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spencers-renaissance · 4 years

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Pull Me Out of the Glowing Stream

Summary: Spencer develops bacterial meningitis and Hotch sort of forgets how to breathe

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Protective Hotch, Spencer Reid Whump, Major Illness, Angst, Fluff, Medical Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending

Pairing: Gen, Paternal Hotch

Word Count: 3.8k

Read on AO3

A grotty police department in rural Illinois was really not the time and place for Spencer’s body to decide to have a minor breakdown, but really, what was he expecting at this point? For things to go right for once?

It’s the kind of headache not even two paracetamol and a cup of coffee can shift and he sort of feels like his head might split in two. Not ideal when he had a complicated geographical profile to work up to help the team locate an enraged killer who was flitting between various small towns in the northwest corner of the state.

“Spencer?”

He’s shaken out of his depressing thoughts by Derek’s slightly concerned voice, causing him to pull his hands away from his head and force himself from squinting against the light. He’d felt fine this morning and he can’t really put his finger on what exactly is wrong besides the headache he just feels… off.

If he can help it though, Derek will most definitely not find out. His coworkers don’t need to think he’s anymore weak than they already do.

“Sorry,” Spencer says, feigning a weak smile. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Derek doesn’t look completely convinced, but he nods anyway. “JJ and I are headed to interview the most recent victim’s family but Rossi and Blake will be back from the ME’s office shortly. Hotch is just in the break room talking to some LEOs, alright?” he says, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of one of the chairs. “See you in a bit, Spencer.”

Spencer has to stop himself from physically falling on the floor and rolling into a protective ball as soon as Derek leaves the room. He’s so exhausted and in so much pain, the last thing he wants to do is gather around the table and have to propose valuable theories about the case to build the profile. He just feels like such an outsider sometimes, and it’s been even worse recently. He’s felt himself withdraw from the group, sheltering himself from the prying glances and teasing comments, but he just can’t help it; he doesn’t even know why, really.

Honestly, he’s desperate to crawl back to the hotel room and bury himself under the covers and never resurface again, but he can’t. The only time he really feels valuable is when he’s working, when he’s tangibly contributing to solving the case, and he can’t sacrifice that for a little head cold or whatever’s going on. Besides, nobody needs to hear him whinge about his stupid problems. Everyone has enough to deal with without him as an added burden.

Hotch is shooting him concerned looks and it’s only making him feel worse. He really doesn’t need to be berating himself for making his team members worry on top of already feeling at death’s door. The real problem, however, is that it’s only getting worse. He’s struggling to concentrate and feels hot under the collar, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the swirling nausea in his tummy. But his health cannot be the priority right now and surely Hotch must realise that: there’s a killer on the loose and he knows that he can be an immensely useful resource, headache be damned.

Focus. He tries to look back towards the board -- he knows there’s something in one of the pictures that’s not quite right, not that he can remember which one or what it was -- but his neck protests as he tries to move it, stiffening up in response to the pain. Keeping his head down instead, staring at the case file he has open on the desk in front of him, he notices his pen quivering a little in his hand as it shakes. His glance upwards to check if anyone saw is immediately met by Hotch, whose muted concern has clearly morphed into full-blown distress, and he quickly looks away.

“Spencer?” Hotch says gently, trying not to attract the attention of the other team members who are quietly discussing the case at the other end of the table.

It’s the jerk of his head to look back up at him that does it. He feels his head loll and his stomach drop out from under him, nausea pouring into his insides as his eyes lose their focus. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, though it comes out far too slurred to be intelligible, and everything fades to black.

★

Hotch is pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment as he watches Spencer slump forward in his chair, falling to the side a little as his muscles give in to what’s clearly been plaguing him all day. The others snap out of their conversation fast, Alex rushing to his side. “Spencer?” she asks, voice insistent and full of anxiety. “Spencer, wake up, come on.” She pauses to press two fingers to his pulse point as her other hand feels his forehead before looking Hotch in the eyes, urgency filling her voice. “His pulse is weak and he has a serious fever.”

“Call an ambulance and explain what’s going on,” Hotch says, feeling the colour leave his face as he takes in the situation. “Dave, I need you, Derek and JJ to carry on working the case, Blake and I will go to the hospital with Spencer.”

The paramedics arrive quickly, by which time everyone in the PD is nosily peering through the windows, eager to watch the macabre theatrics of a medical emergency. Hotch backs away from where he’d crouched to hold Spencer’s hand, as does Blake and Spencer is quickly hooked up to the portable monitor. Hotch didn’t miss the grave glance that was shared between the two of them; he’d given and received enough of them in the course of his career to know they meant not good.

“Blake, you drive behind,” he murmurs softly as he watches an oxygen mask be placed over Spencer’s nose and mouth. “I’m riding with.”

He hasn’t felt so sick to his stomach since he was driving to his own house to meet his wife’s dead body, and God, did he absolutely not miss the feeling. Spencer’s hand is freezing cold, and he’s still shaking slightly through the deep slumber that has overtaken his body, though luckily he’s stable enough that the paramedics don’t seem to be able to do a lot more for him until he is admitted to the ER.

Seeing Spencer lie so small and frail under all the wires as he’s jolted about slightly by the ambulance’s fast pace cuts deep into an area of his heart he usually keeps so closely guarded, reserved for moments with his son and the grief that lingers cold and heavy from Haley’s death. Spencer is family: he’s watching the man he considers a son teeter far too close to the edge of death, and all he can do is remind himself how to breathe.

“Hang in there, Spencer,” he whispers, gently pulling the cold hand he’s holding to his face and holding it there a moment. “You’re going to be okay.” He has to be.

The nearest hospital is thankfully close, and Hotch sends up a prayer of thanks that they were sent to a city and not on a rural, buttfuck nowhere case. The paramedics waste no time wheeling Spencer’s gurney into the ER, reeling off his stats in code Hotch couldn’t hope to understand to the awaiting doctors, admitted immediately for further tests to establish treatment while he’s steered by a patient nurse to a quiet waiting area.

Alex rushes in less than five minutes later, filling with relief when she clocked Hotch sitting in the corner. “Any news?” she asks, cautiously optimistic.

Hotch grimaces in response. “No, he was only just admitted,” he sighs, emotion creeping into his face in a way he usually staves off at work. A hurt Spencer Reid warrants that much, at least. “He was stable in the ambulance, though. They’re running tests now for a diagnosis.” He looks down at his clasped hands. “I should have noticed it sooner.”

Alex sits down next to him slowly and sighs. “There’s no use in blaming yourself,” she says gently. “Spencer wouldn’t want that. We all could’ve picked up on the signs sooner or been more persistent in asking what was wrong, you’re not in the wrong here. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.”

“I know,” Hotch says eventually. “I just feel so responsible for him. He’s still so young and has so much in front of him, if-- if something happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Yeah,” Alex whispers, pressing her lips together. “None of us would.”

“I just couldn’t live in a world where Spencer doesn’t exist.” His voice chokes off as the dam breaks and he cries quietly into his hands, pain blossoming in his chest as the thought of Spencer dying and the crushing agony of muffled sobs collide.

“Oh, Hotch,” Alex murmurs sympathetically as she watches her boss crumble in front of her. “No-one’s told us to prepare for Spencer dying, okay? You said yourself that he was stable in the ambulance and aside from a thready pulse and a fever we don’t know anything else about his physical state. Don’t torture yourself with a future that frankly looks unlikely as of now, it’s not worth it.”

Hotch nods, taking a deep if shaky breath in and wiping his eyes one last time, looking back at Alex. “I’m sorry for panicking.”

“Don’t apologise,” she dismisses him gently. “It’s a scary situation, and Spencer is like a son to you.”

“This must be even harder for you,” he says, looking up and meeting her eyes. “I should have stayed stronger for you as well as Spencer.”

“Please,” Alex scoffs. “We all have our ways of coping. Ethan died a long time ago and although the grief I feel for him is like glitter I can’t brush away, I’ve learned how to move forward with my life, carrying that gorgeous shimmer with me.”

They share a small smile over that, and Hotch pats her upper arm with his hand softly before patting his knees and standing up. “I’m going to step outside to call Dave,” he says, a new resolve and determination finding its way into his voice. “I expect that it might be a while, but find me immediately if anything happens, I’ll be just outside the entrance.”

“Aaron?” Dave asks, voice a little tinny and muffled down the phone, swept away slightly by the midwest wind. “How’s Spencer?”

“Not sure yet,” he replies, voice grim. “He was admitted immediately for tests but he was relatively okay the last time I saw him, I think. Alex is here now, and we’ll keep looking over the files while we wait, seeing if we can build on the profile. Ring me with any developments, alright?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dave says. “Morgan and I have come to follow a lead we got on a possible associate, and I’ll give you a ring when we leave. Sit tight and give my love to the kid when you see him, Aaron.”

They don’t have to sit in vigil for long before a middle-aged doctor calls Spencer’s name in the waiting room. “Unfortunately, Spencer has bacterial meningitis,” she explains gently as soon as they approach her. “It’s been caught relatively early so his chances are good, but this is a serious disease that needs to be monitored closely so he’s been moved to the ICU. He had a seizure shortly after the lumbar puncture we performed which is a sign of an escalation, but we’ve adjusted his meds accordingly and I can assure you he’s getting the best treatment possible. The ICU is limited to one visitor at a time, but you can see him now; he’s awake though a little drowsy.”

Alex smiles at him and ushers him forward while she goes to sit back down without a word, leaving Hotch to follow the doctor. He wishes desperately to have Spencer walking next to him, rapidly reeling off statistics and fast facts about the disease, because he feels a little in the dark, here. All he remembers is that bacterial is the most serious manifestation of meningitis and it has a high fatality rate. The same heavy sickness from the ambulance sinks deeper into his stomach, weighing him down. Spencer could die.

He looks small on the hospital bed. It’s such a cliche but it’s true, his already small frame and the spacious bed combined with his pale face and outfit of wires make him look so tiny and all Hotch wants to do is climb into bed with him and wrap him in a protective hug and never let him go.

“Hotch?” Spencer murmurs as he approaches the bed, smiling gratefully at the doctor before she leaves them to it.

“Yeah, Spencer, it’s me,” he says gently, sitting down in the chair next to the bed and scooching it as close as possible. “How are you holding up?”

“Hurts,” he says, voice weak. “A lot. Bacteria sucks.”

“It does,” Hotch chuckles. “It definitely sucks. Big time. I’m sorry this is happening, Spencer. And I’m sorry we didn’t catch on to you sooner and get you here faster.”

“Please,” he laughs, wincing a bit as the movement settles an ache deeper into his muscles. “I wouldn’t have let you. I can be a little stubborn.”

Spencer’s voice is slurred slightly but the relief settling into Hotch’s bones at how lucid he is feels almost euphoric. “You’re definitely stubborn,” he says fondly, caressing Spencer’s hand with his thumb. “Our stubborn little mule.”

“Not little,” he pouts in response, eyes drooping slowly closed.

“No,” he reassures him. “You’re not little. You’re strong, and you’re going to fight this, Spencer.”

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbles. “Fight it. Hotch… stay with me?”

“I’ll stay as long as they’ll let me stay, Angel.”

“Angel,” Spencer whispers, a happy smile playing on his lips as he finally gives in to the sleep tugging at his body.

★

It takes Spencer another three and a half days before he’s awake for more than a few minutes at a time and satisfactorily lucid. Thankfully, the anticonvulsants had staved off another seizure and his temperature was slowly but surely dropping as his body fought off the infection, aided by the intravenous antibiotics being steadily dripped into his bloodstream. His oxygen mask had been swapped for a nasal cannula and he was no longer trembling.

Hotch spends the majority of visiting hours sitting beside his bed, texting or phoning the team while working as many angles as he could with only a laptop and the case files Alex is bringing him, but it seems so trivial everytime he looks up and Spencer is lying there looking small and peaceful as he sleeps, meningitis ravishing his body. He’d been worried for the first day at how much Spencer was sleeping, but a kind nurse explained that it was normal; his body was just fighting off a brutal infection and could do that best when he was asleep. Now it just makes him happy to see him dreaming away, knowing that his body is doing the best to help him get better.

He’d tried to avoid googling ‘bacterial meningitis’, but he gave up on the second day and scrolled through endless sites, torturing himself with statistics and facts and prognoses. It gave him a newfound respect and empathy for Spencer: he knows these about pretty much everything and has to live with them all the time. He knows his own survival chances very well, can probably recite specific cases and studies and has no escape at all.

Spencer manages to sit up on the third day and Hotch pulls out a portable chess board that Dave had gone out and bought specifically for this moment.

“You play?” Spencer asks sceptically, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve dabbled,” Hotch replies lightly, a smile playing over his lips as he takes in Spencer’s doubtful but eager expression.

“I’ll probably win in under twenty moves,” Spencer challenges, matching Hotch’s smile.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Hotch chuckles. “But I’ll put myself through it anyway.”

Spencer stays true to his word and wins in 17 moves, making Hotch throw his hands up and lean back in his chair, smiling at the other man before packing the board back away. Spencer looks miles healthier, the antibiotics clearly starting to do the trick, but he’s still seriously fatigued and shuffles down the bed to lean his head back and relax a bit more, sitting up for a few minutes tiring him out.

Hotch pauses for a moment before deciding to broach the subject. “Spencer,” he starts softly, meeting the man’s hazy gaze, “why didn’t you say anything to us sooner? You clearly had a crashing headache, muscle pain, nausea. You said you felt the fever come on. You could have said something sooner and I would have helped you. Your health should come before a case.”

Spencer closes his eyes in shame for a moment, a blush blooming over his cheeks as he looks back to Hotch. “I’m sorry, I just-- It was a grisly case and I thought that was the most important thing, I guess. I’m no use stuck in a sick bed. I just felt bad making everything about me when in the grand scheme of things, a headache is pretty menial. Felt… isolated, maybe.”

“Oh, Spence,” Hotch says sympathetically, reaching back over to grip Spencer’s hand in both of his. “This is really serious, okay? If we’d left it much later or you hadn’t passed out but continued to suffer in silence, you could have died.” He has to pause for a moment as he chokes on the word. “Missing one case and being better for hundreds more is better than working yourself to the bone on this one and then not being around for anymore, isn’t it? You are so valuable, Spencer. Not just your eidetic memory or IQ, you. Spencer Reid is special and loved and important, and I don’t want you to ever think that a case is more important than you, or that we’ll be annoyed by anything that you need to talk to us about. If you ever feel alone, you come and find me and I’ll do my best to banish that feeling, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer murmurs again. “I guess I just find it hard to believe that people care about me for more than what I can offer them. I never had anyone value me the way you do, and I still struggle to wrap my head around it. I’m sorry for scaring you, but I promise I already feel better. I’m not going anywhere, I promise, Hotch.”

“You’d better not,” he replies, letting himself smile a bit. “I know it’s hard for you to trust us, Spencer, but we’re your family, okay? Any of us would drop anything for you, stubborn little mule.”

Spencer doesn’t correct him this time, opting instead for a wide smile. “Thank you, Aaron,” he whispers intimately. “For being here, I mean. It’s scary on my own and having you next to me makes me feel safe.”

“Good,” Hotch says, smiling at Spencer’s use of his first name. “You’re always safe with me. You should rest now, you’re tired. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

★

Once Spencer’s moved out of the ICU on day five, the team are finally allowed to come and visit him, bringing Penelope, presents and smiles and noise. And reprimands. Many reprimands.

“If you ever put a case above your own damn health again, it won’t be meningitis you have to worry about but Penelope’s wrath, alright Spence?” JJ scolds as she gives him a gentle hug, though her smile betrays her. Penelope is stood at the foot of his bed trying her best to look scary, but like JJ her eyes are far too soft and relief colours her body language. Plus it’s hard to look domineering in a bright orange floral dress and flowers in your hair.

“Sorry, Pen, JJ,” he says sheepishly, looking at each of them apologetically. “Bacterial meningitis will definitely teach you to listen to your body.”

“Well if that’s the only good thing that’s come out of this then so be it,” Penelope says with finality, before she melts away her faux stern look and smiles at him. “Now, we bring you gifts and cookies.”

He opens each of the presents with the wide, open smile he doesn’t let cross his face very often, feeling deeply loved and cherished by his found family. His hospital room is covered in flowers and chocolates and academic books as well as endless gift bags and wrapping paper by the time he’s finished, and although he’s still in a lot of pain and knows he might never fully recover, in this moment he’s the happiest he’s been in a long time.

The doctor tells Spencer and Hotch a week and a day after his admittance that he’s been lucky enough to escape relatively unscathed. “You need to look out for any of the long term effects of bacterial meningitis such as concentration issues, hearing loss, visual disturbances, chronic pain etcetera but our tests seem to suggest you’re in the lucky c50% of survivors who escape without a permanent disability and we’d most likely have caught it by now. You need to take it easy for two weeks, make sure you’re resting and drinking plenty of fluids, and if you feel any symptoms coming back or becoming more severe you need to get to a hospital as soon as possible,” she says, handing him the discharge paperwork.

“Spencer, I think you should come and stay with me for those two weeks, okay? I’ll be there to take care of you and keep you company while you finish recovering. How does that sound?” he asks as Spencer signs the sheet of paper and hands it back to the doctor who smiles at them before turning to leave.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” he asks. “I don’t want to impose on you and Jack.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m offering. Besides, Jack will love having his own personal encyclopedia in the house. He loves you.”

Spencer grins widely at that. “Then that sounds like a plan.”

He sleeps for the majority of the two hour flight home, leaning against Hotch’s shoulder buried under the blanket JJ always carries with her in case anyone gets cold while the older man fills in some paperwork for the case they’d wrapped up a few days prior. The gentle noise of his family chatting around the plane and the comforting smell and feel of his protector surrounding him lull him into a sense of safety and reassurance, resting in the knowledge that his family loves him unconditionally. No matter what happens next, even if a long term condition was going to hit him like a ton of bricks, they weren’t going to leave him, and he was valued. Not for his brain, but because he was Spencer Reid, loved and cherished member of the BAU.

#criminal minds fic #Criminal Minds #criminal minds writing #angst #hotchreid #Spencer Reid #Hurt Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid Whump #my writing

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365days365movies · 3 years

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March 5, 2021: Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) (Recap: Part Two)

This movie is fuckin’ hilarious, and it’s 77 years old!

The Three Caballeros came out this year, Mount Vesuvius erupted again, the...Holocaust was still happening, fuck, right, World War II. Um...yeah, I’m sure this movie provided some MUCH needed humor for American audiences.

I will say, the play for this film came out in 1941, and was MASSIVELY popular. Apparently, the stage play is just as funny, and I would absolutely love to see it in theatres one day, if it ever comes back. Anyway, the film trailers actually used the popularity of the play to market the film, which was also received very well!

And honestly...I don’t know if I can disagree. We’ll see, I guess! On with the show! Check out Part One of the Recap right here!

Recap (2/2)

So, who’s our mysterious scarred visitor and his friend?

The man strides into the place, calling it his childhood home. Abby and Martha, startled, ask who he is. It’s their long lost nephew Jonathan Brewster (Raymond Massey), and his alcoholic plastic surgeon and accomplice, Dr. Herman Einstein (Peter Lorre). Damn, Peter Lorre’s in this movie? Well, holy shit!

Well, they don’t recognize him because of Einstein’s work. That’s because he looks like Frankenstein, and the good alcoholic doctor may have been that film and had a bit too much to drink during the surgery. They plan on fixing that...in the basement, where Teddy’s still digging “the lock” for the Panama Canal. They also have another problem: a body in their car. Apparently, somebody insulted Jonathan by saying he looked like Boris Karloff. Which, to be fair...

As they’re trying to figure out where to put the body, Einstein becomes aware of the hole in the basement, unaware that it’s being dug for a body. The two plan on bringing their body there...even though there’s already a body that needs to go in there. Jesus, this entire family is FUCKED. Some misadventures lead to Jonathan and Einstein bringing the body in through the window, and into the cellar, next to the aunt’s grandfather’s laboratory. Oh, uh, their grandfather had a laboratory, by the way. This family is FUUUUUUUUUUUCKED.

As Jonathan and Einstein stumble in the darkness, we see them carry a body down to the cellar. But wait...no, they bring him in through the window, right after Einstein falls into the window seat, which is...empty...ohhhhhh. Guess the Panama Canal’s full again. And as these two are trying to get their body in, somebody knocks on the door. And oh fuck, it’s Elaine!

Elaine’s now coming to find Mortimer, or the two aunts. Instead, she runs into these two murderous chuckleheads. She’s aware of Jonathan’s identity from past conversations with the aunts, and his presence seems to explain the strange goings on that day. As they apprehend her, believing her to be dangerous to their enterprises, they kidnap her and bring her into the cellar. Just then, the two aunts come out in funerary grieves, questioning the screaming from downstairs. Elaine escapes from Einstein, only for Mortimer to finally arrive with the sanitarium folks. Dear Lord, that’s a lot.

Jonathan proves his identity by stating their past as children, during which he shoved needles underneath his fingernails in his sleep JESUS FUCKING CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK DID HE SAY THIS FAMILY IS FUCKED

By the way, we are an hour in, and this movie is fuckin’ BUMPING. It’s a LOT, and I love every second of it. Anyway, after much His Girl Friday fast banter from Mortimer, Elaine is absolutely FINISHED. Flabbergasted by Mortimer’s negligence of her near murder by Jonathan, she storms off and renounces their marriage (understandably). Mortimer hasn’t quite caught on, but he now has another concern: to get Teddy committed, he must get a signature by a doctor.

Not sure what to do, he sits on the window seat and thinks. He checks in on Mr. Hoskins...only to find Jonathan’s murder victim there instead! Egads, there’s another one!

He immediately blames the aunts, and talks to Aunt Abby about the body. But she doesn’t recognize him, and calls him an impostor! She refuses to hold the funeral services for a total stranger. He accuses her of lying, and she’s upset that she would accuse him of telling a fib! The nerve! I love this movie. Jonathan, intent to stay at the house permanently, comes down to kick Mortimer out, and Mortimer returns the sentiment. But when the aunts come out to look at the strange body, BOTH of the brothers run to the window seat! Mortimer figures out that the body is Jonathan’s doing, and the look he gives him is goddamn hilarious.

Mortimer now has the leverage he needs to kick Jonathan out, and threatens to call the police on him. And JUST THEN, Officer O’Hara shows up! He’s simply come in to check on the couple, and is about to leave when he realizes that Mortimer is an author, and asks if he’d like to read his screenplay. He agrees, and tells Jonathan that he will keep the cop busy IF Jonathan and the doctor leave with their body.

Jonathan is intent on coming back here, after dumping the body in the harbor. But just before they do that, Einstein finds the body of r. Hoskins in the cellar! Fuck, there goes Mortimer’s advantage. And as negotiations are about to continue between the brothers, O’Hara comes in, only for Mortimer to rush him out. Mortimer goes off himself, warning Jonathan once again to be gone.

Jonathan at first believes Mortimer to be the murder, only to quickly learn that the aunts’ past deeds, to his own actual surprise. This also greatly amuses Einstein, who notes that his aunts’ record is tied with Jonathan’s, in terms of murder. This awakens Jonathan’s competitive nature, and he decides that he needs to kill one more person to beat his aunts once and for all. Meanwhile, Mortimer arrives with Dr. Gilchrist (Chester Clute), just as the aunts are holding their service for Mr. Hoskins. He brings Teddy out to him, and this would appear to settle the matter. He finally goes to Elaine, who’s still quite upset (understandably). And that’s not made worse by the fact that he breaks off their marriage. Why? Well...

That’s actually a great line. And decent rationale, because Mortimer’s come to realize that mental illness runs in his family, and he’s afraid that he may one day be afflicted. But, he can’t resist Elaine, and the two kiss passionately...which is interrupted by Dr. Gilchrist, the new Ambassador of Bolivia (according to Teddy). He agrees to sign the papers, and a frustrated Elaine slams the window on Mortimer’s fingers (understandably).

Mortimer goes back to the house, finding his aunts upset by the fact that Jonathan is burying his victim (a “foreigner”, according to the aunts) in the same grave as Mr. Hoskins, which upsets them greatly. He promises to take care of that, before they go to the police! Downstairs, Jonathan sets his sights on killing Mortimer, and plans on doing it slowly at that! But Einstein’s tired of all of this, and actually tries to get Mortimer to leave, for his OWN safety at this point.

Mortimer’s not listening, despite Einstein’s actually good intentions for once. Instead, Mortimer makes a speech about a play he’d seen about a man in a house full of murderers, who refuses to leave, waiting to be trussed up and gagged. He sits down with his back toward the murderer, but never turns around. And as he mocks the typical protagonist of movies or plays like this...well...he was right.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: I love this movie, and it’s funny as shit. Jonathan’s got Mortimer now, and he’s planning on killing him slow and painfully. Unhappy at seeing the whole affair, Einstein goes through his supply of alcohol. Jonathan forces him to do this procedure, but Einstein can’t possibly do it without a drink! They grab the elderberry wine from before, and JUST as they’re about to take a drink, Teddy interrupts with his bugle, causing them to spill the wine!

And THEN, O’Hara comes back, and sees Mortimer tied up. Einstein fuckin’ nat 20′s on his Bluff check, and tells O’Hara that Mortimer’s simply re-enacting a play for them, and he believes it! Mortimer asks him to untie him...but now he has an actual captive audience, O’Hara instead tells him about his play.

THIS MOVIE IS FUNNY AS SHIT

Mortimer’s listening, unwillingly, and reacting through his gag, and it’s fuckin’ funny as FUCK, dude. Just then, Jonathan is about to kill the cop with a knife, but a fed-up Einstein knocks him out with a shoe! When O’Hara turns around, Einstein tells him that the play put him to sleep, and he AGAIN believes it, and he keeps going on about his play!

Just then, the OTHER cops come by, looking to warn the aunts that the neighbors are tired of the bugling by Teddy. Coincidentally, they find Jonathan there, and arrest him, as he’s VERY wanted. But he retaliates by telling the cops about the bodies in the cellar. As they’re about to go down there, Mortimer tries to stop them from doing so, still tied up. But they never get down there, as O’Hara says that Jonathan looks like Boris Karloff, which starts a fight between him and the three cops present.

Mortimer breaks free, and as the fight takes place, he’s just...he’s just done. He monologues to himself about this crazy-ass day, as the chaotic fight takes place in the background. And, again, FUCK ME IT’S FUNNY

The fight dies down, and Lieutenant Rooney (Jack Gleason) arrives. He reveals that Jonathan’s a wanted man, and also suspends O’Hara for being a dumbass and not reporting in for the entire night. He also berates the men for falling for Jonathan’s story about 13 bodies in the cellar. But just then, Teddy comes downstairs, and seemingly confirms it. However, they also ignore this statement, and Teddy comes willingly with them (believing that he’s going to interrogate Jonathan, a suspected spy.

Rooney goes to speak with Mortimer, and looks over the papers to commit Teddy. However, he signed the papers as Theodore Roosevelt, making them completely useless. AND JUST THEN, Dr. Witherspoon shows up to commit Teddy. Mortimer gets Teddy to sign with his real name, and tells him that Witherspoon is there to take him to Africa (AKA the Happy Dale Asylum).

Upon hearing this, the aunts are quite saddened. Rooney insists that Teddy has to go, though. And so, if Teddy’s going, well...they want to go, too! Mortimer definitely is all for this, but Witherspoon insists that they never take sane people at Happy Dale. Rooney also mocks this idea, and says that Teddy must go because he’s touting the idea that there are 13 bodies in the cellar. Which the aunts, uh...just straight-up admit.

Mortimer, realizing that they’re FUCKED, decides to distract Rooney by making himself appear insane, grabbing Teddy’s bugle and charging up the stairs in a show. Oh, and as this happens, Elaine is watching the WHOLE THING through the window. He manages to convince the men that the women are also in need of admittance, for their delusions. Mortimer also gets Dr. Einstein to sign the papers, just as he’s leaving. Meanwhile, Elaine makes her way into the cellar from the outside.

One more signature needed: next of kin, which is naturally Mortimer. But as Witherspoon leaves for a moment to help Teddy pack his things, Abby and Martha speak with Mortimer, worried about the signatures on the papers. They want to go to Happy Dale, but they’re worried that they’ll investigate the signatures, and find that Mortimer’s is a fraud. And why?

Because Mortimer’s not their next of kin.

He’s not a Brewster at all.

I fucking love this movie. Anyway, as Mortimer is (understandably) celebrating this discovery, a scream is heard from below as Elaine finds the bodies! She ALMOST blows the whole operation, but Mortimer intercepts her and literally stop her from talking by kissing her OUT OF THE HOUSE

And after that, the two finally reconcile, and they CHAAAAARGE off to their honeymoon. Which, by the way, also drives the cabbie insane. Yeah, dude’s been here the whole movie waiting for them to leave, and I haven’t mentioned it, because this movie is chock-full of jokes, and I legit didn’t have the time!

And, yeah; that’s Arsenic and Old Lace! And I find myself once again saying...I get it, Mom. I get why you like this movie. Hot damn. See you in the Review!

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closemyeyesforgood · 4 years

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It started when I was just a kid. Our father was always on a war path of beratement, with my mom, brothers, and me. He never hit me directly, but he would grab and smack me, hold me up by the collar of my shirt. Scream at me nose to nose. and I got it the mildest. Everyone else would get hit, unless they obeyed.

I was told every day that I was worthless, useless, pathetic etc. By everyone but my mom, one aunt, and my grandmother. These were the only people I trusted.

My best friend from age 0 to 11 was...arguably my only friend. Already feeling unworthy of love, I did anything she asked. She eventually went power hungry, always manipulating and threatening me to do as she wanted. She would abuse an assault me, as well as say fucked up things to me so I would hate myself.

She would get me to tell her classified info, tell me she cared, make me feel loved, then just turn around and use the info to manipulate me. A very intelligent 10 yo. This went on and got worse and worse until some horrific and unspeakable things happened. We were always left unsupervised with her brother, and no one would believe anything I said, because she was always the better diplomat. I stopped contact after the things that happened. She still tries to get back in touch.

Right after this, my dad was kicked out as he started hitting me forcefully, and telling me how stupid, and worthless I am incessantly. My mom couldn’t handle it anymore and at the time he was having an affair, he moved the woman and her son in with us. They all left at the same time, and i think it was mere days before Stepdad moved in.

Stepdad was never physically abusive, but he was a teenage party animal trapped in a man’s body. I didn’t sleep, because there was suddenly a non stop drug party at my house every night with people having sex in my hallways. And injecting heroin on my couch. The same men would repeatedly break my door down, sometimes passing out in my bed, on my floor, or getting knocked out by anyone who noticed them trying to get in my room. No nothing happened, but its likely because they were too drunk.

Mom got heavily addicted to the party scene, and I barely saw her, and when I did, she was very very rarely sober. My brothers had both more or less found other places to hang out at this time. I had to start cooking my own rice suppers, and making my own lunches, begging for money, and clothes etc. At the time I didn’t really know how to “cook cook”, but I learned.

Every day, stepdad would tell me how stupid and ugly and useless I was for the next 8 years. Always reassuring me that nothing I say or feel matters to anyone. I retaliated, but it would only make his words sharper, and make my mother resent me more and more. The more I stood up for myself the more horrible he would get.

I start middle school at this time. and made a new friend. Coincidentally the same name as the previous friend. Again, the only friend who would put any effort in, and made me feel like no one else would want to know me. She was incredibly manipulative. More so than my previous friend. She would dig and dig and dig so much that she would even “entrap” me into saying things I didn’t even mean, just to use them against me, or use it as ammunition to gossip about me to other people that I also though were my friends. She tricked me into doing humiliating things, degrading things, illegal things. Things I still have actual scars from

She forced me into several relationships with guys she liked so she could make them cheat on me. She would torment me by manipulating other people to berate and make fun of me publicly, and also harass me on the phone or via msn, just to see me fall apart, and then “help put me back together”.

Manipulating me and turning everyone I trusted against me. Her manipulations and rumors cased me to be assaulted and betrayed several times, and convinced me I should be happy to take the compliment, because no one else would ever want me. It took a long time, but eventually, 5 years later I realized her motives were all poisonous, and she was more or less pimping me out. Convincing me i’m ugly and disgusting, and I owe it to these boys to give them attention. Its fucked up what taking advantage of vulnerability can do.

it was around this time I started drinking vodka as often as I could get my hands on it. I had run away from home and was staying with a friend. My boyfriend at the time could get me booze, and his friends all had cars, so I was able to find some escape from all the trash in my life. I was 16 at this time. Eventually I had to accept that begging for money, and doing odd jobs wasn’t enough. I had to go back home and face the mess. At the time mom was on meds for her back, and I started hand feeding her supper, because she was on opiods. Then the hurricane hit and I had to move in with my aunt.

Within the first few weeks of living there, I was still coming home to see my mom once a week. But, her and my brother just kept stealing my things and my money to buy weed or booze or whatever. I got fed up and called her out on it. To which she slapped me across the face, shoved me out the front door and told me I wasn’t her daughter. I fucked right off and didn’t look back.

My aunt treated me like a dog. I wasn’t allowed to use the hot water, or turn the heat on in my room. I wasn’t allowed to go with them on trips or dinners or anything. I wasn’t allowed to enjoy much at all. Not allowed to go to the mall with my cousin, not allowed to go fishing etc. Despite my dad sending her $1000 a month for me. But at the same time was in charge of 4 other kids, plus 3 more when the cousins were there for a visit. All the while, cooking and cleaning and making lunches, and delegating chores and helping with homework etc. These kids still consider me to be more like an aunt than a cousin or foster sister.

Each day, the only things my aunt would have to say is that I was not good enough, no one cared about me, i was worthless, and useless, and barely a person to her. People only pretend to like me because I am pathetic. When people would visit, they would call me cinderella, if that doesn’t say enough She would always talk about how I was a worthless slut who didn’t appreciate her generosity, and would never amount to anything. I would just be an addict like my mom, blah blah blah. This never stopped me from telling her off. But telling her off only made her angrier and more viscious.

One day, I had come home from visiting with my other aunt and found a van packed full of my stuff. My uncle had just had a heart attack and was recovering in the hospital. She blamed my uncles (who is nothing but pie) heartattack on my insolence and had made the decision to kick me out before I even reconciled with my mother. My mom took me back but she was pretty fucked up about it. My previous boyfriend had also recently left me for a girl he had been seeing, my new boyfriend was a very cruel and distant guy, always telling me how stupid and weak and etc. I was, and I just had my wisdom teeth removed so I was not in a great headspace either. Thankfully it was only a few weeks away from staying with my grandmother for the summer.

By this point, I was “adopted” by another girl, who was also a victim of the previously mentioned girls abuse. Though it turns out she simply learned the tactics for herself. It was a repeat of the previous two friends. She was very clung to me, as I think she became addicted to abusing me. So much that she even followed me to the city when I moved for school. She squatted in my dorm room and refused to leave.

And again, found my best friend trying to pimp me out so she could get the guys on her radar. Or just to watch me suffer, or berate me for allowing my weak mind to be manipulated. After countless abuse and manipulation, I just snapped out of it, and wasn’t falling for it anymore. I started to be resistant to her manipulation. Not enough though, again she was still me only real friend in a new world.

I had told her many secrets and personal things that I hadn't told anyone before, and again, all she did was use it against me, calling it “experience” instead of “trauma” and used me as a pawn because of it. Just like the previous friends I had also trusted. We ended up moving in together, and lived together for a year until I eventually became a lost cause for her. She moved out, leaving me with no way to pay rent, and i ended up renting a room to a sleezeball whose cheques always bounced. She too, lied to me constantly, telling sob stories and manipulated me out of thousands of dollars.

Unfortunately you would think this would have opened my eyes, but I was so lost and confused, it only made me blind and unsure. I felt I could no longer trust friends to respect anything about me. I stopped opening up to friends, and assumed boyfriends would be a better bet.

I started seeing someone who I had been friends with for a few years. I had dated a few guys, but they were all more interested in their ego than anything else. Again always telling me I was nothing, worthless, stupid, gross, ugly, unreachable expectations of respect or consideration etc. This guy though. He was very sweet, always knew the right things to say to make me feel sorry for him, make me trust him, find him non threatening etc.

He became physically and sexually abusive almost immediately after he got me to open up to him about myself. As soon as I told him anything personal, he would use it as a bargaining chip, or as a threat, or would use it to manipulate me into thinking he was being normal. I was trapped with him for a little over a year before I found a weak link and broke free. I am still unable to have showers with an obscured curtain without the risk of a panic attack.

Not ONE of my friends would listen to me when I tried telling them what he was doing to me. They just told me I misunderstood him, and that he is a sweet guy with his own issues and I just have to be okay with that. “Don’t throw him away and disrespect him like all the others”. Not even telling me to leave if I’m unhappy, but that I owe it to him to try harder to accept him.

He then stalked me for a few years, and still even now, most of my friends don’t want to hear it, they love him, and whatever I say is probably a fabrication to make myself look better than him or whatever it is they tell themselves.

I had finally broken things off right before moving to new place. I started seeing another old friend, who was fairly reliable and a lot of fun to be around. We had lots of mutual friends, and his parents took me in a lot in high school. We started to talk, and open up to eachother, and slowly but also quickly, I found out he too was a very troubled guy. It didn’t sink in until it was too late, I knew things were shitty, but he convinced me that moving in together would be the best thing for us.

He was incredibly controlling right away and I don’t believe one day went by where he didn’t sit me down and berate me into crippling despair. He would not be affectionate even in the slightest with me, other than to humiliate me in front of our friends. After he would have one of his “talks” with me, I would be a ball on the floor sobbing, and he would just leave the room and tell me i was a “stupid worthless bitch”. I was confined to his parents house. If I went out for a walk, or anything of the sort without getting permission first, he would scream at me and berate me. If I got out of bed before him, same thing, if I didn’t make him breakfast perfectly before work, same thing. He was never physical, but he would throw things around, and scream and yell. He is still one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, which basically just means he knew all the right words to rip someone apart. And all the right arguments to make them feel wrong.

Every minute detail I told him about me, became a tool. Every single bit of knowledge became a point of manipulation and control. He didn’t want a girlfriend, He wanted an outlet. He even forced me to go on meds, so I wouldn’t be so emotional about it. SO I wouldn’t retaliate and see what he was doing.

I eventually started seeing what was happening, when i got used to the feeling of my face being swollen, but it took a year and a half of it for me to realize I didn’t deserve what he was doing to me. Unfortunately during this same time I had found a new friend, who I was only kind of open with, but I was on meds at the time, so I may have been more open with her than I realize. She was using 100% of the info I gave her to turn other friends against me, and to eventually alienate me entirely for reasons I couldn’t really figure out. She claimed she was helping me deal with my abusive situation, but she was just using the opportunity to manipulate, and control someone so she could feel superior.

Her recently exed boyfriend realized what she was doing, and decided to tell me about it. we started talking more and more, and we started an emotional affair. my boyfriend found out about it pretty quickly as he was always reading my e-mails and texts while I was sleeping or out. at that time we were just about to move to another town for him to finish school. We broke up, but he convinced me I needed to make a friendship work with him. Keep in mind, I was living with him in an unfamiliar own yet again.

I then didn’t sleep for months, as each night he would sit at the foot of my bed and tell me how much of a piece of shit I am, and that I don’t deserve to live. If he kills himself it will 100% be my fault etc. I would go to work exhausted with swollen eyes. He would visit me on lunch breaks to berate me some more. making me cry in public, them making me feel like shit for embarrassing him for crying in public, and being weak and pathetic enough to do so.

During this, I was still talking to the other guy, we were meeting in hotel rooms and whatnot. he was the only person who would listen, or help. Eventually I made my brother move to the town and get a place with me so I could escape. and this guy moved in also.

He was smart, and kind. We opened up to each other quite a bit. I don’t believe any guy has ever been as open with me as he was. I felt comfortable being 100% transparent with him in no time, same on his side. This probably sounds great, but sometimes you forget that fact knowledge isn’t always emotional knowledge. and when you know enough about someone, you think you can rewire them.

Instead of accepting me, and loving me for who I was, he spent the next 5 years trying to groom me and change me to what he wanted. Using every aspect and detail I had opened up to him about to use as leverage. He often told me I was disgusting, or weak and that no one could ever love me like he does. On a daily basis he would tell me no one would ever care about me or my feelings or my life. I was never pretty enough, or well dressed enough, or clean enough, or organized enough. Nothing about me was perfect enough for him. Like previous boyfriends, he spent a lot of hours trying to convince me to just not have friends. He would make me feel like shit for spending time with people, or investing in them, and always try and convince me I don’t need them and shouldn't trust the,.

Always bringing up things from the past as evidence I should only ever trust him, and depend on him. The worst part about this, was that I always believed him, always. Every word he said, every action he took, every opinion, every resistance. Every time he would discourage me, I always was convinced it was “for my own good”. He seemed to resent me for everything I did, or said, or thought. I was unhappy for most of the relationship, but was convinced no one else would ever love me.

If this wasn’t enough, I was simultaneously being abused and manipulated by my boss. She had successfully convinced me I was worthless, and without any value what so ever. That I always needed to be “taken down a peg” because i was so full of myself. Daily she would plant a seed of doubt, and watch it grow into fruition. As my home support was not helpful, It was not easy for me to see what was going on from either front. She would play me against coworkers so I wouldn’t have an opportunity to see that she was puppeteer all of us. She would set me up with a false sense of security, by being seemingly nurturing, convincing me to open up to her when we would be stuck in a room alone for hours. Then use it against me, telling me I deserve nothing, and she has been so generous, and understanding, how could I have the audacity to question or disrespect her.

When I became pregnant, the beratement, and doubt, and hate and resentment got much worse from both of them. They saw me gaining more confidence, and they were losing control. My pregnancy brain gave me more clarity as it wasn’t about me or them anymore. It was about my baby. I started seeing the relationship was toxic, and that my boss was a fucking horrible person. I started seeing what I wanted for myself and my baby, instead of what everyone else wanted of me.

I had already made the decision to try and work from home after the baby was born, and I was going to try and make things work with my boyfriend, as he had convinced me the problem was my boss, and taking her out of the picture would fix everything.

Then, my baby died, a week after her due date. So I was completely fucked up, I felt like JFK when Jackie tried to put his brains back in. I lost what little support I did have in my life. And the two of them saw it as an opportunity to gain control of me again. For a little while it worked, until I started seeing a Councillor for the loss. My boyfriend continued to insinuate that it was somehow my negligence that killed our baby, and my boss bullied me back to work after 6 weeks.

The abuse and manipulation and beratement became overwhelming, and I started a blog, which my boss read and dissected and would use as reference when trying to berate or manipulate me some more. My boyfriend would just constantly be bitter toward me, and resentful for any reason he could think of. Always telling me I was pathetic and no body wants to hear about my problems and I need to get over it etc.

Then I quit, started a new job, left my boyfriend, and started a new life with the only man who has ever been considerate and kind to me for purposes of love, and not an agenda. First guy to not try and change me for what he wants from me.

So basically I had a constant stream of abuse and manipulation form every person I trusted until now. Each person I opened up to, used the info for their own gain, and never once used it to consider my personality or feelings. So its really difficult to open up to or trust anyone. I didn’t stop drinking heavily until I got pregnant, I didn't stop drinking all together until my mother passed away, and its still a struggle to not get trashed, but my stomach issues help me stop thankfully.

Alcohol made life bearable, and fun. I was able to enjoy myself and let go of things. Unfortunately it didn't make the thoughts and feelings and memories go away. It repressed them, and when my mother was no longer in my life, all the memories and feelings began flooding back in. So minimum 14 years of me shutting out emotions and memories. This is what caused my "mental breakdown" among some other circumstances.

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itsbenedict · 5 years

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Kingdoms and Koopas: Ep. 10

K&K is a Fate Accelerated campaign set in the Mario universe, which I’m running for three players:

Bee @thebeeskneesocks, playing Kandace Koopa

Jovian @jovian12, playing Cozmo Naut

Malky @sleepdepravity, playing Dr. Chevy Chain

Last time | Archive | Next time

Previously on Kingdoms and Koopas, the party went and heroically crashed a spaceship into the ocean! They snagged a macguffin and a good time was had by all. Now, though, they find themselves on the roof of Kam Ekademy, amidst a brewing underground war between the two rival magic schools.

Which they promptly ignore to go shoot a movie with Zip Toad!

So the party, once again, falls out of the cloud of Ted, the Storm God, the location to which Kandace’s teleportation circle goes. Before anything else happens, Princess Opal, uh, has some business to attend to in the Magic Kingdom what with the alien invasion that was happening, so she leaves right away and I totally didn’t forget that she came through the portal with them for the entire session and this isn’t a retcon shut up.

So they see the unconscious body of Waluigi lying there, and pretty much ignore that, because who cares about that. What they take notice of is Ted the Storm God, who seems pretty dejected for some reason.

Apparently, Ted is feeling left out, because Kam Ekademy and Kammy Koopa’s Academy for Young Witches and Wizards have, y’know, gone to war in the secret tunnel system connecting the schools underground, but the other students at Kam Ekademy thought he’d just be a liability and wouldn’t let him come. (Kandace is briefly shocked, not by the war, but by how there were secret tunnels underneath the school and no one told her.)

As they’re debating getting involved, Chevy does what she does best whenever anyone proposes getting involved in anything, and just sort of rolls away. Off the roof of the castle. And crashes through a ceiling.

She falls into a classroom somewhere in Kam Ekademy, and notices the door leading out has a can of green paint precariously balanced on top, waiting to spill on whoever opens it. It was probably meant to fall on someone coming in from the outside, but since she took an... alternative entrance, the trap isn’t much to worry about. She knocks it down and proceeds outside.

...Where the hallway appears to be filled with swinging blade traps except instead of blades it’s big versions of those toy sticky hands.

She barely manages to dodge, when from behind her, the result of a failed spot check she made earlier begins to berate her. Iggy Koopa, who was lurking in wait in the classroom to ambush his would-be victim, is super upset that she ruined his ambush, and begins to attack! He also sounds the alarm, and more Koopalings come running.

Chevy attempts to escape, but here’s the thing: Chevy successfully escaping would be at odds with anything actually happening. Her driving motivation is to get out of all this nonsense and just go home, and splitting the party is no fun. So... this isn’t going to go her way. But in what way is it not going to go her way? That depends on what the rest of the party decides to do.

Let’s go check in on them.

Back up on the roof, another Lakitu arrives, having spotted them on the roof of Kam Ekademy from a distance with his camera. He tells them that shooting is going to start soon on Zip Toad’s new movie, the one Cozmo was hired to act in. So, Kandace and Cozmo have a choice to make: they can go investigate this underground magic war and be late for shooting, or they can go shoot a movie and let this underground magic war sort itself out.

Obviously they go for the movie. They get Ted’s phone number and promise to help him get involved in magic war later, and then they’re off- Kandace ferrying Cozmo on her broom.

So, that choice made, we can resolve what happens when Chevy tries to escape. What happens is that Larry, Lemmy, and Iggy all combine their magic to create a giant explosion, which blasts Chevy into the sky- directly in the direction of the party, as luck/contrivance would have it!

So Chevy gracefully lands on the broom, and the three of them-

-wait, no, that doesn’t happen. Chevy is a chain chomp who’s just been launched by an explosion. She’s basically a cannonball right now, and this is really not what anyone wants to have flying directly at them while balanced on a broom.

So Kandace tries to fire off her spell, the one she’s used before that makes things all puffy and lightweight, so Chevy’s bulk is reduced and they can catch her out of the air. She, uh, whiffs. So Chevy hits them and knocks them off the broom. But all is not yet lost! Chevy rolls to try to chomp onto the broom in a last-ditch effort to grab hold, and rolls a 6! So she chomps down extremely hard on the broom. Which, uh, almost breaks it in half, like you might expect. The broom is pretty badly damaged, now, and that in combination with Chevy’s additional weight, and the weight of her two compatriots who managed to grab onto her chain, means that the broom is now slowly sinking to the ground.

...Sorry, did I say ground? Let’s double-check something. They started at Kam Ekademy, they’re about halfway to the shooting location, and the shooting location is World 8-1, The Part That’s Supposed To Stop Mario But Doesn’t- a twisty bridge over lava leading to Bowser’s Castle. Let me take a look at the map...

Okay, yes, the broom is now slowly sinking to the lava. That’s a more accurate way to put it.

Thankfully, they’re not alone- there’s the Lakitu cameraman there with them! Now, he’s got his fishing line, which he could use to haul them up and slow their descent enough to glide to safety up on the bridge, but... well, it’s got a big expensive film camera attached. Someone’s going to need to hold onto the camera and hold on to Chevy’s chain while dangling over lava, which sounds difficult. Plus, the natural Approach to use for such a feat would be Careful, a stat which neither Kandace nor Cozmo (the only party members with hands) have in abundance. In fact, I think it might literally be 0 for both of them. ...Yep.

So this would likely end in disaster, except that they have an advantage: the GM is weak to puns.

Cozmo, see, has a very high Flashy stat. And the object in question is a camera.

So he rolls Flashy, he does well, he doesn’t drop the camera into the lava, and they actually make it to the set for Zip Toad’s new movie! And, given that I didn’t exactly plan this option out in detail (my pages of notes for the underground magic war will need to be adapted), I let them decide how this movie was going to go.

The basic outline: it's a fast and furious type racing movie. Cozmo is the gruff and stuck-up career street racer, while Zip Toad is the fresh-faced rookie trying to prove himself. But when a giant chain chomp (played by some toads in a papier-mache prop) starts chewing up the other racers, they have to work together to put it down and save street racing!

Everything else? Up to them.

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The racetrack. Under the ash-choked skies of the Lava Kingdom, the Outrageous Racing League carries on their sacred mission: to totally shred. Blargg’s Oven, the most dangerous course in the league, is the site of the Outrageous Championship- and there’s only one man intense enough to take home the cup.

Racer X, the mysterious masked daredevil on his tricked-out ebon dirtbike, refuses to lose. It seems as though he’s falling behind- but then, with a burst of speed, he zooms forward and bumps another racer off the edge of track into the burning abyss below. Surely that was an accident, right? Where’s the ref to make the call?

Ref? What ref?! This is the Outrageous Championship! Racer X smashes three more racers off the edge to their fiery dooms. He’s going to win... at any cost.

This scene reflects off the cool shades of another racer. An extreme closeup of his determined expression fills the screen.

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Kandace is wearing a lot of hats today- she’s part of the crew running special effects, using her magic, but she’s also got a brief speaking role. And now, she’s filling in for the safety crew, as one of the Stunt Guys plunges towards the lava and the Lakitu trying to catch them fumbles their rod. She telekinetically saves the stunt biker, and now has a little blackmail on that Lakitu. No one has to know they messed up, right?

...Also, there’s the sound of an explosion from over by the schools in the distance. It’s, um, probably fine.

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It’s after the qualifying race, and finally, our hero is here. Ace McQueen Junior Jr. (don’t blame me, I let them name the characters) is sussing out this Racer X. He starts by trying flattery, asking how X pulled those cool stunts- and then smoothly transitions into questioning. He didn’t mean to knock those racers to their deaths, right?

“Tch.”

X claims he didn’t even notice he bumped anyone. They’re just that far beneath him- he isn’t about to take stock of each and every greenhorn he spots when his eyes are on the prize. Pure focus.

We see Ace McQueen Junior Jr.’s eyes narrow behind his shades. Racer X is a liar, and he’s clearly more than willing to fight dirty to win. He tosses off a cool one-liner and heads off to prepare for the next race.

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Filming is interrupted by a sound from the direction of the school. This time, it’s not an explosion- it’s the sound of music. Kandace, actually, recognizes the tune, though not its full significance. She remembers one of her teachers, Professor Wizzerd, humming a few bars of it while teaching one of the basic spells in a Magikoopa’s arsenal. The spell in question was the Invocation of So’nee- a useful cantrip that calls on the power of the ancient sealed horror So’nee, a being anathema to this world. The Invocation of So’nee fires a magical structure shaped like So’nee’s unholy symbols (the Cross, the Halo, the Plane, and the Mountain, shaped like an X, O, ◻, and ◁), which serve as a base for all manner of other magical effects that can be stacked on top of it.

Why a song invoking So’nee is coming from the direction of the schools... is unknown. And probably fine! They have a movie to shoot!

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An indistinct shape beneath bandages lies on a bed in the infirmary. This poor soul is being treated for his horrible burn wounds, and we see a crying figure leave the room.

Racer X is suddenly slapped across the face- a koopa in a pit crew outfit has struck him. It’s confusing- he’s not racing right now, there’s no prize to win. What idiot would waste their chance to strike outside of battle? She’s crying, she’s telling him that her brother will never recover, never walk again, and how could he be so horrible?

He blows her off. Who cares if he destroyed her brother’s life? He was in the way of Racer X- and anyone who does the same will suffer the same fate. He stalks away, unconcerned. She’s not one of his opponents.

The camera pans over and around a corner. Ace McQueen Junior Jr. heard everything.

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Chevy, meanwhile, is waiting down by the trailers, at the base of the bridge supports out of sight of the cameras. She’s waiting for this to be over- since no one’s actually gotten injured yet, thanks to Kandace’s quick thinking, this impromptu set medic gig has been pretty boring. There’s a brief earthquake from the direction of the schools, but that’s probably fine.

Then someone in a nearby trailer starts demanding things from her, like she’s some kind of errand boy. He wants three full buckets of garlic, and he wants them NOW!

Chevy doesn’t care. Chevy ignores him. He won’t be ignored, and escalates his verbal abuse. Chevy responds by bodily ramming into and knocking over his stupid trailer.

The man who, furious, climbs out of the trailer... is a short, heavyset fellow with a big pink nose and motorcycle gear, who- holy cow, picks up and swings the entire trailer at her and knocks her into the lava. Chevy is, however, made of metal, so it’ll take at least ten minutes in the lava before she begins to melt. She swims back to shore, uncomfortably hot and glowing red for her trouble. She keeps her distance from the freaky-strong trailer man.

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It’s the semifinals, and Ace McQueen Junior Jr. and Racer X are neck-and-neck. It’s almost a dead heat- and then Racer X makes his move. We zoom in on his handlebars, and we see his wheels kick up dirt as he veers sharply to the side. They’re approaching a dangerously thin stretch of track, and as they do so, Racer X closes in, meaning to ram Ace McQueen Junior Jr. off the edge.

And then Ace McQueen Junior Jr. does, to Racer X, the unthinkable: he slams on the brakes. He slows down, on purpose- an impossible maneuver which leads to Racer X throwing himself off the edge of the course.

Just as he goes over the edge, we see one impeccably-manicured hand shoot over the edge and grab Racer X’s glove, saving his life. But not so for his chances of winning- the ebon dirtbike calls into the lava and melts, in a visual callback to the first Metal Mario movie. It’s unclear how they’re going to edit in the bike giving a thumbs-up in post.

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Then there is a sound. The inhuman, robotic singing voice in the distance halts, and a deep, magically amplified voice bellows “HATSU, HATSU, HATSU”. Dead silence falls- the rumbling is over, the music is over, the probably-apocalyptic situation has been probably-resolved. Or something,

Finally, it’s time to film the big climax. The giant chain chomp needs to show up- and first, the producer- well, the "production assistant", but the real producer, as opposed to Zip Toad who just puts his name on everything, Mauve the Goomba- begs Chevy to be in the film, because the papier-mache chomp looks terrible and she really wants this to be a hit. Chevy agrees (taking her Rich up to 5), on the condition that they add a scene showing that the monster chomp used to be a normal person. She films a brief scene in the FX trailer, where the unnamed chomp scientist (breaking stereotypes!) suffers a lab accident with radioactive chemicals or something, with some camera trickery to imply that as she falls unconscious, she is beginning to grow. Soon, there’ll be a giant rampaging dog-beast destroying everything (un-breaking stereotypes! whew, close one.)

There's a problem, though: the prop chomp had a special compartment for actors who were "eaten" to hide in, but no such compartment exists inside a real one. Enter Kandace with an idea: hey, she can teleport people, right? So she scribes a teleport circle on Chevy's tongue, and then Chevy eats a Mega Mushroom, growing her and the circle such that the devoured stunt guys are harmlessly teleported away when she eats them alive.

Problem, though: wouldn't that alarm Ted? So they call him up, promising to explain why this random-crap-portal stuff has been happening to him. Kandace lies through her teeth, claiming that it's just stuff that this giant chain chomp eats getting teleported to his digestive system and coming out his mouth, because of magic stomach stuff. He's like, what? It doesn't come out my mouth, it comes out my cloud. And she explains, no, it's your magic digestive system, y'know. Ted is not smart- he has a clever of -1, actually- but it’s not a very good lie, so it’s not hard. Maybe he'll get a good roll!

He believes this harder than anyone has ever believed any lie, ever.

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“We need to stop this thing! If we don’t...!”

“...Illegal street racing... could be done for!”

Ace McQueen Junior Jr. and Racer X, both on standard-issue bikes, are speeding down the hill as the giant monster chain chomp pursues them. Teeth snap at their back tires, and they just barely manage to keep ahead. But as they flee, they see a gap in the course, where the giant chomp previously emerged from the lava.

“...Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t think. I do.”

Ace McQueen Junior Jr. and Racer X speed towards the gap at high speed, then fork in two different directions, going straight up a couple of natural ramps and backflipping into the sky. They come down on top of the giant chain chomp- and now, as it rolls onward, large enough to clear the gap, they’re right on top. Their engines rev as they match pace with the chomp’s rotation, keeping their balance on the monster’s head.

“...X, watch out!”

The chomp’s mouth is coming around as it rolls, and they need to jump it! They pull it off once, but the second time Racer X seems to stumble, his bike slipping and flying off the side. He gets snagged on a tooth, cutting his arm open a bit, but Ace McQueen Junior Jr. reaches down a hand and pulls him up. This was definitely in the script, and not the actor messing up. Luckily, good camerawork captures this inspiring moment.

Racer X gets on Ace McQueen Junior Jr.‘s bike, and the two of them work together to do one last sick stunt! They fly up into the air, there’s an inspiring slow-mo closeup, and then... the camera spins and wheels around, obscuring exactly what it is that just happened that led to their stunt causing the chain chomp to go flying into the lava. But it happens! And it’s incredibly rad!

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Now for a problem: when Chevy does her stunt fall into the lava, she, oops, gets a bunch of lava in her mouth. And into the portal in her mouth. So that a bunch of lava sprays out of the portal.

Ted subsequently proclaims himself the Volcano God and nearly incinerates some Stunt Guys, until Chevy spits out the lava and ends his fun. Booooo. With that, and some medical attention for the Guys, the movie is over!

...so, anyway, I’m about to spring a moderately apocalyptic situation on everyone, when I realize: Kandace still has the Music Key taken from the Orbital Doom Casa. She never handed it in to Kammy Koopa. So... as was the case prior to the filming of this movie, Kammy Koopa does not possess all four Music Keys. And so... nothing bad happens. Yet.

So after they wrap filming, Chevy pays to fix Kandace's broom out of her stunt wages, and then they're off to the school war to investigate the aftermath. (Cozmo’s going to have to miss the afterparty, sorry.)

Next time: something big happened while Chain Chomp Run was being filmed, and now it’s time to figure out what it was and what to do about it.

Last time | Archive | Next time

#zip toad #just to be perfectly clear: zip toad is not some sort of flying superhero in this movie #it's mostly bike stunts #he just uses that tagline on half his movies because he thinks it's cool #kingdoms and koopas

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fatandnerdy30 · 5 years

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The Itsy Bitsy Spider 24

I meant to put this up yesterday in honor of National Fanfic Writer's day, but the day got away from me with being sick and everything. But, I figured you all deserve another chapter, so here it is! And remember to water and feed your favorite fanfic writers with comments telling them how much they're work means to you!!

"Hey!" Nat's voice came over the com as Clint made his way down the highway on his bike, wind rushing through his hair. "How about a little company?" The roar of another bike made the archer look to his side and he smiled. "Hey, what took you so long?" "Oh, you know, my hair was a mess and I couldn't find anything to wear." She pulled up to the side of her friend and smiled, revving her engine. "You didn't have to follow me," Clint said, turning around a bend. "I would have been fine on my own." "Oh, I know. But I haven't seen my niece and nephews in so long, so I thought it was time." Clint gave her a side smirk. "Don't use my kids as an excuse. You're just worried about Peter, just like the rest of us. Come on, I know you." The woman snorted. "Look, just because he hasn't done anything doesn't mean he won't. I still don't trust him fully." Until he was out of the facility and away from Tony's work. "Yeah, yeah, tell me another one. Just, don't be too hard on the kid, okay? I'm sure he feels like this whole thing is his fault." When he had talked with him the other day, he'd gotten to know him, taking subtle hints from the way he acted, so he could take a knowing guess to how the boy was feeling. "I'm not blaming him for anything. I just don't trust him, that's all." And she hadn't since the day he was brought to the compound. The archer stayed silent after that, just letting the wind blow over his helmet. He heard a strange noise and looked up to see a private plane go overhead heading straight for his home. Being that his area was a no fly zone, he got nervous and picked up the speed, Natasha on his heels as they rounded the last bend before they veered off a dirt road that led to his home. He had to get there soon and make sure Laura was all right. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ How long would it take to blast a freaking hole in a building!? Hammer was loosing his patience. "Come on guys, let's make it efficient here!" he complained from the car window, watching as droid after droid crashed into the Avengers facility. And every time, when the smoke cleared, there wasn't even a dent in polished white outside. "Dammit!" he pounded the inside of the car. "Please calm down, Mr. Hammer," Mr. Ward's tone of voice was bored. "You've obviously underestimated Mr. Stark's defenses." "Never tell me that again!" Justin seethed. "I am superior to Tony Stark in every way!" Ward held up his hands in a placating manner. "Okay, just calm down and gather your bots. There has to be a weak spot. A way in." "I can't scan the building for anything because of the fucking AI Stark built! It has ti have a weakness!" He hit the seat again and again like a child who didn't get his way. "Hammer," Ward said in a dangerously calm voice. "I will not listen to your screaming like a petulant child." Justin took a moment to calm himself, taking a deep breath. "I apologize. I'm not used to loosing so easily." "Everyone loses at one time or another in their lives." Ward raised an eyebrow as if to enunciate his point. "Yes...I suppose they do." Justin tapped his small tablet. "And I know when I'm beat, and-" he was cut off by his phone ringing. Confused, he answered the unknown number. "Hammer here." "I know where the kid will be," Toomes' voice rang from the other end. "I know where they're going. Phineas is tracking the car the boy's mother is in as we speak." "And how are you doing this?" Justin was very cautious with this, being as Toomes had shunted him in the past. And he didn't like being two timed. "How do I know I can trust you right now?" Sure he had Toomes' family, but he had to know that the man wasn't leading him into a trap. "Herman put a locator onto the woman's clothing that was built by Phineas. They're heading towards where the boy is now, I know it." Toomes didn't sound like he liked asking for help very much, which delighted Justin immensely. "Okay, I'll bite. Send me the coordinates of the tracker. I'll go quietly this time to make sure I get the item." He gave Ward a thumbs up who nodded and got on the phone himself. "I'll tell you where your family is after I have the kid." With that he hung up and a second later, his phone rang and he pulled up a mini-map of the area where the locator was headed. "Perfect." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Placed on the arm of the couch, Peter was left there while Pepper went over to where Laura was already chopping up greens for a salad. "Is there anything I can do to help?" "How are you at making burgers?" Laura pointed to a large bowl full of ground beef. "I can do that." Pepper made sure Peter was still on the couch and set to forming the patties. In the meantime, the small boy felt useless as he stood watching from the couch. He'd never really voiced his opinion about not being able to help, but this was his mess too. It all happened because of him, so he at least wanted to help make dinner. Slowly making his way to the edge of the couch, he used his sticky abilities to get himself to the floor, grateful the couch was low. Once he was on the wooden boards, he started running over to the counter, wincing when his gait had pulled the wound on his side. He stared up at the adults towering at least eighty feet over him, knowing full well that they didn't know about him being on the floor, so he had to be careful around them. "Pepper!?" he shouted, standing close to the woman's shoe, keeping an eye on its movements. "Pepper!?" he shouted again and the woman glanced up, her line of vision going to the couch and she automatically stopped what she was doing. "Peter?" she called and looked down at the floor around them, stopping when she spotted him. "Oh my god! Peter, you know you shouldn't be on the floor! What if I had hurt you?" She crouched down and went to grab him, but her hands were full of meat. "Up here, now," she ordered in a serious tone. "I'm sorry," Peter grunted as he started to climb the up the counter, glad they were polished wood, because he would have had so many splinters by the time he reached the top. "I just wanted to help, and I knew you wouldn't be able to hear me from the couch, so I came to you." He stood by the half full bowl of ground beef, the top of his head not even coming to half the height of said bowl. Laura smiled at the picture the two made. Yeah, it was a little weird to have a boy the size of a mouse standing on her counter, but at the same time she found him endearing. "You know what," she said before Pepper could speak. "I know something you can do. Just give me a second." She nodded at the woman who frowned at her and walked from the room to give them a minute. The blonde waited until they were alone before she started berating the teen. "Peter, you know how dangerous it is for you right now. What if you had gotten hurt? Or worse?" She shook her head, a disappointed look on her face. "I heard you'd made a promise to Tony that if you needed help with anything you would ask. Why didn't you ask for help getting here?" The teen scowled at the counter top, his fists curling halfway. "Because all I do is make things worse! I want to help make something nice at least." He couldn't look up at her face with the guilt of knowing that he couldn't do anything. "Peter, that is not true. Nothing is your fault." Pepper leaned down to look at him at his level, which had the boy looking straight at her. "You are a victim of unfortunate circumstances that made you this way." She gave him a small smile. "And if you hadn't come into our lives to shake things up, we'd just be boring anyway." The teen let out a small laugh at that, then the discussion stopped when Laura sauntered back into the kitchen. "Here you go." She handed the small boy something, smiling knowingly at Pepper. "It doesn't hurt to have a man around the house who knows his way around some tools. And has glue and tape on hand." Peter smiled brightly when he saw the box cutting blade sticking out of the green handle like a pieces that were taped together. "You can help chop." She placed the peppers she'd already sliced up in front of the boy in a large pile. Still smiling, Peter grabbed one of the slices that were as tall as he was and started making little cubes. The 'knife' was too big for him to hold in one hand, so he had to use both, but he was glad to be helping. Next to him, Pepper placed down the burger patties until there were only scraps of meat in the bowl and started shaping little hamburgers for Peter. It was then her bracelets lit up and Tony's voice came from the small speaker. "Pep? You there?" "Tony! Oh god, I was so worried about you! Are you all right?" Pepper immediately put the knife down. "Friday, transfer to a video source. You don't mind, do you, Laura?" The brown haired woman shook her head, watching Peter to make sure he didn't hurt himself.A second later the television in the family room lit up and Tony's smiling face took up the screen. "Hey Pepper. Long time no see." "Yes, you jerk. Where are you?" "Actually, I'm on my way to the farm...with a couple of surprise visitors." The screen suddenly shifted and a smiling Morgan was seen sitting the back of the car, playing a hand game with Bruce. "I hope they're not too much of an opposition." Laura smiled. "It'll be a regular party here. Just let me know when you're in the state ad I'll have something for dinner waiting." "No, don't worry about it. I'll have some delivered." Tony really felt bad about putting all this on the woman and wanted to make up for it. He couldn't do much, but there was so much money could buy. "Mr. Stark?" Peter called, gripping the knife close to him, pressing it against his chest. "I am so sorry about this...I know it wasn't my fault, but I still feel like it is, and I put your family in danger...and I'm sorry." Tony sighed and the women heard Happy snort in the background. "Pete, this is not your fault, really. Unfortunately my company hired idiots for guards. But, I'm not mad, I promise. I'm just thankful you're safe." Morgan chose that moment to look into the screen. "Peter? Is that you?" "Hi, Morgan," the tiny teen said with a shy little wave. "Don't you worry about anymore bad guys coming to steal you away form us! We're a family full of bad-asses!" the girl said proudly. "Morgan!" Pepper gasped. "Where did you hear that?" She scowled at her husband who looked a little too sheepish. "Remember what daddy said about adult words, Morgan? Seriously, she's like a little sponge! But, we'll be there by the morning. Keep the grill hot for us." He smiled and the screen went blank. "That man, I swear.." Pepper sighed with a smile, turning to the sink to wash her hands. "Keep chopping, Peter. We're gonna have a lot of people to feed." At that moment, they heard what sounded like a plane coming in for a landing, skidding on the pavement of the long driveway. Laura wiped her hands on a towel and peeked out the window to see a white haired man getting out alone. "Is he a friend?" she asked Pepper who came up behind her. "Oh my goodness.....that's Hank Pym." "Seriously? The guy who can fix me!?" Peter sounded too excited as he ran to the end of the counter, trying to figure out a way to see out the window, but it was way too far to jump it. "Calm down, Peter. We don't know if he can fix you right now." Pepper didn't like saying those words, but she didn't want Peter to feel horrible if they found out his situation was permanent. Of course, if that was the case, she would definitely talk to May Parker about adopting the teen, letting him live with them full time. So, in a way, as horrible as it was, she hoped Pym wasn't able to fix the boy, but for his sake, she hoped the man could. They watched the white haired man walk down the driveway and he started up the steps when Laura shook herself out of her daze. "I guess I better go invite him in," she said, awe in her voice. Never would she have guessed that the infamous Dr. Hank Pym would be coming up to her door, or that she would have met the great Tony Stark so many years ago...but this was all happening in her life, and she couldn't be more grateful. The woman got to the door just as Dr. Pym was about to knock, his hand in the air when she threw the door open. "Welcome, Dr. Pym!" God, she sounded like a starstruck teenager. "Why don't you come in? I'm sure your travels must have been so tiring." She stepped back and allowed the man to walk through the front door, closing it behind him. "Thank you, Ms....?" "Oh, it's Mrs. Mrs. Barton, but you can call me Laura." "Ah, well it's nice to meet you, Laura. And Pepper, always a pleasure to see you." He started walking towards the woman when something caught his eye and he stopped. "My god..." Hank had never seen anything like the boy standing on the table, holding a blade that was small, but obviously too big for him. For decades he'd been trying to do what he thought was impossible, but here was the proof right before his eyes. Scott had done what he couldn't, and now the man was gone, as well as his research. The only living thing left of him in this world, was this tiny miracle. "Hello there," he whispered, afraid to say anything too loud just in case this boy's hearing was too acute to bigger sounds. "Hello," the tiny teen said back, nervously switching from foot to foot, clutching his knife to his chest, almost as if it were a barrier. "I'm Peter Parker." "It's nice to meet you, Peter. I'm Hank Pym." Slowly, he brought his pinky finger out to shake the teen's hand, a wondrous expression on his face when Peter grabbed his finger. Instantly he felt the dash sized digits sticking to his skin and had to cock his head in confusion. "You stuck to me," he whispered, wanting to get every bit of information from this experience. "Oh...sorry about that. I tend to do that when I'm nervous, and then I talk way too much. Mr. Stark calls it my 'nervous babble', which I know is his way of saying he notices, so I'm cool with how he words it..and I now noticed I'm doing it again." Peter blushed and looked down, his fingers still gripping the man's pinky. "It's okay, Peter. There's nothing to be nervous about." He tended to stay away from children, besides his own and Scott, but this boy seemed to pull Hank in to his demeanor. Made him want to protect him. It was astonishing. "Dr. Pym," Pepper said, getting the man's attention. "I was wondering if maybe I can talk to you?" The man nodded and pulled his hand away, but stopped when he realized Peter was still stuck to his hand. "How is he doing that?" "That's what I wanted to talk to you about," the woman stated. "Peter, it's okay. We'll be right back, okay?" "Right, sorry, sorry." Peter took a deep breath and the man felt the boy physically pull away from his skin. It was absolutely amazing. "Don't worry about us, we'll keep busy, right Peter?" Laura smiled at the boy who nodded and went back to chopping. Hank was unable to take his eyes off the small teen until they turned the corner. "Dr. Pym, Peter is...well, he's a special case, I guess you can say. Tony or Bruce would be able to explain it better, but I'm here right now, so I'll have to do. When this happened to Peter, apparently Hydra injected him with what Bruce explained to be...radioactive spider venom or DNA, I don't remember all the specifics. But, when they did that, Peter..changed. He went from being a normal, every day boy to someone with abilities." She rubbed her temple, strain on her face. "Just, know that he'll ask if you can fix that, too, so he can go back to his normal life. But, Bruce told us all that it would be impossible without killing Peter. And I don't want that." She lowered her hands. The thought of Peter in any danger was enough to make her want to collapse. "No, I don't want him hurt, or dead." "So you love him." Hank kept his face neutral, his tone was straight to the point and Pepper had to laugh as she nodded her head. "Yes....yes, and yes," she affirmed. "I love that boy like he's my own...he's only been around two months, and I would do anything to keep him safe. He's a member of the family, and if he didn't already have his aunt, I would adopt him no matter what Tony said. But, I'm sure he would agree in a heartbeat. He feels the same way about Peter, if not stronger. Morgan even loves him. It's impossible not to." Pym smiled softly. "I understand, Pepper. But, this information of his DNA being restructured, does complicate things everything. I'll have to get a blood sample, run some DNA diagnostics on him, and test his abilities, all before we can talk about getting him fixed, if that's even possible. Sean's work was all in the files he destroyed, so the only thing I have would be Peter." He felt his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach at the thought of his friend, but he shook it away. This was no time to be sentimental. "Please know, that I will do everything possible to fix your son-Peter. To fix Peter. But, it will be dangerous, especially if we don't have any of the files that Sean had." Pepper nodded, but her face relayed her fright. "I understand, Hank. Thank you." He simply nodded and walked back into the room to see Peter again.

@sparrowrider @letsbeinspiredby @6inchicon @ixlovexirondad @carttorchdeatth

#G/t #Iron Man Tony Stark #Irondad #spiderson #shrunkpeterparker #nokinks #justfluff #morgan stark #MamaPepperPotts #protectiveavengers #Marvelfanfic #theitsybitsyspider

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youcancallmecirce · 5 years

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An Elemental Update!

Chapter 12: Attacked

Last time, on Elemental: Marinette is an air mage, Adrien is a Mer water mage. They found one another out, had a sleep over, and had a nice hookup under da sea. Meanwhile, Marinette's mentor shares too much about Marinette, everyone encourages her to report the woman, and she does. Which is a good thing, because the mentor is actually bat shit crazy and evil AF.

Now, on Elemental: Marinette feels wretched about reporting her mentor, and Alya and Co. make a point to cheer her up. Their plans are interrupted. (Click here to read on AO3.)

Marinette sat listlessly at her desk and fiddled with her yoyo. She was out of practice, but she could still do the basic looping and sleeping with her eyes closed. The repetitive motion was calming, if not soothing, and she lost herself to it. Unfortunately, mindless as it was, it did not do much to divert her thoughts.

She’d walked out of the admin building that morning feeling like the worst sort of scum, and the intervening hours had done nothing to dispel that feeling. She couldn’t help replaying the morning’s scene in her mind. The Dean of Arcane Studies had listened intently to their complaint, and then had asked them each to submit a signed statement regarding the incident. Marinette had thought they’d be done after that, but no. The Dean had asked them to stay until after he’d spoken with Mme. Piers, so that she could render an apology to her in person.

Marinette wished now that they’d declined. She was the victim in this scenario; he could not have forced her to stay. But at the time, in the moment, she hadn’t realized that she had a choice, and the Dean had taken advantage of that. No matter what he said, her grievance was not his first concern. No, the reputation of his department was on the line, and he had wanted to do everything he could to cover his ass.

And so Marinette had been there to see Mme Piers arrive. She’d greeted them warmly, without a clue as to why she’d been summoned. Then Marinette had waited, tense and miserable, for a full thirty minutes as her mentor was berated for doing something that was, at its heart, perfectly innocent.

“Alright, that’s it,” Alya announced as she marched into the room. “No more moping.” Marinette jumped at the sound of Alya’s voice, fumbling her yoyo and smacking herself in the face. She frowned at her roomate, rubbing the bridge of her nose, and Alya winced in sympathy. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Marinette shrugged away the apology and began coiling her yoyo. “What do you mean? I’m not moping.”

“You are.” Marinette tried to object, but Alya just kept on as if she hadn’t heard. “I convened the tribunal--”

“Tribunal?”

“--and we have decided that it’s time for an intervention.”

“I’m not moping!”

Alya gave her a hard look. “You haven’t even gone to the beach with Adrien, little miss Mopey McMoperson. Not since you reported Piers.”

“Okay, maybe I am moping, but it was just this morning, Alya! And she comforted me, as if I weren’t the one who got her in trouble!”

“As she should have,” Alya said with a sniff, completely ignoring the first half of Marinette’s objection. “She got herself into trouble when she broke the rules. I will not allow you to blame yourself for her choices.” Then she turned to Marinette’s wardrobe and began rummaging through it.

“Um, can I help you?”

“Yes. You can sit quietly while I pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.” Alya pulled a summery swing dress from the wardrobe and eyed it critically. “Yup, this will do.” She tossed it to the bed and went back to rummaging.

Marinette eyed the dress. “Are we dressing me, or dressing you?”

“You, obviously. That dress is sweet, but it is too tame and too pink for me. Ah, here it is!” She pulled Marinette’s favorite pastel kimono and tossed it on top of the dress. “Now, where is that pink bikini?”

“Bikini?” Marinette echoed as Alya trailed off, gnawing her bottom lip as she thought. “Where the heck am I going?”

Alya’s expression cleared and she snapped her fingers in remembrance. “Oh yeah, I saw it earlier,” she muttered, dashing out of the room. Marinette stared after her bemusedly, and she returned a moment later with Marinette’s pink bikini.

“ We are going out to dinner for a double date with the boys,” she replied, tossing the bathing suit on top of the other items. After dinner you and Adrien go get naked at the beach while Nino and I take advantage of the empty apartment and get naked here.”

“Alya!”

“Also, I did laundry this morning. You’re welcome.”

Marinette slumped sulkily back in her chair, liking the idea very much but not wanting to admit that Alya was right. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“It’s cute that you thought you had a choice.”

“But the apartment won’t be empty,” Marinette shot back with a smirk. “Master Fu is here for a visit.”

“Damn.” Alya paused, then shrugged. “Oh well. We’ll just go to his place instead.” She gripped Marinette’s head between her hands, planted a kiss on her forehead, and sauntered out. “Oh, and I call first shower,” she called back over her shoulder. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

“You’re having a good time. Admit it.”

Marinette’s smile faded and she began to slowly spin her beer bottle in the pool of its own condensation, creating an ever-widening circle of water on the table. “You know that I am.”

“Well, she was, until you reminded her that she was upset,” Adrien said, and Alya stiffened.

“Hey!”

Nino drained the last of his beer in one long pull and then clunked his mug down onto the table, audibly smacking his lips in satisfaction. “Yeah, I thought we were trying to distract her.”

Alya deflated, and turned back to look at Marinette across the table. “I’m sorry, M. I’m just happy to see a smile on your face, and excited that I helped put it there.”

“It’s fine.” Marinette offered a small but sincere smile and squeezed Alya’s hand. “I am having a good time, and I’m glad you guys kept me from sulking all night.”

“Thanks, M.” Alya squeezed her hand back, and sat back take in everyone at the table. “So, dessert?”

Adrien grabbed the dessert menu from the end of the table and flipped it open. Then he tilted for everyone to see. “What’s good?”

“The pain au chocolat here is only so-so, but the créme brûlèe is to die for.”

“You only like your parents’ pain au chocolat , M.”

“Can you blame her? Nino asked. “Ooh, what about the créme caramel ?”

Marinette shrugged. “I’ve only have the pain au chocolat and the créme brûlèe, and I liked that too much to have tried anything else.”

“Lame,” Nino said without heat.

In the end, it was decided that Adrien and Marinette would share the one , while Alya and Nino tried the other. Adrien picked up the whole check, overriding his friends’ objections, and they left the cafe happy and full and just a little bit buzzed.

As she ambled along in the general direction of their apartment, hand in hand with Adrien while their two friends did the same a few paces ahead of them, Marinette thought back to Alya’s assessment about how the evening would progress and found herself blushing. Though she and Adrien had slept together in the same bed again last night, they not been intimate. It was something she wanted, but things were still new enough between them that she wasn’t sure just how to proceed. He’d said that his people are straight forward about sex, but knowing that didn’t make her any less shy. And what if he always wanted to do it in the water? That was fun and all, but--

Marinette’s thought process went abruptly blank as they rounded a corner and came came to a halt right next to Nino and Alya, who both seemed to be as frozen as she. A few others stood on the sidewalk or in the street, all of them staring at the same thing they were.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” said Nino inanely.

Marinette couldn’t help but agree.

A red-haired man in a t-shirt and blazer hovered in the air just a few meters away from them, his face eerily blank and his eyes glowing a violent, violet purple. He looked familiar to Marinette, but she couldn’t place him until she heard Adrien mutter the man’s name.

Nathaniel . He was a graduate student in the Arcane college, writing a thesis on channeling magic of any element through art. It was an idea which had thoroughly intrigued Marinette. He’d been another of Mme. Piers’ students, though because his course of study was far more independent, she’d rarely interacted with him. She was looking forward to reading his work, when it was published.

Marinette noted movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned far enough to see that Alya had raised her phone to record what was happening in front of them. Despite her fear (whatever was going on, it was not good), she rolled her eyes at Alya. She was as consummate journalist--even when maybe she shouldn’t be.

On her other side, Adrien squeezed her hand gently, drawing her attention, and released her. She grabbed for him, but he’d already stepped forward. “Nathaniel?” he said again, this time addressing the unnaturally still man floating in front of them. “It’s Adrien. What happened? Are you okay?”

Nathaniel’s body turned slightly, so that his empty gaze seemed to be now fixed on Adrien. “I’m sorry,” said a saccharine female voice, and Marinette felt gooseflesh run up her arms. Nathaniel’s mouth had moved, but that was definitely not Nathaniel’s voice. “Nathaniel cannot come to the phone right now. May I take a message?”

Yup, definitely not good. Marinette had an idea of what had happened to him--he’d been possessed, obviously--but she wasn’t certain of the what or how. And why was he here ? Had he been waiting for them? It seemed too great a coincidence to believe that he had not. She twitched her fingers into the sign for “air”, the signal she and Tikki had long ago agreed on as the signal for help, and Marinette felt a reassuring eddy of air lift the hair from her sweating neck. Marinette relaxed just a bit, knowing that her oldest friend and greatest ally was there with her.

“Why have you done this? Why are you here?” Adrien asked, his tone hard. She saw his hand move as well, anxiously spinning his black ring. Clearly, he was thinking along the same line that she was, and she was just as glad to have Pagg nearby as she was to feel Tikki.

“Oh, I just thought it might be nice to go for an evening stroll,” the voice answered, still using Nathaniel’s mouth. “After all, you never know who you’ll run into.”

Fuck. He--she?--had definitely been waiting for them. Marinette edged closer to Alya. “ You need to go, and get as many people away from here as you can, ” she pushed at Alya, hoping that her friend would be receptive to the mental communication.

Alya nearly dropped her phone in surprise, and stared at Marinette with round eyes.

“ This is bad, Alya. You need to get everyone away. ”

Alya nodded slowly, her eyes still wide, and she tucked her phone away in her purse. “What about you? And Adrien?” she asked, as quietly as possible.

“ We’re both strong mages, we’ll be okay. Please, just go. ”

She pressed her lips into a thin line at that, obviously not liking it, but recognizing the wisdom of getting people out of harm’s way. “Be careful,” she mouthed. At Marinette’s nod, she gripped Nino’s elbow and tugged him back.

Marinette stepped forward, even with Adrien, hoping to draw attention away from everyone else. “What do you want from us?”

Nathaniel’s body turned towards her, then, the violet eyes narrowed. “Everything.”

It was almost as if it had happened in slow motion. Strange details stood out to Adrien, branding themselves into his mind: the defiant tilt of Marinette’s chin, and the faint tremble that betrayed her fear; the grating menace of the once sweet voice as it answered; the glee on Nathaniel’s face as his hand lifted, his fist closing; and most especially, the stunned terror on Marinette’s face as a sparkling band of water coalesced and visibly tightened around Marinette’s throat.

Adrien’s vision narrowed to a single point as his fear gave way to fury. This--this thing was hurting Marinette, holding her off of the ground with a noose of air about her neck. “Release her,” he demanded tightly.

“Take her from me,” it taunted, laughing,

Adrien felt his ring pulse with energy. Something old and deep and primal beckoned to him. Plagg . “Fine,” he said, and stepped back into a defensive position and yielded to Plagg’s call. “ Tides. Rise.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing the violet eyes go wide as Plagg’s green and blue energy swirled triumphantly around him, filling him with all the raw power of the sea, binding it to him. It surged through him, filling him more completely than it had before, and he felt a wicked smile curve his lips. Plagg was just as furious, and more, felt a contempt for the being before them that was scathing in its depth.

All of this must have showed, because it faltered, loosening its grip on Marinette, and she gasped in a desperate breath before it regained its hold.

Plagg wanted to destroy ; Adrien held him in check. “Release her,” he demanded again, his voice echoing with barely leashed power.

“Take her,” the thing said again, still taunting.

And so he did. Adrien reached for the water around Marinette’s throat, his arm outstretched, and seized control of it with a sharp closing of his fist. His opponent could only gape at him as Marinette fell to the ground, clutching her throat and coughing. He smirked again.

He held the water before him, a tight, swirling sphere of water that hung suspended between his palms, and ready to launch against the possessed mage, but a grip on his ankle had him looking down. Marinette was on her knees at his feet, her skin pale except for the darkening bruise around her throat.

“Don’t hurt him,” she croaked. “It’s not him. Not his fault.”

He could feel Plagg balking at the request, but it was moot.

Their foe had feld.

#elemental #merdrien #maginette #miraculous ladybug #au #update #callmecirce writes

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yourtoradorasextendedwarranty · 5 years

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The Problem with MSM

So I honestly don't have many followers. I'm also prone to going on tangents. And most of my posts are rooted in politics. Not by choice mind you. I was not the one that decided literally everything in existence is political. I'm also not the one that created the view points that want everything to be political. TL;DR At the bottom.

To start off however, I need you to understand the process of radicalization.

Find someone who feels discontent with how a situation is, or how their life is

Tell this person that what's happening to them is not their fault

Place the blame for this person's problems on a certain group (political group, racial group, religious group, etc.)

Talk to the person like you know how they feel, "drop your guard" and tell them "problems you've had that were not your fault" blaming that same group

Show them that they are either a victim or oppressed in some way, shape, or form.

Slowly start swaying their views further to the extreme, by showing them other instances of "others who are being attacked or are victims" of said group.

Promptly but softly oppose any "differing views" with warped information or flat out lies

Get them to start going to events and taking to others that have already been radicalized

Have you and another radicalized individual, keep track of this person and say you support them and their issues

Sit back and watch

Now this is a rough lost but more or less the bare bones basics of radicalizing other people. Though in some cases it takes more steps and in some others it takes less. So what does this have to do with MSM (Mainstream Media)? Quite a few things in modern day actually.

The job of MSM is to get you information, as fast as humanly possible. This however was not the first goal priority in the past. In the past, the first priority was to cover a story as factually as the could, and look for more information keeping people constantly updated. Here we get to our first real problem for Media today. Technology. The Advent of modern technology has been both a blessing and a curse in this regard. And of course I'm talking about the internet in its current form. The internet being the very center of information distribution in 2019. And it has been for almost 12 years now.

So what did this change? Basically everything we know today. "Old wives tales" are now a Google search away. Feeling sick? WebMD says you have Cancer. Looking for the next hour story? Check CNN's Twitter account. The Internet brought us a great, many things. But it has taken away just as many. MSM has had to slowly move operations into social media in order to try and stay relevant. This because many people have unplugged, and have gone full digital. The only real exceptions being places of business. And with the world at your finger tips at the clock of a button, being factual has lost its relevance. Not to mention that as far back as 2013-2014 activists started working for MSM companies. Most notably progressive activists. This causes many problems we currently see today. Below is an example of what a headline used to look like, and what most headlines look like now:

Normal headline: Shooting in Birmingham leaves 3 dead and several injured during city wide festival.

Headline now: White, Trump supporter, Nazi, KKK, skin head, punches 2 people in hate crime.

See the difference? The first headline shows the basic facts and dives into known details during the article. Often they'd avoid opinions all together. The second one one the other hand, blatantly discloses anything that could generate clicks. Why? Because true or not, outrage sells. So over the past several years, MSM has been slowly radicalizing us. But they do this on a bipartisan level.

Are you black? The cops will kill you, and the white man is evil. Can't find a job? Racism. Are you a woman? Then you're unhappy because "rape culture". Do you regret having sex with that guy? Well guess what? He actually raped you without you realizing. Are you white? You're evil. Are you strait? You're a monster and should give all your money to gay people. Are you a man? You are responsible for every rape ever committed. You're also a pedophile and violent. Are you a strait white man? Oh boy you won the jackpot because you're basically Hitler.

See my point here? MSM spends most of it's time trying to rage bait you into clicking their articles. And in doing so we've gotten so lazy as a country that half the time, we don't even read past the headlines. And MSM knows this. They don't care if you read what they write. They are just radicalizing you so they can keep feeding you outrage. Because the more often they do it, the more often you will click it, skim all of 3 lines and then hop on Twitter and talk about how outraged you are. Sure, we are just as to blame for letting it happen to us, but most of us used to have at least some trust in the media. But after SEVERAL severely awfully false hit pieces that were headline news for almost months, many of us have started staying away from MSM.

What incidents might I be talking about?

Covington Catholic controversy (Almost every media outlet took a 7 second clip and ran with it. Turns out, there was a full 2hr video out there, and the Native American man, whom CNN interviewed, lied his ass off. Most media also chose to ignore the VERY beginning of the video which showcased a group called The Black Hebrew Israelites. These individuals, called Trump a homosexual, called the Native Americans there "Uncle Tomahawk", and said Gay people should not have rights. THESE CATHOLIC STUDENTS, were appalled by this statement. But what did we see in the media? "Racist Maga hat kid threatens and blocks the path of a Poor innocent Native American man."

Duke Lacrosse. Years after these kids were crucified by the Media and many others, the girl actually came out saying it never happened. You know who reported on this? Next to no one.

Ferguson. Now as controversial as this one is, the media took and RAN with it. What followed after the skewed coverage was a cult like gathering that led to phrases like, "hands up don't shoot" and "oink oink, bang bang". But Obama had the issue federally investigated. Both witnesses and the coroner report said basically the same thing. That he was aggressively wrestling with the cop trying to take his gun. But, it's too late. Now all cops are evil, and Democrat politicians are quoting it like it happened yesterday, and claiming the cop guilty. Why? Because MSM already got what they needed. They radicalized the individuals they wanted, people who will come back to them for, "facts".

And what does all of this boil down to? A video that made me write this out.

2 things need to be said here. 1. The "manifesto" as it were, was actually debunked to have been uploaded by the shooter, by the site admin himself. As well as several other sources. 2. If, by some chance the manifesto was real, and he had someone upload it for him, he mentions several liberal talking points, like universal basic income, saving the environment, among other left policies.

But this brings me back to both the beginning and to this story. Assuming for a moment, the manifesto was his. How did this happen? Most of you might just jump and say, "RACIST NAZIS", or something slightly more colorful. But here is the thing. MSM is partly responsible for all of this. Assuming the conspiracy that the CIA or FBI is responsible is false, I agree with the YouTuber in the picture. I believe that if you belittle and berate someone enough over time, you can cause them to do extreme things. I mean look at this site. Look at Twitter. Look at MSM. "White people bad", "white people are evil" "K*LL all whites" "white privilege", "fuck men", "male tears", "man spreading", "mansplaining", "Yes all men". All of this. This is popular. This is a trend. And it's unacceptable. Because frankly, it's basically bullying someone into a corner. Personally? I've been told by a few companies that are scared of social justice warriors and the online hate mob, that their company is actively not hiring white individuals. And I wish, REALLY WISH, I was making that up.

Is it any wonder, that people who go to the internet as an escape end up in a low point in their lives and then decide to do something awful? And it's the same with school shootings too. The news puts out, the name, ethnicity, how tall they are, and their entire life story, for weeks at a time. And now for much longer, because they support the desire to ban guns. So they need these things to happen more often. So the glorify the shooter, and keep talking about him/them for months. But here is where the story gets fun.

Columbine's shooting, was actually supposed to be a bombing. The kids who did it? Not the "school losers" the media talked about. The trench coat club? They were not even apart of it. More info on that here. As well as other places on Google.

youtube

More or less This video covers what the media got wrong in their rush to cover everything. What they did not intend on, was making these two boys heros to those bullied in school. Mostly boys, who are torn down and told they aren't enough, that they don't matter, they are isolated, bullied, harassed. So they look for someone who stood up to their bullies. What they were given, was a sociopath who manipulated a suicidal boy into helping him commit mass murder. Almost all of MSM were quick to say they were bullied into it. What's worse however, is Parkland. The Parkland 5, (the students whom MSM propped up for months) one of them came out admitting, that she bullied the guy who shot up the school. Said he was weird and that she needed to do it. This is one of the teens the media has PROPPED UP, saying we should listen to their infinite wisdom. A girl who is probably half responsible for the shooting.

Start paying attention. Start doing research. And for the love of all that is holy, STOP BULLYING PEOPLE! I don't care what your narrative is, or what it means. IE:

White people are human

Black people are human

Hispanic people are human

Gay people are human

Strait people are human

Women are human

Men are human

Stop normalizing anything to the contrary. Because when you do, you become part of the problem.

TL;DR The media only cares about themselves and clicks. They don't care who they radicalize, so long as you keep giving them traffic. Which for them is money. Do your research, look into things, and don't bully people. I'm looking at you progressives.

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mbtizone · 7 years

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Randy Meeks (Scream): ENTP

Dominant Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: During the killing sprees in Woodsboro and at Windsor College, Randy enjoys theorizing about potential suspects. He was suspicious of Billy from the very beginning and turned out to be right. When the killings at Windsor College began, he remained open to all possibilities and was able to give reasons as to why each person he mentioned could make a good suspect. Maybe Billy tried to kill Sidney because she wouldn’t sleep with him. Gale could be responsible for the murders. She’s an opportunist, so maybe she’s trying to stage the news. He prefers discussing the most interesting suspect and not necessarily the most practical on. Randy’s ideas come from movies he’s watched and he draws conclusions based on what he’s already seen. Randy values novelty and tells the killer terrorizing his college that “Billy and Stu were much more original.” He values innovation and what hasn’t been done a thousand times.

Auxiliary Introverted Thinking [Ti]: Randy is good at coming to logical conclusions. There’s a very simple formula to this stuff. Randy has thought of everything and takes his system for surviving a real-life horror movie very seriously, even though others openly mock it. Randy is quick to point out Stu’s history with Casey as a potential motive. During the tape he records, he says if his friends find it, it means he’s dead, which is obviously because he lost his virginity. Facts don’t phase Randy. When Dewey rejects Randy for suggesting Hallie as a possible suspect because serial killers are typically white males, he thinks that’s why she’d be a great suspect! When Dewey thinks that it doesn’t make sense that the killer is trying to repeat Woodsboro because he attacked Sidney, and Sidney wasn’t killed there, Randy concludes that they’re trying to finish what Billy and Stu started.

Tertiary Extroverted Feeling [Fe]: Although it’s common knowledge that Randy has feelings for Sidney, he never actually discusses them with her. Randy enjoys playing on his friend’s feelings for his own amusement, such as telling Tatum that Casey was the one who dumped Stu (which Stu denies). Randy can sometimes be a little oblivious to other people’s feelings (such as making jokes about the murders in front of Sidney, who was clearly very disturbed by it). He also tries to relate to Dewey about their shared unrequited loves. Randy often displays good insight into people. He can clearly see that Billy has the potential to be a murderer.

Inferior Introverted Sensing [Si]: The “rules” of horror movies are gospel. Randy has committed every horror movie cliché to memory and uses them as his guide. He takes them very seriously, while his friends poke fun at them. You can’t have sex. You should never say “I’ll be right back.” There’s always more blood and more gore in the second. In the third one, all bets are off. Even Sidney is expendable. Although Randy pays a lot of attention to these standards, he enjoys when things aren’t predictable. Even though the signs are there, Randy initially denies that there’s another serial killer after them. During a phone call, Randy scathingly berates the killer for their lack of originality. He also has a very good memory when it comes to movies and can recite many lines word-for-word.

Enneagram: 5w6 Sp/Sx

Quotes:

Tatum: Hunt? Why would they ask if you like to hunt? Randy: Because their bodies were gutted. [Sidney flinches.] Billy: Thanks, Randy. Tatum: They didn’t ask me if I like to hunt. Stu: That’s cause there’s no way a girl could have killed them. Tatum: That is so sexist. The killer could easily be female – Basic Instinct. Randy: That was an ice pick-not exactly the same. Stu: Yeah, Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out. And the fact is, it takes a man to do something like that. Tatum: Or a man’s mentality. Sidney: How do you gut someone? Stu: You take a knife and you slit ’em from groin to sternum. Billy: Hey. It’s called tact, you fuckrag.

Sidney: Hey, Stu? Didn’t you use to date Casey? Stu: For about two seconds. Randy: Before she dumped him for Steve. Tatum: I thought you dumped her for me. Stu: I did. He’s full of shit. Randy: And are the police aware you dated the victim? Stu: What are you saying? That I killed ’em? Randy: It would certainly improve your high school Q. Tatum: Stu was with me last night. Randy: Was that before or after he sliced and diced? Tatum: Fuck you, nut case. Where were you last night? Randy: Working, thank you. Tatum: Oh, at the video store? I thought they fired your sorry ass. Randy: Twice. Stu: I didn’t kill anybody. Billy: Nobody said you did. Randy: Besides – it takes a man to do something like that. Stu: Yo, I’m gonna gut your ass in a second, kid. Randy: Did you really put her liver in the mailbox? Because I heard that they found her liver in the mailbox, right next to her spleen and her pancreas. Tatum: Randy, you goon-fuck. We’re trying to eat here. Stu: Yeah, Randy, she’s getting mad. You better liver alone.

Randy: Now that’s in poor taste. Stu: What? Randy: If you were the only suspect in a senseless blood bath – would you be standing in the horror section? Stu: It was just a misunderstanding. He didn’t do anything. Randy: You’re such a little lapdog. He’s got “killer” printed all over his forehead. Stu: Really? Then why’d the cops let him go, smart guy? Randy: Cause obviously they don’t want enough movies. This is standard horror movie stuff. Prom Night revisited, man. Stu: Why would he want to kill his own girlfriend? Randy: There’s always some stupid bullshit reason to kill your girlfriend. That’s the beauty of it all. Simplicity. Besides, if it gets too complicated, you lose your target audience. Stu: Well, what’s his reason? Randy: Maybe Sidney wouldn’t have sex with him. Stu: What, she’s saving herself for you? Randy: Maybe. Now that Billy tried to mutilate her, do you think Sid would go out with me? Stu: No. I don’t. At all. No. You know who I think it is? I think it’s her father. I mean, why can’t they find her pops, man? Randy: Because he’s probably dead! His body will come popping up in the last reel somewhere! Eyes gouged out! Fingers cut off! Teeth knocked out! See, the police are always off track with this shit. If they’d watch Prom Night they’d save time. There’s a formula to it! A very simple formula! Everybody’s a suspect! I’m telling you, the dad’s a red herring. It’s Billy.

Randy: There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully survive a horror movie. For instance, number one: you can never have sex. [crowd boos] Stu: I’m a dead man. Randy: BIG NO NO! BIG NO NO! Sex equals death, okay? Number two: you can never drink or do drugs. [crowd cheers and raises their bottles] Randy: The sin factor! It’s a sin. It’s an extension of number one. And number three: never, ever, ever under any circumstances say, “I’ll be right back.” Because you won’t be back. Stu: I’m gettin’ another beer, you want one? Randy: Yeah, sure. Stu: I’ll be right back. Randy: See, you push the laws and you end up dead. Okay, I’ll see you in the kitchen with a knife.

Film Teacher: You could say that what happened in that theatre was a direct result of the movie itself. Cici: That is so Moral Majority. You can’t blame real life violence on entertainment. Film Class Guy #1: Yes you can. Don’t you ever watch the news? Film Class Guy #2: Hello? The murderer was wearing a ghost mask just like in the movie. It’s directly responsible. Cici: No, it’s not. Movies are not responsible for our actions. Mickey: Its a classic case of life, imitating art, imitating life. Film Class Mopey Girl: Its not hypothetical, it’s not about art. I had biology with that girl. This is reality. Randy: Thank you. I agree with you. Let me tell you about reality, Mickey. I lived through this, okay? Life is life. It doesn’t imitate anything. Mickey: Oh come on Randy. With all due respect, the killer obviously patterned himself after two serial killers who were immortalized on film. Film Class Guy #2: Thank you! Film Teacher: So, you’re suggesting that someone is trying to make a real life sequel? Randy: Stab 2? Who would wanna do that? Sequels suck! Oh please, please! By definition alone, sequels are inferior films! Mickey: It’s bullshit generalization. Many sequels have surpassed their originals. Randy: Oh yeah? Cici: Name one. Film Class Guy #1: Aliens. Far better than the first. Cici: Yeah, well, there’s no accounting for taste. Randy: Thank you. Ridley Scott Rules. Name another. Film Class Guy #2: No way. Aliens is a classic. “Get away from her, you bitch!” Randy: I believe the line is “Stay away from her, you bitch.” This is a film class right? Film Class Guy #2: Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You know what I mean.

Sidney: 300 people watched. Nobody did anything. They thought it was a publicity for Christ sakes. Randy: [Speaking in a British accent] And it would have been a good one too. Sidney: It’s starting again, Randy. Randy: It’s not. A lot of shit happens at the movies. People get robbed, shot, maimed, murdered. Multiplexes are very dangerous places to be these days. Sidney: Yeah, and you are in extreme denial. Randy: You should be too. This has nothing to do with us. Sidney: Randy! A guy in a ghost mask hacked up two people in a movie theater telling our life story. Randy: Coincidence? Sidney: You know what happened at Woodsboro, Randy. You can’t ignore it. Randy: I know, Sid, and I don’t want to go back there again. Can’t we just go back to our pseudo-quasi happy existence?

Randy: [Gale, Sidney and Randy are looking at Billy’s body] Careful. This is the moment when the supposedly dead killer comes back to life, for one last scare.

Randy: The way I see it, someone’s out to make a sequel. You know, cash in on all the movie murder hoopla. So it’s our job to observe the rules of the sequel. Number one: The body count is always bigger. Two: The death scenes are always much more elaborate; more blood, more gore. Carnage candy. Your core audience just expects it. And three: If you want your sequel to become a franchise, never ever- Dewey: How do we find the killer, Randy? That’s what I wanna know. Randy: Oh. Let’s look at the suspects. There’s Derek, the obvious boyfriend. Hello, Billy Loomis. The guy’s premed, and his pity-me surface wound conveniently missed every major vein and artery. Dewey: So you think it’s Derek? Randy: Not so fast. Let’s assume the killer, or ‘ers, has a half a brain. He’s not a Nick-at-Night rerun type of guy. He wants to break some new ground. Right? So forget the boyfriend. It’s tired. Who else do we got? Dewey: There’s- Randy: Mickey! The freaky Tarantino film student. But if he’s a suspect, so am I. So, let’s move on. Dewey: Whoa, wait a minute. Let’s not move on. Maybe you are a suspect. Randy: Well, if I’m a suspect, you’re a suspect. Dewey: You have a point. Okay, let’s move on to- Randy: Hallie. Dewey: Sid’s roommate? Randy: Uh-huh. Dewey: Serial killers are typically white males. Randy: That’s why it’s perfect. It’s sort of against the rules, but not really. Mrs. Voorhees was a terrific serial killer. And there’s always room for Candyman’s daughter. She’s sweet. She’s deadly. She’s bad for your teeth. Dewey: Come on, Randy. These kids are your friends. Who do you think’s the killer? Randy: How about Gale Weathers? Dewey: Gale? A killer? Randy: Why not? Dewey: Well, she is vicious enough. Randy: She’s an opportunist. Dewey: Yeah. Randy: Isn’t it conceivable she’s planning her next book? That’s what reporters do, Dewey. They stage the news. Dewey: No. Gale’s a lot of things, but Gale’s not a killer. Randy: Just because you’re sweet on her- Dewey: No, I’m not. Randy: Please, this is me talking. Randy, the unrequited love-slave of Sidney Prescott. I know all about obsession… and pain. Dewey: You’ve got your love scar to prove it. Randy: And so do you. And what’s with that limp anyway, ’cause you were stabbed in the back. Dewey: Severed nerve. Look, Gale’s no killer. Randy: Okay, okay. Whatever you say. But if she’s not a killer, she’s a target.

Gale: All right. Let’s just assume the killer is repeating Woodsboro- [cell phone starts to ring] Yes? Caller: I have Bob calling. Gale: I’ll have to call you back. Dewey: That doesn’t explain Sidney’s attack. Sidney wasn’t killed in Woodsboro. Randy: Wasn’t for a lack of trying. The killer’s trying to finish what was started.

Randy: Is that the best you can do? Because Billy and Stu were much more original.

Randy: Where’s your innovation? Why copycat two high school loser-ass dickheads? Stu was a pussy-ass wet rag. And Billy Loomis- Billy Loomis! What the fuck! Jesus! What a rat-lookin’, homo-repressed mama’s boy! Why not set your goals higher, huh? You wanna be one of the big boys? Huh? Manson, Bundy, O.J., Son-

Randy: Told ya I’d make a movie someday, huh? Sidney: Oh my god. Randy: Well, if you’re watching this tape, it means as I feared. I did not survive these killings here at Windsor College. And that giving up my virginity to Karen Kolchec at the video store was probably not a good idea. Dewey: Karen Kolchec? Randy: Yes, Karen Kolchec. Dewey: Creepy Karen? Randy: Shut up. She’s a sweet person, okay? We were working late. We were putting away some videos in the porno section and ya know, shit happens. Paul: [Knocking in background] Open the door Randy. Randy: Fifteen minutes. Paul: It’s my room, too. Randy: Paul, 15 minutes. I’m leaving my legacy. [knocking continues] Randy: Fifteen minutes Paul! Damn! Anyway, the reason I am here is to help you so that my death will not be in vain; That my life’s work will save some other poor soul from getting mutilated. If this killer does come back and he’s for real, there are a few things that you gotta remember. Is this simply another sequel? Well if it is, same rules apply. But-here’s the critical thing-if you find yourself dealing with an unexpected back story and a preponderance of exposition, then the sequel rules DO NOT apply. Because you are not dealing with a sequel, you are dealing with the concluding chapter of a trilogy. Dewey: Trilogy? Randy: That’s right, it’s a rarity in the horror field but it does exist, and it is a force to be reckoned with. Because true trilogies are all about going back to the beginning and discovering something that wasn’t true from the get go. Godfather, Jedi, all revealed something that we thought was true that wasn’t true. So if it is a trilogy you are dealing with, here are some super trilogy rules: 1. You got a killer who’s going to be super human. Stabbing him won’t work. Shooting him won’t work. Basically in the third one you gotta cryogenically freeze his head, decapitate him, or blow him up. 2. Anyone including the main character can die. This means you, Sid. I’m sorry. It’s the final chapter. It could be fucking ‘Reservoir Dogs’ by the time this thing is through. Number 3. The past will come back to bite you in the ass. Whatever you think you know about the past, forget it. The past is not at rest. Any sins you think were committed in the past are about to break out and destroy you. So in closing, let me say good luck, god speed, and for some of you, I’ll see you soon. ‘Cause the rules say some of you ain’t gonna make it. I didn’t. Not if you’re watching this tape.

Randy Meeks (Scream): ENTP was originally published on MBTI Zone

#Randy Meeks #Scream #ENTP #mbti #mbti types #mbti personality types #fictionalcharactermbti #fictionmbti #movie mbti #Type 5 #enneagram 5

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hearsaykrp · 4 years

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Presenting — han jinil as the hawk.

— info.

name / han jinil birthday / 890419 pronouns / he/him occupation / detective

— traits.

( dishonest, selfish, ambitious, insightful )

Dishonesty comes in the form of the obvious ㅡ lies. It takes a man with a good memory to keep on top of them successfully. He began with subtleties in childhood to avoid his mother’s sweltering words. “Yes, mother” meant nothing. Accepting bribes to sneak into the teacher’s desk for test answers, then placing the blame on someone else. The “I love you"s to his wife are reflexive, disingenuous; particularly when he hurriedly hangs up the phone because he has “work to do”. Work is going all-in with the last of their savings. No, he doesn’t have a problem. He likes the way the bar’s music deafens him the same way he likes you in that green dress. That’s why he stays so long.

Selfish is what his ex-wife calls him over the phone when he claims he’s too busy with a case to come to see their daughter. The next excuse is he’s too tired, it’s a bad time. The truths he tells are selfish. He blames it entirely on his father ㅡ the man who taught him living for oneself is the only way to find true happiness. Perhaps he does not become a cop simply because he’s selfless, but because he believes in the pursuit of justice ( and of self-serving praise ).

The Ilmyo police chief calls the fresh-faced detective ambitious for his gusto. He makes an obvious show of himself and his passion for the case. Whether to the integrity of a good man and the will to solve a murder or for his own name is a matter of opinion. Regardless, he pushes the envelope. If he haunts the station well past midnight, they’re bound to notice his dedication. Some could say he’s a workaholic, in over his head, too willing to step in mud to get what he needs. Jinil prefers the word ambitious.

Being insightful comes with the job. He claims to be a natural at it, that he can read you like an open book and tell you exactly what you’re thinking. He sees the weeds peeking up from the cracks in the pavement others fail to miss, circling like a hawk to carve out the details. He keeps most perceptions to himself, inside the journal he’ll never admit to keeping or mumbled against the tape recorder he keeps closer than his gun. The twitch in that woman’s smile is conniving, and he catches onto the way the cashier scratches his nose far too often. The more he sees, the more he realizes everything can be dissected.

— about.

triggers: implied child abuse

This bird of prey begins life as a scavenger.

One must start at the bottom to make it at the top of the food chain.

Swoop down into a cramped family home in the heart of Seoul. Far from wealthy, far from poor. The neighbors would describe their financial situation as painfully middle class.

Hwang Boyoung is a beautician, meticulous, abrasive, and overattentive to details. She comes first and foremost, even to her three children. Han Junsu could care less. The only thing that draws the silent man to speak is money. Both arrive home late to their three expectant offspring. The words they exchange are set to kill, loud enough for their children to catch wind of and absorb all of their parents’ marital problems. They do not know the definition of a healthy relationship.

Their second-born, Jinil, did much to catch their gazes to no avail. An instant victim of middle child syndrome.

The attention he craves is not always rewarding. Not when he returns home from playing soccer with his friends in the rain. Mud and grass stuck to the scrapes on knobby knees and clothes one size too big. His mother scrubs his skin raw for bringing filth into her house. The aftermath resembles the grotesque burn photos in his forensic science books. And yet he feels pride in grabbing time away from his spoilt younger sister.

–

He brushes off the occasional “slip-ups” in his youth. To keep his record as clean as a whistle ㅡ even if it means doing something dishonest every once in a while. The good performance leads to parents and teachers start to turn an eye in his direction.

The next step is to get military service out of the way early, high school diploma still fresh in his palm. The praise he receives on his return is immeasurable. What an upstanding young man. So eager to serve his country before pursuing his dreams.

It makes his transition into the police academy easy. They’re impressed with his mental fortitude and physical condition. Exactly what he wants them to think he is through and through. One does not make it into the top of the class without his determination.

Graduation comes just as fast as the rest of his life begins to change. It’s a train that runs into his chest at full throttle.

There are blurs of a celebratory party, full of alcohol and pretty girls he doesn’t bother asking the names of ㅡ not until one gives him a call a few weeks later. Were they keeping in touch this whole time? He can’t remember off the top of his head. Her voice shakes over the phone and she tells him she’s pregnant. He doesn’t panic; even when her brother and father all but threaten to ‘make him regret it’ if he failed to be a man and take a step up to take care of his actions.

Mistake is a better way of putting it.

“Yes, sir. I’ll take responsibility.” Not a lie, and yet not the truth. He decides to take it all in stride, instead.

He marries the girl to escape from his own strife, not because he genuinely loved her. Perhaps, at some point, he did love her. Maybe when he saw her with his newborn daughter cradled in her arms and she took on the appearance of someone else. Not theirs, but his.

He only lives inside the illusion of an ideal life.

–

His own marriage begins to mirror his parents. He watches the remaining pieces crumble away in his palm and makes no effort to salvage it.

You’re away too much. You never want to talk anymore. Don’t you care about our family? When will you be home? I miss you.

Berating questions soon twist into the demands of a divorce.

Without a moment of hesitation, he agrees it’s best.

During the process, he starts to frequent illegal gambling bars. Something which used to only be ‘on occasion’ in the past. Every night turned out the same. Have a few drinks, feeling lucky, squandering winnings in hope of getting even more… then nothing. The hole forming in his wallet caves in on itself and sooner or later, and his ex expects her share for raising his daughter. He tells the guys running the show (the illegal show) he’ll pay them back once the hearings are over. He promises. Just one last free drink and he’ll be good on his word.

But the debt builds and, with time, becomes interest.

He grabs at anything he can get. Money is like a drug. More addictive and seductive than the nicotine he breathes through his lungs to temporarily calm his fraying nerves.

In a moment of weakness, the rookie detective makes eyes at the police chief’s pretty young wife. She smiles back at him because she knows he can offer what a middle-aged alcoholic cannot. The designer shoes that click against the floor on her way across the hall tell him those things are only physical. She has no use for a divorcee so far in the hole he can hardly peek out of it.

The city crushes him under its pressure not too long after he starts regaining his confidence.

His life threatens to rip at the seams. Debt, too many secrets he doesn’t want to keep, and one disastrous case stuff themselves taut under his belt. A city many a wayward soul flocks to fulfill their dreams is one he can no longer live in with ease. He’s more desperate to escape than ever.

–

Ilmyo is the dull beacon of a second chance. It’s a small town ㅡ where yellow lights still mean slow down, not go faster. No one knows his face or name there. A fresh start Instead of a failure, he becomes a detective from the big city there to add an extra man to the ongoing case and the two long since left in the past. Having a hand in solving any of the three would make or break him.

“They found them dead, bodies floating up off the river like a couple of dead fish.” It wasn’t unlike the morticians to joke. The detective plays along and laughs in some sorry way. How else were they to stay sane?

“It’s a real shame. I heard they were engaged. But… maybe they’re better off.” Jinil takes a painfully long inhale of his cigarette. “Marriage never ends in happiness.”

He pauses for what seems like a full minute, taking in the photos and files laid out on the small police station’s corkboard. He figures, by now, they could afford something more modern. It’s cluttered with images of death and the smiles on pieces of 8 x 11 stock paper, faded from the dysfunctional printer collecting dust in the corner.

He questions his own morals ㅡ or lack thereof. The other cops have sullen expressions painted over their faces. It’s likely this many homicide cases never graced their tables for decades. Could they blame a man from a city homicide department for acting so jaded?

“Don’t everyone look so upset. We’ll find the murderer.” Not because the detective feels sorry for them or their loved ones. He isn’t quite sure if that sort of man exists inside him anymore.

#hrs hawk #hrs seo inguk #hrs accepted

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theblacktivity-blog · 8 years

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The Worst Type Of Black “Success” Story

It has often been proven that among any society where there are oppressed groups, there inevitably exists an intermediate class stratum among the oppressed. This group functions essentially on the peripheral of two planes of existence. Finding themselves effectively shut out from the ruling group whether due to class, race, or some other form of caste, they will never (at least in a social order designed by the “ruling” group) become full benefactors in the fruits of those considered at the top of the ladder. However, for this group and its individual members, this is a concession they are willing to make, because if only they can get a glimpse, just a taste of such “power”, they are just about willing to do anything at the behest of those in the ruling group. It matters not whether the power they seek to gain will inevitably be of an eroding sort or if they are politely denigrated both publicly and privately, in the minds of such folk, complete and blind subservience has its “rewards”. This often manifest itself in the form of an attempt at what’s often called assimilation. Assimilation is essentially the adaptation of social and psychological characteristics by a group of people or and individual of another group in (in this case, the “ruling” class). Naturally, when individuals or groups belonging to the oppressed group take such measures it has the opposite yet equal reaction of drawing the ire of many from the oppressed group who haven’t given in to the pressure or temptation of sacrificing one’s cultural identity (typically the most positive social and psychological markers) for a faux form of privilege or power. In the hearts, minds, and emotions of the oppressed, they can obtain success, status, and power just fine based on their own terms and definitions, without offering up their cultural uniqueness as a sacrificial lamb. These people are more like what you would call integrationists. Now, I know that historically (particularly in my community, the African American community) there has been something of a misuse or misperception of the integrationist, one that posits integration as assimilation. This is understandable, after all there have been many instances of closeted assimilationists infiltrating ranks as integrationist. Of this there can be little doubt, it is true and there are a multitude of historical examples (which for the sake of brevity I will not go into) to reinforce this. So, for the sake of differentiation, I will utilize the term “true integrationist” in the place of integrationist. Because integration as defined by Meriam Webster’s dictionary is as follows: “the act or process or an instance of integrating: such as: incorporation as equals into society or an organization of individuals of different groups (as races)”. In other words, integration is something totally different from assimilation. Integration requires not that one must fully or even partially adapt the idiosyncrasies of any other group (or in this case the “ruling” group) to operate as an equal in society. If anything, integration by definition is more about cultural exchange. The true integrationist understands this and realizes that while he has a right to choose to take from surrounding cultures that which can enrich his own, and other cultures can do the same, adopting any one culture’s outlook is not or should not be a qualifier for his participation as an equal in society. A true integrationist is a cosmopolitan who takes pride in the richness of his or her own cultural legacy without hesitation or shame, and views it as on equal footing with other cultures in terms of contributions to society. This definition of integration and particularly the practice of it by the true integrationist, is why at worst, integration never seems to fully work in the United States of America between African Americans and white Americans. At best, every gain at a measure of equality and or equal autonomy is met with some degree of rollback in gains. The U.S. system and more broadly the western system, was specifically designed that Blacks and other people of color would remain in a perpetual state of subservience, period. When this was, and is met with resistance, the “ruling” class, in this case whites, reacted then and now both covertly, overtly, and when “necessary”, violently to such attempts at equality. In the minds of those who are of the “ruling” group, the most they will “allow” is a Black person (or some other person of color) who is fully divested of any independence of mind and culture to occupy a space of perceived power on terms drafted by the “rulers” themselves. Whether for lack of intestinal fortitude, war weariness, weak minded desperation, cynical admiration of the “ruling” class, or some poisonous cocktail of all the above, this has tended to work on many Blacks and those belonging to other groups of color. They become assimilationist. They bow, scrape, beg, and plead for attention from those in the “ruling” group and they purposefully forgo any form of assertion or self-determination (even though many assimilationist, particularly those in America will utilize the self-determination argument to berate Blacks who demand equal rights and reparations). True integrationist look at such people and shake their heads in shame, pity, and disbelief. Nationalist (a group who I haven’ t gone into here for the sake of brevity but who bear some commonalities to the true integrationist except for cosmopolitan outlook) are typically so disgusted with assimilationist, that they can’t stand to be around them without wanting to rain Black fire upon them. This in effect makes the intermediate group the most venerable in the caste system. Seeing this, the ruling group makes it sport to trot out these members of the oppressed as model citizens and in some cases as “lords”, “governors”, and “interpreters” of the “rowdy” or “radical” masses of their brothers and sisters. Their job is to “tame the herd” and keep a protective wall of color around the “ruling” class that will shield them from all challenges seen and unseen. For this, the assimilationist will get a pat on the head, typically in the form of some position of perceived importance (usually a job a member of the “ruling” class would either never do or at best would only do with the promise of something greater). At this point, the assimilationist feels like one of the “good ol’boys or gals” even though he/she is not, and never will be. It’s like that scene in Friday after next were Craig must constantly remind Dae Dae that they are not real police officers, that they are just “Top Flight Security”. But Dae Dae, insists by saying “we something like’em!”. This is the permanent mental state of the assimilationist. The assimilationist is a completely lost person.

This past week we saw assimilation in the entirety of its painful display. Dr. Ben Carson is an assimilationist. Yes, that Dr. Ben Carson. Black ass Dr. Ben Carson from traditionally and predominantly Black ass Detroit, Michigan. Former presidential candidate Dr. Ben Carson. Dr. Ben Carson the human gaffe machine who always appears to be in a perdurable state of REM level sleep. Dr. Ben Carson of “Gifted Hands” fame you know, that book that every African American 5th grader (myself included) was made to do a book report on long before you knew what “assimilation” meant or knew that the protagonist of the book was the living embodiment of that. Dr. Ben Carson, the former genius of a neurosurgeon turned self-appointed Egyptologist who posits that the pyramids where originally used for “storing grain” (because…forget all those sarcophaguses and mummies that have been unearthed in pyramids over the past few millenniums) a pre-antiquity equivalent of the refrigerator you keep your ‘Wheat Thins’ cool in. Dr. Ben Carson, who said that Obamacare is “like slavery in a way”, (more of his views on American slavery coming up). Dr. Ben Carson who suggested in the wake of police brutality protest that we should “stop being mean to police” because “it makes them timid”. Dr. Ben Carson, who has previously accused President Obama (already considered by historians as one of the best presidents ever) of being everything from treasonous, to Leninist, to diagnosing the former commander-in-chief with psychopathology. Dr. Ben Carson who suggested that “bakers may poison gay wedding cakes if they are forced to make them”. Do you want me to continue? I shall, because there’s plenty more, including what I’m leading up to. Dr. Ben Carson who during an interview with NBC’s Chuck Todd compared women who get abortions due to rape and incest to slave owners. Dr. Ben Carson who state that “separation of church and state is a form of craziness” at an Iowa state fair of white evangelicals. Dr. Ben Carson who stated that “no Muslim should ever become president without renouncing Islam”. Dr. Ben Carson who suggested that “gun control may have caused the Holocaust” (because certainly a manic populist ideologue named Adolf Hitler with a demonic political machine wasn’t it). Dr. Ben Carson who hinted at policing speeches on liberal college campuses. Dr. Ben Carson who will hence forth be known as “Pusha Ben” for his peddling of fake “cancer curing” Mannatech magic supplements. Pusha Ben, who in response to the Oregon mass shooting at Umpqua Community College essentially blamed the victims through his “recounting” of his personal experience at a Popeye’s Chicken in Baltimore in which he was held at gun point and somehow “diffused the situation”, (this was just another of Pusha’s bat shit crazy lies, no police report could be found for the incident). Dr. “Pusha Ben” who at one point was leading now President Donald Trump (wtf?) in multiple polls which evoked whispers that he could become the next president. Until white folks came to their own conclusion that one Black man was enough. Dr. “Pusha Ben” Carson, who after being politely given his “get the fuck on” card from his mostly white electorate and the republican national committee, was thought to be at least temporarily done politically, only to become a Trump surrogate for the then republican nominee. Dr. “Pusha Ben” who was all but looked over for the very cabinet position in the Trump administration that may have made sense for him; Secretary of Health and Human Services; and was essentially thrown the position of HUD Secretary (which is, 1. Comparatively speaking a less consequential post, and 2. A position for which he has zero qualifications for). I have the odd feeling that he just may have been picked for this position because the word “urban” is in the title, but that’s just me. Kind of like Trump and his minions were sitting around near the verge of choosing their next few cabinet picks via hat raffle when they got to this position and the light bulb went off:

Trump: “You know then there’s the HUD, the HUD has been a complete and utter disaster. We need to have biggest and bestest HUD! This HUD has to be yuuuuuge!....What is the HUD?

Stephen Bannon surrounded by others: “Housing and Urrrrrrban (wink wink) Development Mr. President-elect”.

Trump: “Who’s urban? Because we need the best urban person ever! And a really really great guy who will do big things”.

Stephen Bannon surrounded by others: “There is that Black head case…I’m mean…neurosurgeon”.

President Stephen Bann…I mean, President Trump…yes that’s it: (cross talking) Yeah, Benson…I mean…Dr. Carson, Yeah Ben Carson, that’s it. Yep born in Detroit, very very “urbany”.

Note: The position of Secretary of Health and Human Services ultimately went to white man, republican Georgia Congressman, doctor, and health sector stock insider trader Tom Price.

The same Dr. “Pusha Ben” Carson at first went on to state that he would not accept the HUD position as he “did not have any experience in government” …. let that sink in. Some more. And some more. If you found your mind dry fucked by this, the statement of a man who ran for president, you’ll be “glad” to know if you haven’t been living under a rock for the past few months, that he did indeed accept his token position and was recently confirmed by the Senate. And earlier this week at the meet and greet of his fellow HUD staff where he discussed among other things; 1. The “kindness” pledge. 2. His experience with “zapping” brains into memory recall, he also touched on the topic of immigration. This was of course delivered within the context of typical right wing one tracked mythology of America as a “land of opportunity” and after describing photos of immigrants arriving at Ellis Island he went on to state, and I quote:

“That’s what America is about, a land of dreams and opportunity,’’ he said. “There were other immigrants who came here in the bottom of slave ships, worked even longer, even harder for less. But they too had a dream that one day their sons, daughters, grandsons, granddaughters, great-grandsons, great-granddaughters, might pursue prosperity and happiness in this land.”

And this is the assimilationist. This is the horse shit historical revisionism that we must deal with. A person who believes, and passionately so that if he commits to enough parroting of the white American ideology that somehow, he will be accepted, loved even, beyond reproach. It matters not that as an African American male in a society that has made it its business to denigrate and malign Black life he could serve as something of an example, irrespective of his political party allegiance (because after all Blackness isn’t necessarily monolithic), to millions of Black youth. It doesn’t matter because at the end of the day for Dr. “Pusha Ben” and those who are like him, it’s all about him. Selfishness hidden beneath the veneer of respectability politics and white American (and particularly right wing) theories about “pulling oneself up by the bootstraps” without taking into consideration the very real equity stake, yet to be paid, that African American’s and their descendants (his dumb ass included) have in this country. Enslaved Africans and their offspring were not immigrants. They were kidnapped from foreign lands, lands in which existed customs, rituals, politics, education, family life, and religious practices all their own. They were uprooted and transplanted to lands which were unfamiliar to enrich the lives of white people of European ancestry. This social order was enforced with violence and upheld by law and when the tides did turn (only after all out civil war), these same white former slave owners, landowners, politicians, businessmen, and citizens made it their goal to ensure the master slave social hierarchy. It existed after The Reconstruction in the form of Jim Crow, which was always a push pull battle in which any gains for Blacks were rolled back by more white dissent and filibuster. When this was upended (at least in its most visible form) in the 60’s and 70’s many of the policies continued and they continue until this day in the form of coded laws and customs in mass incarceration, school and neighborhood zoning and defunding, miseducation, police brutality, mass media, and economic deprivation. And you know what, deep down Dr. “Pusha Ben” knows this. That’s what makes him and people like him so utterly frustrating and I would even argue, dangerous. They serve as something of a catalyst to a system with a history of depriving and dehumanizing certain groups of people. Their availability to the “powers that be” and their willingness to co-sign off on the most abhorrent of ideologies through their adaptation of traditionally white supremacist stances, gives such a system the ammunition it needs to discriminate in the form of reasonable doubt. Say the racists and ideologues: “Look at him, he’s Black and he believes the same thing!”. But again, it matters not to Dr. Ben Carson and people like him. They shapeshift, maneuver, and distort themselves to the very shape of those who would just a swiftly place blame on them for driving while Black, or for daring to assert their humanity in any consequential way. As a Black man, Dr. Ben Carson not only accepted a cabinet position from a man who has an established track record of open racist practice, he also accepted the position from a man who in collusion with other such white male types, intends on using many of these practices to shape U.S. policy. Such policy could very well include housing. And if/when the plans get underway to bring about the installment of redlining and mortgage discrimination 3.0, who will be conveniently at the helm? HUD Secretary Dr. Ben Carson, a subserviently smiling Black man to which they can point to as an example of their “graciousness” and the triumph of Americanism over so-called “liberal divisiveness”. When or if that day comes many of us as African Americans will be disappointed, but to no avail. Dr. Ben Carson will not care because, to him assimilation equals success even at the risk of justice and all that is supposed to be “American”. I hope that no teacher ever has reason to hand either of my daughters the “Gifted Hands” story, because Dr. Ben Carson is the worst type of Black “success” story.

#drbencarson #newslaves #trump immigrants?

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romancevsreality-blog · 8 years

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vanderpump rules, season five, episode seventeen: the editing is so shady in this episode and i love everyone for it

I completely forgot about Tom and Tom in drag until the opening of this episode, but we’re back in New Orleans, and they’re as dragged out as ever. Katie sits and drinks a FourLoko because she’s basic as hell while she rehashes the story to Stassi, who claims she had no idea because remember - these people weren’t friends a year ago. Stassi was off having cuffing season with her boyfriend and pretending she’s morally superior to these people. She’s crying because of it, though. Katie’s tired of pretending that Tom didn’t fuck the girl in Vegas, Ariana and Scheana are pretending that Schwartz wasn’t forced to propose to Katie at gunpoint, and Sandoval is just going to defend Schwartz with all his might for the rest of time. And Sandoval is right - Katie gave Schwartz an ultimatum despite their relationship having its issues.

What prompts is literally an angry rant from Sandoval in drag, him kicking the door in while yelling “He’s a fucking battered wife!”, and Tom Schwartz sitting on the bed in his wig cap, trying not to laugh at the entire scenario.

It is hilarious. I am dead.

Katie, meanwhile, is still trying to play the victim with Kristen, Brittany, Jax, and Stassi, who are trying to reassure her that she’s not the stupidest person1 when Schwartz comes in and insults Kristen and then calls Katie a bitch, and then walks out. It is literally pointless, but it leads to Kristen and Brittany talking about how Tom Schwartz only gets this way when Tom Sandoval is around. Kristen’s irrational hatred for Tom Sandoval isn’t cute anymore. Y’all broke up three years ago and Kristen slept with everyone she could during their relationship, so. I don’t get why Kristen hates him so much. I’m also massively upset because Brittany is on the wrong side f history here, taking Kristen’s side.

I find myself questioning everything when Jax starts making sense. Then again, he’s 2000 years old, so he must have some form of wisdom. I must be as drunk as Tom Schwartz is, because Jax just wants Tom to apologize to Katie to see if that will make Katie own up to her own shitty behavior. And if it doesn’t (and it won’t), then Tom will know to GTFO this relationship. It’s not the worst advice. He takes Tom over to Katie, where Katie and Stassi are laying in bed, and basically herds the other girls out. Jax loses my favor swiftly, though, when he complains about having to perform the act of oral sex on his girlfriend. Come on, Jax. You’re better than this.

The next day, Tom Schwartz wakes up in a dress, with a boner, in Jax and Brittany’s room. Tom Sandoval wakes up with nails still on. Ariana and Tom talk about how weird and awkward things are going to be today, and I’m mostly concerned that Tom Sandoval probably slept in his contacts because he couldn’t take them out with those pointy devil nails on.

The next scene is one of the shadiest scenes I’ve seen in reality television, though.

Scheana and Shay are in bed talking, and they’re discussing the fact that Katie and Tom fight all the time and it’s a great idea that they had a prenup. Scheana wasn’t worried about having a prenup with Shay, because she trusted him. What was he going to do, empty out her bank account?2

Stassi’s having a hard time, because the entire time Tom and Katie have been together, they’ve been having the same argument - Katie gets drunk, they fight; Tom gets drunk, they fight. And she’s right - how do you support a couple who can’t seem to stop having the same argument over and over again?

Here comes the Contractually Obligated Scene That Takes Place At Sexy Unique Restaurant With Lisa Vanderpump. They’re getting so heavy-handed with these now, it’s amazing. Lisa’s at Sexy Unique Restaurant, instructing Suck A Dick Diana not to let the gardeners cut too many branches and, oh, promoting someone we’ve never seen before to a server position. Here’s Katie O’Malley, who’s been a host at Sexy Unique Restaurant and for some reason showing her midriff at work, getting a shot at being a server at Sexy Unique Restaurant. Sure. Anyway, Katie calls Lisa and tells her a brief rundown - lots of fighting, blah blah blah. Lisa wonders if they are entirely capable of having fun with each other (answer: probably not?).

The Gang’s at a cabana by the pool, and everyone’s treating Tom Schwartz with kid gloves. Tom’s afraid of Katie, and they’re all pretty much like “AWWWW, TOMMMMM.”

Kristen, Katie, and Stassi go to Stassi’s childhood home, which is up for sale. I lived in the same house for most of my childhood and my adult life, and I’m having a tough time reconciling the idea that at some point it won’t be mine. My mom says she’s going to move soon and it hurts my heart to think about it. We meet Stassi’s grandma, who has to suffer through Stassi telling her about how hungover she is. Her grandma is a boss bitch, fabulously dressed and a genuine sweetheart. She’s the one who gave Stassi her nickname, and she’s pretty much what you want to be when you’re a grandma. Stassi asks for her Chanels, something I would do, too.

Back at the cabana, Jax is trying to talk Tom out of marrying Katie because Jax sees what we’re all seeing. Tom claims he was being dramatic in the heat of the moment - he probably is - and then Sandoval comes in with a pink tank top for him and the moment’s broken and over. This show is full of red flags of how not to be in a relationship and how toxicity works. Meanwhile, Stassi ruins a perfectly gorgeous dress by getting in the pool at her dad’s house with it on, and Katie feels validated that everyone can see that it’s not just her that gets drunk and mean. The mere fact that she thinks that’s “winning” says so much. Proving someone is just as bad as you are is not “winning”, it means there’s something wrong with both of you.

Katie O’Malley is getting quizzed by Lisa, and isn’t fully prepared. Like, at all. This girl has barely looked at this food, let alone knows the menu. She basically kind of rambles on and makes up dish ingredients, and Lisa is unimpressed. Girl doesn’t even know what the specials are, and that’s usually the easiest one to remember. Sigh. Katie’s sent to try again later.

Tom comes into Katie’s room like “BUUUUUUUUUUBBA?????” in that horrifically passive aggressive way. He pretends not to know why they’re fighting, when it’s glaringly obvious. Katie wants him to admit that he slept with the girl in Vegas, and he maintains steadfast that he didn’t. And here’s the thing - I don’t think he did. Whiskey dick is a hell of an issue, and I’m sure he tried. And it’s harder to be like “I tried, but I couldn’t,” than it is to just flat out lie by omission, which is what Tom is doing. I do wish he would admit that what he did was hurtful, even so, and Katie has the right to be upset about it. He’s basically a little drunk. We get a good glimpse into how they fight, because Tom is like, “You were a nightmare for the first three years we dated,” And Katie’s like, “You can’t throw that in my face!” Even though she was literally just throwing the Vegas girl thing from two years ago in his face. They both decided to marry each other, they have to live in the bed they made. They can’t blame each other and refuse to take accountability. Katie’s trying to have a serious conversation, and Tom literally squirts whipped cream in his mouth because he’s a child. They weirdly make up, and basically mutually agree to squash shit. Or at least put a band-aid on things because they want to have fun.

All the guys go out and The Toms are wearing fucking zoot suits and take Fuck You shots. Jax says Jameson is disgusting and I clutch my pearls. They take shots of chartreuse because they’re barbarians, and that leads to a game of Spin The Bottle. I’m glad these 30 year olds are playing Spin The Bottle. Tom Schwartz starts the game, and his last kiss as a non-married man was with Tom Sandoval. It makes perfect sense. I’m very happy for them, because they’re very much in love. Peter and Stassi kiss - they dated for a bit, I forgot - and pretty much everyone kisses. It’s very bizarre. Peter and Stassi wind up making out for a bit, and they really are a good looking couple. Please date.

Tom Sandoval pretends that he doesn’t know there isn’t a difference between extensions and weave, even though he has both. He goes outside and smokes a cigarette with Kristen for some reason, and it immediately starts with Kristen berating him and calling him an asshole. He looks so confused, but Kristen’s upset that Tom mentioned to Carter about their past relationship. Kristen literally says "I cheated on you with TONS of guys when we were together. How dare you talk to my new boyfriend about it." Carter, who is literally fetch and thus will never happen, apparently knows all about what a monster Kristen has been. But what really drives Kristen crazy, I think, is that Tom Sandoval got over it. She’ll never get over Tom Sandoval, but he’s over her and has moved past her. She tells him to stop trying to ruin her relationship, when… she spent the entirety of the third season of this show trying to break up Tom and Ariana. Tom Sandoval clearly gives no fucks about Kristen and Carter, and she really, really wants him to.

Over at Villa Rosa, Ken and Lisa lay in their majestic bed, surrounded by dogs. They’re talking about opening a new, “young” restaurant, and bringing in new partners. They discuss Tom Sandoval being brought in as a partner, which is actually incredible. I’m always a fan of these people preparing their post-Vanderpump life.

There’s a kind of gross scene where Tom Schwartz gives Katie a lap dance, and honestly, knowing these two don’t have sex, I can’t imagine why they ever would. Katie makes a joke that she has to pay Tom to have a sex with her - I mean, Tom has admitted that he was a little concerned he was asexual for years, so I can totally see Tom being the one getting off on being withholding. They go back, Tom Sandoval tells the guys about his conversation with Kristen and the girls put temporary tattoos all over a passed out Tom Schwartz’s face.

The next morning, Jax has eye masks on his eyes but claims they’re “chicken cutlets”, because for a metrosexual and virtually hairless man, Jax knows shockingly little about beauty maintenance. Brittany asks him not to post pictures of him in drag on Instagram, but wasn’t Brittany kissing Kristen during Spin The Bottle the night before? Oh, yeah, that’s because her homophobia is arbitrary and it’s okay for girls to kiss each other but god forbid a man dress up in drag as a joke. The gang’s all packing to go home, and Shay is trying to wax poetic about marriage and that it’s hard work. He talks about how it requires listening, and Scheana literally interrupts him to ask for her steamer. The editors know what’s coming. Tom and Katie agree to bottle their shit up, and this is such a bad idea and not an appropriate way to go about this. Katie just wants to focus on her flowers and her dress, and… this is not going to end well.

Next Week: The Sexy Unique Restaurant photoshoot! Scheana feels left out. Stassi is going to the bottom of the barrel for dating - OkCupid, and Katie and Tom ask Lisa to perform their wedding and she’s hesitant, for good reason.

See you next week!

Random Assessments from the Desk of Amanda:

Of course Katie is drinking a Four Loko at the opener. I can’t with her ever.

I just want The Toms to live happily ever after.

Kristen is really desperate to make herself relevant on this show.

Stassi’s dad is hot. So is Shay.

Just the worst. Absolutely the worst. ↩︎

Oh, wait, that’s exactly what he did. I love the schadenfreude this show has towards its cast. God bless the editor who found that clip. ↩︎

#vanderpump rules #katie maloney #tom schwartz #stassi schroeder #are they getting ready to get rid of this cast?#it really feels like it

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