she was he is going out to the kitchen and picks up a picture of his own family. As Lester seems at a photograph of his own family pronouncing “man oh man…” a busy of purple roses(actual to those proven earlier) are shown for approximately five seconds. These roses in contrast to all shown previously are real, now not a dream. Also not like the roses showed earlier they may be related to his family and not Angela. In this context, the roses do now not represent sugar coating but actual love, sensuality, and energy. Seconds later we see a puddle of crimson blood. Shortly once we revel in, via video montage that’s Lester’s lifestyles flashing earlier than his eyes, the love, sensuality, and energy which the picture represented.

[junker-town]

Jordan Spieth has come back for another Sunday show at the Masters

Another Sunday at the Masters will be made greater by the presence of Jordan Spieth, who is back for more at Augusta.

The Masters might be entering an era where there’s Jordan Spieth, and then there’s everyone else. It was never more evident than on the 15th hole late on Saturday afternoon at Augusta National. Spieth stood 106 yards from the pin, perched at the top of the hill with a pond below that purportedly wrecked his 2017 Masters just two days prior. That’s when everything went completely silent.

There are roars at Augusta but it’s not a particularly rowdy place, a point of pride that the green jackets uphold in the name of Bobby Jones’ notion of a proper patron. But just because it doesn’t get rowdy doesn’t mean it’s still or completely silent. Patrons are always moving one or two rows back from the rope line, trying to get ahead and find a better spot to view the next shot. There’s also always side talk, mumurs, and whispers. It’s not some great commotion, but there’s movement and it’s never completely noiseless.

This was not the case as Spieth sized up his third shot into the 15th green. It was the first time this week that I witnessed a hole go completely silent, completely still. The patrons stopped in their tracks some 150 yards away from Spieth and did not move a muscle or make a whisper. It would have been fine if they did -- they were 150 yards away!

There was no wind. The color palette of polo shirts in the grandstands above Sarazen bridge reflected perfectly off the pond. Sunlight perforated the shadows stretching from the grandstands surrounding the 15th green, 16th tee, and the towering pines. It’s one of the most crowded scenes in golf and the only noticeable movement was the cigar smoke wafting from the shadows to the sunlight (the Masters has to boast the highest per capita population of half-zip-sweater-wearing cigar-smoking men in the world).

When I say it’s Jordan and everyone else, I don’t mean to suggest that he’s bigger than the tournament or incapable of being beat -- we’ve seen that already. It’s just different when he’s on one, and he’s been on one every single year he’s played this event in his nascent career. The still and silent scene at the 15th accentuated this difference.

On Thursday, he was on that same hill and a similar distance away, just 98 yards from the flag. Six strokes later, he’d be in the hole with a his second quadruple bogey in as many Masters rounds. This time, he put it seven inches from the cup. With the ball in the air, the crowd started to murmur with anticipation, nervous that another water ball might be coming. But this was a different shot from a different angle, and that quietude turned into one of the loudest roars of the week as the ball nearly went in the hole. He had to gesture to the grandstands to pipe down as Phil went to play his next shot. Spieth tapped in for birdie to get to 5-under and momentarily within a shot of a lead that soon looked like it would be his.

The shot at 15 would lead to Spieth’s final birdie of the day but with a 4-under 68, he’s back in contention yet again for his fourth straight Masters. For the first time in his Masters career, Spieth will not play in the final group on Sunday. But on a loaded leaderboard full of some of the best international stars in this game, he might still be the one to beat over the final 18 holes at Augusta National.

That’s because, even after the implosion of last year, Spieth is becoming an unofficial host of this event. Others may intercede and take home a green jacket. He cannot win every year, but Spieth’s name on the leaderboard at Augusta is a tradition and it’s the one name that the other players have to check most. Last week after missing a cut in Houston, he said, “I think we know and the other players that are playing next week know that we strike fear in others next week.”

Spieth could be 10 shots off the lead, as he was after the first round here, and it’s still the case. He’s gone from that hole to now in the penultimate group on Sunday. Saturday’s 68 was his best round of the week and it was the classic Spieth march around Augusta. He caught a heater on the front side, ripping through a four-hole stretch with three birdies and one of the all-time recovery shots that the 7th hole has ever seen. At No. 6, he poured in a very Spiethian putt from 44 feet that got the crowd roaring early.

Watch @JordanSpieth make a 44-foot putt for birdie on No. 6 to get to 1-under par. #themasters http://pic.twitter.com/Yh8e68xwne

— Masters Tournament (@TheMasters) April 8, 2017

Coming off that putt, Spieth pumped one right at the short par-4 7th and caught a big kick into some pine straw. He slapped his glove in anger as soon as he came over the crest and saw the final resting spot of his drive. There was another classic Spiethian exchange with his caddie — “Oh, absolutely not!” and “What are you're talking about?” and “Buddy I can get this into the sand trap” were three demonstratives he made towards his looper, Michael Greller. After pulling a few clubs, they settled on a shot that would try and run up into or near a bunker in front of the 7th green. Instead, he somehow punched it around some trees, then over the narrowest of paths between the multiple bunkers protecting the front of the green. Even Spieth said “Oh my god” when he saw it bounced onto the putting surface. Considering the desperate debate just moments earlier, both Spieth and Greller could only incredulous stare and then laugh at each other with the result. They kept giggling up the fairway. Somehow, it got on the green. But that’s what Spieth does around here, even when maybe he doesn’t expect it.

It was vintage — if that’s a word you can use about a four-year career — “Spieth at Augusta” stuff. The putt at 6, the recovery at 7, an eagle chance at 8, a flagged approach at 9, an all-world up-and-down par save at 10 that had Nick Faldo saying “Wow, how did he do that?” Then again at No. 12, which he said was a tougher up-and-down save than the one that just had Faldo marveling. It just kept coming.

He went for it again at the 13th, opting against a layup. That decision in the final round when he won in 2015 resulted in what he called this week the “favorite shot of his career.” This time, he invoked Arnold Palmer as his ball laid in the pine straw amidst trees down the right side. Even Greller was taken aback by his “What would Arnie do?” line during the debate on laying up. It seems like a made-up line from a movie script written by Jim Nantz, but Spieth dropped it and then opted against a layup. He roped a 4-iron from the pine-straw to the perfect spot in the back of the green, setting up his second eagle chance in six holes.

It was all there on a course and for a crowd that’s becoming his more and more as he keeps posting at the top of the leaderboard at this event. After the round, he was asked why he succeeds so consistently here.

“I’m not sure. I mean, I guess the golf course was Tiger-proofed at one point. You can’t really Jordan-proof it.”

It was less a boast and more an admittance that he keeps contending here not because he hammers the ball off the tee. Lengthening it isn’t going to mitigate his ability to figure out how to keep getting into contention and winning. It might not be fear, but that should make his contemporaries a little disconsolate.

Now comes another Sunday. This time he won’t be in the final group and it sounded like he relished being the hunter for once. Spieth is only two shots off the lead with only three players ahead of him. He knows first hand how it can change quickly on a Sunday. It’s a loaded board but he’ll be the focus on the grounds tomorrow and his competitors and the crowd will feel it from the first birdie, which, given his track record, will come. One of the leaders, Justin Rose, said Saturday night that “Jordan obviously has a special relationship with the Masters.” So they’re thinking about it too.

Spieth said that he’s approached the week “not really giving” a shit (he pulled up before blurting out the curse, of course) and tomorrow is going to be pedal down from the start. “I plan to play aggressive ... finishing fifth versus 10th tomorrow doesn’t mean much to me, so that frees me up.” He’s already done almost everything on this course already and now is an attempted chasedown of Rosie, Rickie, and Sergio. His past here makes his presence on a leaderboard a greater Masters. It’s going to be a hell of a show on Sunday at Augusta.