#either joe or beverly

[sentimental-boy]

so i'm rewatching eureka (originally experienced as a child when it was airing) and i really did not remember how often the entire town almost gets blown up. they really have the worst experimental safety protocols i've ever seen from a town full of geniuses.

[femmehysteria]

Best Character Named X Poll

FOLLOW @best-character-named-x-poll

I'm doing a series of "Best Character Named X" polls where all the characters have the same first name but are from completely different media, feel free to send in name/charcacter suggestions, I'm posting one poll a day. New polls scheduled for 1:30PM GMT everyday.

ask box closed for now

WILL BE POSTING POLLS ON @best-character-named-x-poll FROM FEB 1ST

If your favourite character is not included in the poll very sorry i have either never heard of them or actively chose not to include them as theres only 6 characters per poll. Characters will only count of that is their first name, surnames do not count.

Round 85: David

Round 86: Tiffany

Round 87: Charlie

Round 88: Sandy

Round 89: Cody

Round 90: Amanda

Round 91: Jeremy

Past Polls and Poll Ideas under the cut

Names that I have a complete list for*

Caroline, Tyler, Louis, Leonard, Rebecca, Steve, Nicole, Isabelle, Victoria, Katherine, Jade, Alex, Sophie, Greg, Jake, Ellie, Isaac, Robin, Tony, Annie, Lisa, Margaret, Oliver, Clark, Kara, Phoebe, Emma, Ruby, Bart, Alfie, Beth, Julian, Nancy, Penny, Margaret, Tessa, Erica, Theresa, George, Kevin, Sebastian, Felix, Martin, Michael, Erin, Caleb, Helen, Charlotte, Kyle, Martha, Diana, Elsa, Gary, Zoe, Connor, Colin, Daisy, Eric, Maya, Adam, Andy, Magnus, Alma, Nora, Alice, Spike, Leon, Marcel, Kim, Juno, Sue, Chris, Otto, Donald, Daphne, Kate, Todd, Ned, Ken, Angel, Judy, Jo, Hazel, Naomi, Diego, Miranda, Joel, Lila, Duncan, Dexter, Meredith, Pearl, Lily, Malcolm, Napolean, Joan, Nico, Jamie, Nadia, Velma, Jill, Kiera, Rory, Evan, Tam, Klaus, Neil, Derek, Michelle, Luna, Laila, Cordelia, Zack, Imogen, Felicity, Cindy, Alicia, Kelly, Alan, April, Astrid, Delilah, Jodie, Claudia, Juliet, Karen, Jonas, Milo, Celia, Hannah, Joy, Ethan, Katya, Aria, Atticus, Ian, Cynthia, Faye, Frank, Boo, River, Corey, Gabrielle, Minerva, Ebony, Zia, Beverly, Rudy, Georgina

Names I have an incomplete list for (welcome to send character suggestions)

Richter, Sean, Troy, Cain, Agatha, Warren, Percy, Reggie, Mina, Ryan, Felicia, Dylan, Josh, Shirley, Debbie, Jared, June, Mabel, Ray, Chad, Moe, Hugh, Fearne, Christine, Joe, August, May, Scarlet, Alana, Leela, Manny, Dean, Francis, Mason, Oscar, Quinn, Guy, Ulrich, Wally, Yasmin, Tobias, Woody, Sabrina, Quentin, Margot, Alina, Matilda, Freya, Kendra, Angus, Ophelia, Leisel, Zelda, Adora, Piper, Scarlet, Sheila, Valentine, Laurie, Laurel, Fitz, Violet, Gabriel, Ford, Artemis, Owen, Bianca, Newton, Summer, Darcy, Noah, Taylor, Miriam, Hugh, Aurora, Hank, Henry, Dawn, Delia, Cosmo, Wanda, Zeke, Cecil, Aiden, Calvin, Ayesha, Beatrice, Parker, Chase, Hunter, Tina, Misty, Amaya, Amara, Harvey, Talia, Tatiana, Tanya, Orion, Eugene, Kit, Bo, Duke, Blue, Cameron, Rudolf, Mara, Marianne, Carl

Feel free to send more suggestions

*subject to change, you can still submit a character if there is no strikethrough if you think theres a character that its an absolute crime i dont add. Please don't suggest anything for the names with a strikethrough as they are polls that are already in my queue waiting to be published.

Past Polls

Round 1: Peter : WINNER: Peter Parker (Spider-Man)

Round 2: Elizabeth : WINNER: Elizabeth Swann (Pirates of the Caribbean)

Round 3: Jason : WINNER: Jason Mendoza (The Good Place)

Round 4: Eve : WINNER: EVE (WALL-E)

Round 5: Fred : WINNER: Fred Jones (Scooby-Doo)

Round 6: Rachel : WINNER: Rachel (Animorphs)

Round 7: Arthur : WINNER: Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Round 8: Amy : WINNER: Amy Pond (Doctor Who)

Round 9: Tom : WINNER: Tom (Tom and Jerry)

Round 10: Claire : WINNER: Clare Devlin (Derry Girls)

Round 11: James : WINNER: James (Pokemon)

Round 12: Max : WINNER: Max (Black Sails)

Round 13: Simon : WINNER: Simon Belmont (Castlevania)

Round 14: Jane : WINNER: Jane Crocker (Homestuck)

Round 15: Victor : WINNER: Victor Nikiforov (Yuri On Ice)

Round 16: Mary : WINNER: Mary Poppins (Mary Poppins)

Round 17: Will : WINNER: Will Graham (Hannibal)

Round 18: Laura : WINNER: Laura Palmer (Twin Peaks)

Round 19: Ben : WINNER: Ben "Obi-Wan" Kenobi (Star Wars)

Round 20: Chloe : WINNER: Chloe Price (Life Is Strange)

Round 21: John : WINNER: Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)

Round 22: Lydia : WINNER: Lydia Deetz (Beetlejuice)

Round 23: Mark : WINNER: Marc Spector (Moon Knight)

Round 24: Jess : WINNER: Jesse Pinkman (Breaking Bad)

Round 25: Theo : WINNER: Theobald Gumbar (Dimension 20: A Crown Of Candy)

Round 26: Sarah: WINNER: Sarah Jane Smith (Doctor Who)

Round 27: Richard : WINNER: Richard Gansey III (The Raven Cycle)

Round 28: Cass : WINNER: Cassandra Cain (Batman)

Round 29: Edward : WINNER: Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Round 30: Carm : WINNER: Carmen Sandiego (Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?)

Round 31: Hal : WINNER: HAL9000 (2001: A Space Odyssey)

Round 32: Sid : WINNER: Sydney Adamu (The Bear)

Round 33: Jack : WINNER: Captain Jack Harkness (Doctor Who)

Round 34: Stephanie : WINNER: Stephanie Brown (Batman)

Round 35: Ash : WINNER: Ash Ketchum (Pokemon)

Round 36: Veronica : WINNER: Veronica Sawyer (Heathers)

Round 37: Kurt : WINNER: Kurt Wagner aka Nightcrawler (X-Men)

Round 38: Eleanor : WINNER: Eleanor Shellstrop (The Good Place)

Round 39: Nathan : WINNER: Nathan Young (Misfits)

Round 40: Fiona : WINNER: Princess Fiona (Shrek)

Round 41: Gale : WINNER: Gayle Waters-Waters (Chris Fleming)

Round 42: Barbara : WINNER: Barbara Millicent Roberts aka Barbie (Barbie)

Round 43: Sam : WINNER: Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the Rings)

Round 44: Grace : WINNER: Grace Chastity (Nerdy Prudes Must Die)

Round 45: Barry : WINNER: Barry Bluejeans (The Adventure Zone)

Round 46: Raven : WINNER: Raven (Teen Titans)

Round 47: Dan : WINNER: Danny Fenton (Danny Phantom)

Round 48: Mia : WINNER: Mia Fey (Ace Attorney)

Round 49: Matt : WINNER: Matt Murdock (Daredevil)

Round 50: Rose : WINNER: Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Round 51: Robert : WINNER: Robbie Rotten (LazyTown)

Round 52: Lola : WINNER: Lola Bunny (Space Jam)

Round 53: Scott : WINNER: Scott Summers aka Cyclops (X-Men)

Round 54: Olivia : WINNER: Olivia Octavious (Spiderverse)

Round 55: Finn : WINNER: Finn the Human (Adventure Time)

Round 56: Emily : WINNER: Emily Charlton (The Devil Wears Prada)

Round 57: Elliot : WINNER: Eliot Spencer (Leverage)

Round 58: Sonia : WINNER: Sonia (Pokemon)

Round 59: Gideon : WINNER: Gideon Nav (The Locked Tomb)

Round 60: Jen : WINNER: Jennifer Check (Jennifer's Body)

Round 61: Miles : WINNER: Miles Morales (Spider-Man)

Round 62: Lana : WINNER: Lana Skye (Ace Attorney)

Round 63: Spencer : WINNER: Spencer Shay (iCarly)

Round 64: Tracy : WINNER: Tracy Turnbald (Hairspray!)

Round 65: Luke : WINNER: Luke Skywalker (Star Wars)

Round 66: Natalie : WINNER: Natalie Scatorccio (Yellowjackets)

Round 67: Harry : WINNER: Harry Du Bois (Disco Elysium)

Round 68: Lucy : WINNER: Lucy van Pelt (Peanuts)

Round 69: Damian : WINNER: Damian Wayne (Batman)

Round 70: Tabitha : WINNER: Tabitha Casper (Dan and Phil Games: Sims 4)

Round 71: Nick : WINNER: Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Trigun)

Round 72: Gwen : WINNER: Guinevere (Merlin)

Round 73: Paul : WINNER: Paulette Bonafonte (Legally Blonde)

Round 74: Abigail : WINNER: Abigail Hobbs (Hannibal)

Round 75: Jordan : WINNER: Jordan Baker (The Great Gatsby)

Round 76: Donna : WINNER: Donna Noble (Doctor Who)

Round 77: Morgan : WINNER: Morgana (Merlin)

Round 78: Allison : WINNER: Alison Cooper (BBC Ghosts)

Round 79: Patrick : WINNER: Patrick Star (Spongebob Squarepants)

Round 80: Linda : WINNER: Linda Belcher (Bob's Burgers)

Round 81: Philip : WINNER: Philip J. Fry (Futurama)

Round 82: Clarisse : WINNER: Clarisse La Rue (Percy Jackson)

Round 83: Jeff

Round 84: Maria

[best-character-named-x-poll]

Best Character Named X Poll

I'm doing a series of "Best Character Named X" polls where all the characters have the same first name but are from completely different media, feel free to send in name/charcacter suggestions, I'm posting one poll a day. New polls scheduled for 1:30PM BST everyday. Run by @femmehysteria

please send suggestions via ask so i can see them, replies get lost in the notes. I reply chronologically so very sorry if it takes a while for me to answer

If your favourite character is not included in the poll very sorry i have either never heard of them or actively chose not to include them as theres only 6 characters per poll. Characters will only count of that is their first name, surnames do not count.

Round 162: Eugene

Round 163: Monica

Round 164: Vincent

Round 165: Gloria

Round 166: Tyler

Round 167: Nadia

Round 168: Emmett

Past Polls

Poll Ideas under the cut

Names that I have a complete list for*

Caroline, Rebecca, Steve, Victoria, Katherine, Alex, Sophie, Jake, Robin, Clark, Phoebe, Julian, Nancy, Penny, Erica, Theresa, George, Felix, Michael, Charlotte, Diana, Zoe, Connor, Daisy, Maya, Andy, Alma, Nora, Juno, Chris, Otto, Donald, Todd, Angel, Judy, Jo, Hazel, Diego, Miranda, Lila, Duncan, Dexter, Meredith, Pearl, Lily, Malcolm, Napolean, Joan, Nico, Jamie, Kiera, Tam, Klaus, Luna, Laila, Zack, Imogen, Felicity, Cindy, Alicia, Kelly, Alan, April, Astrid, Delilah, Jodie, Claudia, Juliet, Jonas, Milo, Celia, Joy, Katya, Atticus, Ian, Cynthia, Boo, River, Corey, Minerva, Ebony, Zia, Beverly, Rudy, Quentin, Marvin, Miriam, Roxy, Percy, Bianca, Shirley, Beatrice, Amara, Cleo, Cecil, Amaya, Ryan, Mabel, May, August, Leela, Manny, Francis, Matilda, Deborah, Josh, Jared, Sabrina, Kendra, Angus, Ophelia, Liesel, Zelda, Fitz, Aurora, Ramona, Misty, Talia, Orion, Roy, Kala, Madeline, Anastasia, Anna, Annie, Kit, Marian, Lena, Polly, Cora, Leah, Jules, Artemis, Irene, Margo, Laurie, Laurel, Hilda, Valentine, Reggie, Felicia, Joe, Monty, Quinn, Skye, Walter, Christine, Marissa, Edmund, Hope, Oberon, Lorna, Ace, Wally, Calvin, Alana, Jasper, Fergus, Bridget, Ulrich, Roger, Mason, Stella, Lenore, Wanda, Miguel, Winona, Hannibal, Newt, Aiden, Oscar, Tobias, Dorian, Dorothy, Una, Marnie, Mirabel, Wendel, Dora, Mort, Olympia, Toby, Chip, Harvey, Mara, Fearne, Axel, Gil, Bo, Remy, Rue, Ellie, Leslie, Isabelle, Silas, Agnes, Luther, Sally, Delia, Zeke, Richter, Skylar, Scarlet, Bernard, Rusty, Ray, Nigel, Cosmo, Ruth, Selina, Harley, Blue, Cain, Warren, Missy, Perry, Paige, Duke, Tao, Gemma, Cornelius, Declan, Wendy, Apollo, Celeste, Clyde, Nicole, Summer, Hugh, Esther, Leo, Cole, Jean (french), Tatiana, Carl, Kieran, Melody, Adrian, Travis, Vivian, Haley, Kitty, Elle, Julian, Prudence, Hans, Ralph, Azrael, Constance, Lauren, Molly, Agatha, Pauline, Athena, Darcy, Stan

Names I have an incomplete list for (welcome to send character suggestions)

Richter, Dylan, Chad, Moe, Dean, Guy, Yasmin, Woody, Alina, Freya, Adora, Piper, Gabriel, Ford, Owen, Noah, Taylor, Dawn, Ayesha, Parker, Chase, Hunter, Tina, Tanya, Cameron, Rudolf, Melvin, Melanie, Melissa, Melinda, Wolf, Orlando, Adele, Adeline, Jem, Dolores, Jude, Callie, Irma, Lara, Ginger, Terry, Bellamy, Jacob, Jackson, Reese, Nemo, Addison, Adelaide, Candy, Harriet, Abraham, Lee, Ragnar, Rupert, Ella, Destiny, Wendy, Bernard, Hero, Drew, Anita, Raphael, Wallace, Jean (feminine), Elena, Cheryl, Rita, Blair, Hugo, Ike, Gaius, Lance, Lois, Riley, Shane, Cliff, Rod, Tegan, Matthias, Liam, Jed, Caeser, Ellis, Dennis, Josie, Mick, Mike, Heather, Trixie, Amber, Bailey, Esme, Ada, Briar, Puck, Eden, Annette, Stuart, Letitia, Giselle, Suki, Zain, Keith, Ron, Camille, Olaf, Wilfred, Blaine, Pam, Brianna, Clive, Sabine, Roman, Carina, Kalina, Mindy, Wade, Julia, Marlene, Lex, Edith, Monet, Marina, Zara, Tsukasa, Octavia, Marcus

Feel free to send more suggestions

*subject to change, you can still submit a character if there is no strikethrough if you think theres a character that its an absolute crime i dont add. Please don't suggest anything for the names with a strikethrough as they are polls that are already in my queue waiting to be published.

[queeniecook]

June 3

Yesterday, after Caleb left to go see Lilith, Rahmi and I had an uneventful afternoon at the house. We watched all the Ghostbusters movies with her three kids. It was a much needed escape for the Watson family because today was the day of Rahmi and Thomas’ divorce hearing.

I went with Rahmi to the hearing, while Caleb entertained Rahmi’s kids at the Watson family farm.

Honorable judge Dallas Brown was the overseer for the day. I totally forgot that Mina married a judge.

Naturally, Thomas brought his “friend” along.

“Your honor, as stated in the papers Rahmi was served with, I don’t intend to try to take the kids away from her. I want visitation rights. She’s always been a great mother to them and I don’t want to make things harder on them during all of this.” Thomas started.

I wanted to awkwardly pregnant lady stand from my seat and yell at him. If he doesn’t want to make things worse for the kids, why go after the farm?! But, I kept my mouth shut. I’m sure Rahmi had the same thoughts as myself during his speech.

“The farm has been in my family for generations. MY FAMILY. Not hers. When my parents had their will written up, I’m sure they never dreamed of Rahmi and I parting ways. I never dreamed it would happen back then either.” He continued. Perhaps that was true, but he’s the one who strayed. 

“I just want what is my birth right. Of course the kids would all inherit it from me when I pass on, this isn’t about taking anything away from them. It’s about what’s been taken from me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out of my head.

Finally, it was Rahmi’s turn.

“Joe and Beverly Watson stated in their will that I would get the farm if Thomas and I ever got a divorce. That was their wishes, in black and white. Thomas didn’t object to them putting that in the will, he knew about it. He was fine with it. If he wanted to object, he should have done it back then.” Rahmi stated simply and sat back down. I had to hold myself back from clapping. 

The lawyers – Angela Pleasant for Rahmi and Kaci Sherwood for Thomas, were allowed to go back and forth with stipulations and compromises before presenting things to the Judge Brown.

Ten minutes later ~

“I have great news! Judge Brown sided with you, since it was clearly Mr. and Mrs. Watson’s wishes and they made them in  sound mind with witnesses, Thomas doesn’t have much of a case.” Miss Pleasant informed us. 

Rahmi breathed a sigh of relief as did I. I was fully prepared to open mine and Caleb’s home to the better parts of the Watson clan but the idea of their family farm being ripped from all of them was tragic.

“Everything else is settled as well. The divorce is going through as well as the custody agreement.” Miss Pleasant added, I zoned out after that because it was a lot of lawyer speak.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Watson, but what Rahmi said was correct. Your time to object to the will and actually be able to do anything about it would have been back when they were drafting it.” I overheard Miss Sherwood telling Thomas and Florence. 

It wasn’t long before there was a explosion.

“I can’t believe you let that trollop get the farm and all that land! Why would you ever agree to let something go to her?!” Miss Florence berated Thomas loud enough for all of us to hear it. 

“I thought we would be together forever like my parents! That’s why it wasn’t an issue!” Thomas snapped back. 

Florence’s face twisted in disgust. “Love doesn’t last. Only money does.” 

“You’re not who I thought you were.” Rahmi’s soon to be ex husband mumbled to his floozy. 

Florence huffed and with dramatic flair, flung opened the courtroom doors and stomped outside. Hopefully to never be seen or heard from again.

I shared a victory hug with Rahmi after Thomas left with his counsel.

We also celebrated with some food, because I was starving! I’m really glad things worked out for Rahmi and her family today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Credit for courtroom set goes to shelby628 on the gallery.

[briamichellewrites]

66

2002. Bria discovered that she was the daughter of a multi-billionaire. She had a trust fund with five hundred million dollars in it. Brad went through her finances for her because she couldn’t do math herself. She had five and a half million dollars in her bank account. That was enough money to get her through the rest of her life. She could do whatever she wanted with it. Would she stop escorting? No. She liked going on dates and being treated well.

She wanted to move out of her apartment after buying a house. Was she still using drugs? She had stopped using MDMA but was still smoking marijuana occasionally. It was far less harmful than alcohol and cocaine. She proved that by showing Mike a study she found on the internet. Even though he didn’t like it, he couldn’t stop her from smoking. As long as she didn’t get arrested.

She apologized to Joe for not noticing him and for putting him second. He forgave her, though he was unsure if he wanted a relationship with her because he didn’t want to get hurt again. She understood. He hugged her. You’re still under my protection. If anyone hurt him, she would fucking kill them! That made him laugh. Mike could tell that the past few months were hard for him. He had been let down over and over by her.

She did find a house in Beverly Hills. It happened to be right next door to Brad’s. 901 Airole Way, Bel-Air, Los Angeles, CA. He noticed someone moving in, so he decided to be a good neighbor and introduce himself. One guy introduced himself. Brad Delson. Was he the one moving in? No, he was just helping. He put the box down, as Bria came to the front door.

“You got to be fucking kidding me”, she joked.

They laughed. She invited him in and he hugged her. Could help or would that cost him? Yeah, one hundred dollars an hour. He better get to work, then. The house Bria bought had five bedrooms and seven bathrooms. Mike, Phoenix, and Brad helped her look for houses, make an offer, and go through closing since she had never done it before. She also needed help with math and money.

It was her first house and she was excited! The house had also just been built, so she was the first person to live in it! It had a separate guest house, spa, cabana, and pool for $19.500 million. Mike and Phoenix were on their way over to help out. They were talking about buying a house together and getting engaged, though they were not ready to get married. Maybe in a year or two. They were also planning on either adopting or hiring a surrogate to have a baby.

After Anna gave birth, they realized that he wasn’t the father. He was devastated and broke down in tears when he got home. Phoenix comforted him like the perfect boyfriend he was. He let him cry, get angry, and do whatever else he needed to do. After a few hours, he had gotten everything out. He hugged him and thanked him for not leaving.

He would never leave him because he loved him too much. They ended the night in bed just talking and laughing. Mike was only human with emotions. Just like everyone else. Sometimes, he just needed to get everything out. They introduced each other to their families. The Farrells loved Mike as the Shinoda’s loved Phoenix! Mike was bisexual because he was still attracted to women. That was not a problem. The only person who had to know were the people he chose to tell.

Everyone else, it wasn’t their business. He never thought about it like that, but it was true. When they got to the house, they were joking around and laughing. Phoenix called out to Bria, as they walked around the main floor. They could hear music coming from somewhere. Brad came over to them and said hello. He then quietly told them that Brad Pitt was helping them.

“Are you serious”, Mike asked.

“No way”, Phoenix replied.

He laughed and had them follow him. When they found Bria with Brad, Phoenix played it cool by asking her if her house could be any bigger. Yes, it could. They laughed. She then introduced them. Brad came over and shook their hands individually. They then started helping her take everything out and put them into their rightful places.

It was a lot of joking and laughing. Mostly at the expense of Bria. She was a great sport and threw it back.

“Have I told you recently that you’re an asshole”, she asked Phoenix.

“No, you haven’t.”

“Well, you’re an asshole.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He hugged her before going back to work. After finishing downstairs, they went up to her bedroom bringing the music with them. There wasn’t a lot to unpack since she didn’t have that much. She had some designer shoes, handbags, and clothes from her customers. Everything else was from Target. Brad recognized a handbag she bought during their trip to Paris.

He didn’t understand handbags, so he just let her pick whatever she wanted. After everything was finished, they went downstairs to her living room and sat down. It had been a long day that started at ten o’clock. It was currently five in the afternoon. They were tired and hungry, so they talked about what kind of food they should order. It had to have a vegan option. Subway. They agreed with that decision because Brad could just get a salad and it wouldn’t cost extra.

“Okay, you guys are going to have to help me put my debit card numbers in”, she said.

Brad got to watch as she put in the order using her laptop. One of her friends then helped her put her debit card numbers in. Five. No, an upside-down two. Yeah. Four. An upside down nine…. Finally, she got it. Brad asked if she had trouble with numbers. Yeah, she had dyscalculia. It was similar to dyslexia. She saw numbers backward or upside-down, like five, two, six, and nine. It wasn’t a big deal to her and she learned how to work around it.

He never heard of that before. It sounded interesting. He would have to look into it. When the orders came, they went into her dining room and sat down. What was she going to do with the extra rooms? She had no idea, though she was thinking about getting a kitten. Her apartment allowed pets, but she had to pay extra every month for one. She also couldn’t afford one.

Now she could! What kind of kitten, like what breed? She didn’t know since she was just going to go to the animal shelter and see what they had. Mike asked if he could come with her because he and Phoenix were going to get a dog. Hell yeah! They could grow up together and be best buddies!

They laughed. What kind of dog did they want? They wanted either a Rottweiler or a French bulldog. Weren’t Rottweilers huge? They were about waist height when they were fully grown. She thought a dog would be perfect for them! After eating, they threw away their garbage before saying goodbye. Brad asked if he could still see her. Yes, she would make an exception for him. He laughed before going over and kissing her. They decided to go up to her brand-new room.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

[sellmyhomeforcashlosangeles]

Real Estate Newsletter: Home prices are falling

After years of steadily increasing prices, are home prices in Southern California finally starting to fall? Though prices usually hike during summer, the median sale price this June was $10,000 less than it was in May. This may not sound big, but it's actually quite rare; the last time prices decreased from May to June was 10 years ago. I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but I feel confident saying that the Southern California real estate market is cooling off. My reasoning is based on this latest clue, as well as a slowdown in sales, an increase in inventory, and a slew of price cuts. Sell My Home For Cash Los Angeles We wanted to shed some light on what the market will be like for buyers and sellers in the near future with this new data.

Buyers benefited by having more options for buyers on the market

The main pro for buyers is that there are more options because properties stay on the market longer. However, this comes with a con: Mortgage rates have increased which makes loan approval more difficult than it was even a few months ago. For sellers, getting rid of your property might take some effort. Expect to sell your home for less than the asking price, and don't expect buyers to waive contingencies (which essentially are the real reasons you can back out of a deal). You should also think about hiring a competent real estate agent — someone who understands how to market a house and can make it appealing even if there are other viable options for purchasers. On the higher side, we noticed another odd development this week: affluent purchasers are paying premium prices for condominiums in a market known for single-family houses. Luxury apartment buildings are luring buyers into the sky now that vertical living has been proven to be a pandemic no-no. The most recent example is in West Hollywood, where a person paid $21.5 million for a 6,301-square-foot penthouse — the county's fourth-most expensive condo sale ever. Sofia Vergara and Joe Manganiello, married actors, are hoping for the same level of success in Beverly Hills as they shop around their Mediterranean-style mansion for $19.6 million. This is a bit more of an optimistic ask considering what they paid for it back in 2014: just $10.6 million. We also had time to look at the rental market and got some terrible news. If you thought rents were high now, they're probably going to go up even more. Who should we thank for this? Inflation. The Federal Reserve has been trying to reduce inflation by raising interest rates, which means that purchasing a home becomes increasingly out of reach for most people. More individuals are turning to the rental sector as a result of this, according to one research. It might be referred to as pessimism or resignation in either case. In June, home prices and sales in Southern California decreased from the month before, providing more evidence that the housing market is beginning to decline. DQNews released data on Tuesday showing that for the first time since January, Southern California’s median home price has fallen. The median is defined as the price point at which half of the homes sold were above and half were below this value. The median sale price in the region was $750,000 this month, down from $760,000 in May. However, when compared with last June's median price of $679,000, it appears that prices are still increasing. Although it's not uncommon for median prices to reach their highest in the summer, the average increase from May to June was 1.78% over the last decade according to DQNews data, so this year's drop is a slight surprise.

[sunsetofdoom]

I keep considering some scene of John finally processing his (deeply repressed, you can just see him pushing it down and away as Bev talks to him in that scene) guilt and grief over killing Joe, looking up with those big brown eyes as he says in a voice full of pain, “I baptized Joe Collie.”

[scarlettscribbles]

Savior [i]

- Msgr. John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Reader

← previous  ✧ masterlist ✧ next →

Tags: 2k words - Fluff, Reader & Joe Collie friendship, Reader & Sheriff Hassan el-Shabbaz friendship, investigation

Tags-list:  @wolfieellsworld @maximumcoffeeme

Summary: While the monsignor mourns the loss of his Angel, you begin to gather information.

a/n: just heads up ! although i am periodically consulting the series for the events, i’m taking massive creative liberties with the timeline and some details :> please enjoy !

✧ + ✧

As the sun went up over the horizon, John knew. He didn't know how but he knew.

His Angel was gone.

✧ + ✧

Your trip to mainland was uneventful. It was easy enough to feed from a city rife with desperation. Normally, you would enjoy your little excursions but something was occupying your mind.

A blood-sucking vampire was on the island. That was annoying enough on its own but it's a recently-turned one, a fledgling. Hopefully whoever it was, was still human enough to not go into a murder spree. If they were able to get here without a string of bodies trailing with them from the mainland, maybe they could be.

You rolled your shoulders, massaging the phantom pains from your newly-healed neck. This wasn't how it's supposed to go. Crockett Island was supposed to be only a boring, safe place; your little pocket of fishy heaven. You chose it for the reason that it was isolated. 

You remembered the first time you set foot on the island with only a small case of clothes and a whole lot of trepidation. A dog came running to you. For a moment, you just stared at it running around you in circles and butting your legs. The dog was either a shapeshifter messing with you or it was just dumb. You couldn't sense any supernatural aura from it, so probably the latter. Ever since you were reborn, the only response you ever got from animals was fear or aggression. You didn't feed like that, not anymore; but they would always sense something unnatural about you, something dangerous. So the fact that this black bundle of energy on four paws didn't seem to share the same sentiment was curious.

"Pike! No! We don't run at strangers like that!" Joe said back then. You didn't know him so all you saw was a bearded man with greying hair and a ruffled appearance. He didn't feel like a threat. In fact, he seemed to naturally curl in on himself. "'M sorry about that. He hasn't done that since he was a pup. Had to train it outta him else the town people would get upset. Especially that Keane, always had sum'n against my Pike." he said as he tugged on the dog's leash. 

You crouched down and let the dog - Pike - sniff your hand before you petted him. Warm. That was the first positive interaction you had with a live being that wasn't for the purposes of feeding and it was a dog. "It's alright." you responded tentatively. "He seems - sweet." You remembered fumbling with your vocabulary; not quite used to saying something soft. Not in a long time. For a while, your language was blood, screaming, and the odd obscenities in between.

"The sweetest really." The man put his hands on his hips, eyes twinkling in fondness. "Anyway, you're new around here. 'M guessing you just arrived?" Joe observed before he seemed to remember himself and retracted again. "I mean not to pry. 'S just that there's not many newcomers on the island so your presence is pretty noticeable."

You furrowed your brow back then, concerned. You couldn't stand out more than you already were. "Am I unwelcome?" You hated how your voice wavered. Even after running away, you still retained that distaste of vulnerability. 

"'M not gonna lie to you. Some folks will be wary of you. Say, are you religious?"

Your lips almost curled back into a sneer, remembering the bitter memories that came with worship. "Not particularly."

"Ah, then I betcha Beverly Keane wouldn't be too keen on ya. She is one prejudiced bitch, pardon my language." the man clicked his tongue. "The rest of the community is less so, but it still varies. Anyway, if you need assistance you can call on me. I live in a trailer just a little bit away from everybody else. 'M an outcast myself." he smiled deprecatingly, pointing at himself. Something went through you. You thought it was something bad back then but now you realized that it wasn’t anything negative - only foreign. Acceptance.

"Hey, um. What's your name?" 

"I haven't introduced myself yet? Pardon, that was rude a' me," he said. "Joe Collie, and you?"

Maybe it was the way he felt like him but less of the murder and blood and more of dog, guilt and alcohol. More human. Warm - that word again. You made eye contact as you said your name, watching the slow tell-tale purple glaze over his eyes.

"Nice to meet you Joe Collie. I'm your distant relative."

You jolted out of your reverie when the ferry slowed down. You still couldn't help but feel that small stab of guilt from using glamour on him. You had to do it. You didn't want people questioning you as much. You also didn't want to be alone, and you thought yourself selfish to want something more. Even as an outsider, you wanted to be connected. To be able to build something of your own here.

And by the heavens, you did.

In hindsight, you should've probably surmised that two people couldn't fit in the trailer so Joe asked the sheriff to house you in exchange with helping around the house and occasionally in the office. Hassan was initially reluctant but soon, you became fast friends. You also found good company with Sarah, Erin, and weirdly enough, the two kids down the road - Sean and Dana. Some people didn't like you though, just by virtue of being 'related' to Joe. But that didn't matter. You had a life here and like hell you'll let a vampire ruin it. Not again. 

"How hard can it be to find them?" you mused to yourself. They should still be on the island. There's the possibility that the creature was dropped off like Crockett was some sort of nursery, but where could it have hidden? No, someone housed it. You had to ask around for any newcomers.

This should be easy. Not too many people come to the island. 

✧ + ✧

You were right. Not many people came to the island. Just two, apparently. One Riley Flynn and apparently a new priest. You were debating which one was more likely to have had the misfortune of encountering the creature. You considered just flipping a coin and cornering one of them. Play pin the tail on the fucking fledgling.

You let yourself sag against the kitchen chair, petting Pike from under the table. Smart dog, already claiming prime position to ask for scraps at dinner. To your left sat Joe and across you was Ali. Hassan was at the head of the table. Somehow, this became a regular occurrence between the four of you (and Pike). You liked it. It was nice. Your little band of outsiders. Another thing you couldn't let be ruined.

"Two newbies? That's exciting." you said dryly, reaching for the plate Hassan passed you. The man slapped his son's hand when he tried to nick it. You raised a brow at Ali as you picked up your fork, giving him an amused look.

"As much excitement this island can get, I suppose." Hassan leaned back on his chair, stress evident in the line of his body.

"I could do with more excitement." Ali piped up.

"Ah, to be so young and always looking for trouble." you responded, putting a hand over your chest, mimicking the air of an old crone.

"You're not much older than me," the boy narrowed his eyes. You almost laughed. Only if he knew.

"Old enough to know what you young 'uns get up to." 

"Well, only one of them is new, technically," Joe said, sipping some of his canned beer. You eyed the beverage warily. You needed to make sure he didn't have too much of it.

"I noticed the first one's surname. Is he Annie's?" you tried to pass it off as mere curiosity. You hoped you hadn't come off as too desperate for information.

"Her eldest son, yeah. Got out of the island then ended up in prison some years later, just got out. I don't know exactly what happened but he was a good kid. Good friends with Erin too." From your limited interactions with the Flynn’s, they seemed like a good sort. Annie and Ed were always welcoming and civil. You’ve talked with Warren much less than you did with them but the boy was friends with Ali and you haven’t heard anything negative yet. You also felt like Erin won’t tolerate someone awful. Despite this, you have to separate the returned son from the people you knew. You couldn’t judge him based on his associations and a lot can change in a few years.

"And the priest?"

"Father Paul Hill, I think it was. I caught some of his first mass when I passed by the church with Pike." Joe answered and took another swig. "Shame about the old monsignor though."

"What happened to him?" It was Ali who asked this time, which you were thankful for.

"Age got to 'im. Pretty sure he had dementia before fucking Keane shipped him off to Jerusalem or something." Joe shook his head, oozing distaste. "He was a good priest but he clearly wasn't alright. Apparently he got worse on the trip and 's now recovering at the mainland. Father Hill's his temp."

Something felt off about that. You weren't crossing Riley Flynn off your list but this new priest was suspicious, especially with the missing monsignor in the picture. It doesn't add up. Could he have killed the old man to get the position here and wreak havoc? If so, then the implications were more dire. That he knows what he's doing. Was he even a priest? A small part of you wants him to be guilty. A man of cloth in cahoots with an unholy creature sounds like the opening of a joke.

"When did they even get here?"

"That night of the storm, When, you know, you got stuck in the mainland even though you promised you wouldn't." Hassan intoned, and you flushed at his reprimand. Feeding took longer that day and the storm caught up to you. It didn't help that there were apparently dead cats that washed up on the shore the morning after. By the time you got home, Hassan was full with the righteous fury of a concerned dad friend. 

"Yes, yes. You've already told me off." you waved, willing the embarrassment to go away. "Many times,"

Hassan gave you a hard look, his lips twitching at the edges and you scoffed. Despite the play at annoyance, you were pretty pleased that he didn't look so grim anymore. You felt a nudge from your side and you turned to Joe. 

"It's Ash Wednesday tomorrow," he stated. You narrowed your eyes.

"I'm not going to mass."

"Neither am I, but there's an annual pot luck tomorrow after, so..." Joe shrugged.

"Free food?" 

"Free food." he confirmed.

Also free chance to gather information on your current suspects. It's a community thing and Crockett was big on community things so they had to be there, right? A thrill of excitement went through you at the prospect. It's been so long since you were hunting anything or anyone. It was different from before, of course, but the idea of a chase, of figuring it out makes something primal thrum within your body.

You looked at Pike's head which peeked from under the table, his two front paws sitting on your thighs. "Looks like we'll be eating well tomorrow baby,"

✧ + ✧

The darkness had overtaken the sky and it took with it John's hope that his gut-feeling might be wrong. He had been praying all day, begging for another chance, for forgiveness. Did the Lord deem him unworthy anymore of an indication of His divine presence? Did He decide that the island was undeserving of the miracles?

"...my Lord, they are good people. They may stray sometimes but they are good and in need of healing..." he murmured into his fist, clutching his rosary tightly. And oh, Millie, his dearest. He hasn't given the blessing to Millie yet. How could he?

The miracle stopped before it had even begun.

✧ + ✧ [cont.]

[youareinlovees]

LA Lockdown (submission)

(um hi, hope you don't mind me submitting this to you but I got inspired to do some ~creative writing and Nat got deactivated 😭)

May 2020

It’s a beautiful day in LA. Joe sits at one end of the couch on the outdoor terrace, absorbed in his book. Taylor is sitting at the other end, looking out at the view across Beverly Hills and occasionally looking at her phone, her feet up on the seat and her legs draped across Joe’s lap. It’s an idyllic scene. Lockdown might be boring him stiff, with all his upcoming acting projects being pushed back indefinitely, but he knows that he does have it pretty good.

Joe gets distracted from his book by the sight of his phone screen lighting up with new messages in the Frosty Crew and partners group chat. Picking up his phone, he sees that Jesse has sent a link to a Reductress article entitled, ‘Have you made the Bon Appétit focaccia yet or do you live with someone you can fuck?’

He chuckles, but before he can respond, another message pops up in the chat.

Taylor: Not to brag but some of us have managed to do both

She looks across from the other end of the couch and smirks at him. In response, he taps out a message of his own.

Joe: And it was thoroughly enjoyable Joe: Orgasmic one might say Joe: I am of course referring to the baking that Taylor did yesterday

Taylor: Aw baby I didn’t know you liked it that much Taylor: We can have it again later if you like

Joe: Later? That’s an awfully long time to have to wait

Jesse: do you two know you can just text each other directly if you want to schedule sex?

Taylor slides her legs further across Joe’s lap, intentionally rubbing herself against his groin and shuffling closer to him. He grins, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in so he can press a few light kisses to the side of her neck.

Billy: Text each other? She’s probably sitting in his lap right now.

Joe momentarily pulls away from kissing down Taylor’s jawline to add a final message of his own.

Joe: Oh shit, busted Joe: Billy you need to stop spying on us through the security cameras Joe: Anyway I’ll talk to you lot later

Taylor tugs his phone out of his hands and puts it down next to her own on the table, her eyes sparkling. ‘Now that you’ve finished telling everyone that we’re about to fuck, can we actually get on with it?’ she teases.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking straight into her hypnotizingly blue eyes, ‘I think you’ll find you’re the one who started it, actually.’

‘Excuse me, Joseph, but which one of us was too impatient to wait until later? It’s only the middle of the day. I would have been perfectly content waiting until after whatever movie you’ve picked out for us this evening.’

She’s a vision, her messy hair falling across her shoulders, dressed in an old Rolling Stones t-shirt and a comfy pair of short shorts that cling tightly to her ass. They’d played a game of tennis earlier and he certainly hadn’t been complaining about the view whenever she bent down to pick up another tennis ball. Now, he runs his hands up under her t-shirt, over her stomach and round her back.

‘Well,’ he says, pretending to be disappointed, ‘if that’s how you feel, I guess I’ll go back to my book.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ she says breathily, straddling his lap properly and grinding into him. He takes one hand out from under her shirt and pushes it into her hair instead, pulling her head firmly down towards his until their lips meet.

They kiss passionately, desperately, Taylor moaning into his mouth, breaking apart only to pull off each other’s t-shirts. She’s still moving back and forth on his lap and driving him wild. He’s almost fully hard by this point, and suddenly he stands up, taking her by surprise. She’s still wrapped around him, her long bare legs encircling his waist.

‘We’re going back to bed,’ he says firmly.

They could just have sex where they are, or on one of the many other couches downstairs - they’ve done it plenty of times before - but he has a sudden urge to show off to her a little, give her a practical demonstration of the benefits of all the working out he’s been doing during lockdown. He carries her through the house and up the stairs to their bedroom as she bites his earlobe and kisses his neck in a very distracting manner.

He lowers her onto their bed, climbing on top of her to kiss her again. ‘You’re still wearing far too many clothes,’ he murmurs into her ear. She shivers in anticipation - he knows how much his voice turns her on when it’s right in her ear like this - and lifts her arms above her head in response, allowing him to pull her sports bra off and turn his attention to her breasts, licking and sucking at her nipples. She gasps as he aggressively sucks a hickey onto her underboob, pushing her hips up against his body in an effort to seek out some much-needed friction.

‘Joe, please,’ she begs. ‘Enough with all this teasing, I need you now.’

He smirks, pressing his hips firmly down into hers, stopping her grinding motion. ‘Well, since you asked so nicely…’

He draws back to kneel on the floor at the side of the bed, pulling her hips towards him. He can practically hear her heart thudding in her chest as he hooks his long fingers under the waistband of her shorts, pulling them off in one motion along with her underwear. As he pushes her thighs apart and drapes her legs over his shoulders, he can see that she’s soaking wet. He decides to cut out the teasing, having made her wait for long enough already, gripping her hips and going straight for her clit.

The sound she makes in response is almost enough to make him come then and there, but he’s made of stronger stuff than that. As he continues, he can hear her breath catching in her throat, feel her perfect thighs tightening around his head, her body squirming under his attentions as she gets closer and closer to orgasm. Before long she’s coming, her whole body shuddering and her back arching off the bed as she moans out uncontrollably, ‘oh, Joe.’

He works her through her orgasm until eventually he looks up from between her legs to see her lying with her head thrown back, breathing heavily, hands clutching the sheets on either side of her, and a blissed-out expression on her face. She’s radiant, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he feels a surge of satisfaction at being the only person allowed to bring her to this state.

‘Fuck,’ she mumbles deliriously, her cheeks flushed red. ‘That was so good, babe.’

But they’re not done yet, because he’s as desperate for her as she is for him. Pulling his sweatpants and boxers off, he climbs back onto the bed and hovers over her, repositioning them so that her head is on the pillow now. Taylor whines softly as he pushes into her, clearly still sensitive from the high she’s just had, so he starts off at a gentle pace. She feels so so good around him, and he nuzzles into her neck and groans softly into her ear. He loves feeling connected to her like this, their bodies intertwined and her hands in his hair. He lifts himself back off her slightly to look into her eyes.

‘s okay,’ she whispers to him, ‘you can go harder.’ He notices her gaze lingering slightly on his arms, which have bulked up noticeably in the last few months. He suppresses a grin. If that’s what she’s after, that’s what she’ll get.

Without any warning, he grabs her wrists and pins them above her head, thrusting into her with a newfound aggression. She moans, her mouth falling open and her eyes rolling back as she hitches her thighs up higher around his waist. She writhes in pleasure underneath him as he hits her spot, taking advantage of the new angle to penetrate her more deeply. With her hands restrained, she can only tighten herself around him and respond to every stroke by undulating her hips up into him. ‘Don’t you dare stop,’ she gasps, ‘I’m so close, Joe.’

The desperation in her voice turns him on even more. He can feel himself getting close, so close, and he quickly moves one of his hands down to her clit, repositioning the other one so that it’s still pinning down both of her wrists. ‘Are you going to come for me, Tay?’ he asks, his voice low and commanding. The combination of his fingers, his relentless thrusting, and his voice pushes her over the edge for a second time, and he feels her whole body shaking and clinging onto him as she comes hard.

The sensation of her body clenching around him is enough to make him explode as well, and he collapses on top of her, finally releasing her hands. She winds her arms around his shoulders and through his hair, which by this point is a complete mess, as he lies with his head on her chest, both of them slowly getting their breath back and letting their heart rates come back down to normal.

Joe can feel Taylor smiling against the top of his head. ‘Sorry for tearing you away from your book, babe,’ she says cheekily. ‘I’ll have to make you some more of my - how did you describe it? - orgasmic focaccia to make it up to you.’

He laughs at her silliness as they both get up to look for their clothes. ‘That’s okay, love, you’re good enough to eat on your own.’ Taylor snorts and pretends to smack him on the arm with her shorts, but she can’t resist replying, ‘In that case, maybe I can arrange a special dessert for you after dinner tonight.’

[sparrowsfall]

Does John feel no remorse over killing Joe, who was trying to recover, or is that Bev talking?

I get why the knee-jerk reaction is to blame Bev because she’s quite consistently seen hovering over John’s shoulder and encouraging his bat-shittery from the get-go. And in this case it’s no different - first thing she does is tell him that this was Right and Just to do because it’s God moving through him etc. etc. Sentiments which she then further re-iterates to Wade and Sturge in John’s defense. And it’s no secret that she thinks Joe Collie is a blemish in the community and outright hates his guts. So of course, she hardly cares that he’s dead and immediately gets to work on body disposal and rationalizing it to herself and others. Bev definitely re-iterated that John shouldn’t feel any guilt.

THAT BEING SAID --- This lack of remorse re: Joe’s murder and subsequent consumption was, in my opinion, primarily John’s own lack of remorse, and NOT a case of Bev putting words into his mouth. I say this for a number of reasons, many of which have to do with how John acts and talks about this before Bev even starts in on him with it:

i. first off, we’ve seen John show SOME amount of restraint re: his hunger as a vampire. 

In ‘Lamentations’, it’s shown that he’s in the middle of a hunger fit right before he leaves for the night to deliver daily mass to Millie, and struggling just after as well (right before Joe comes to visit). Earlier, Beverly also comes into his room to check in on him when he is, as he says, “starving”, and still refrains from attacking her. And even outside of John himself, we KNOW that this hunger is something that CAN be controlled with some willpower-- Riley, Annie, Ed, Ali, and Millie, despite starving, never DARE to take another life to remedy it. And looking back on the series, it makes sense why John was able to show restraint around these people. John repeats to himself a lot that when he feeds it’s because he’s “moved to act” but, at least subconsciously, I think John knows that he needs and wants certain people alive and wouldn’t actively butcher them. Millie and Sarah because he loves them, and Bev because he needs her as an ally for this all to work.

John, on some level, is also aware that this hunger and the carnage it brings is, in itself, a terrible thing. He even DESCRIBES it as ‘horrible’ during the Good Friday Mass in ‘Gospel’ ( “what is otherwise horrible is only good because of where it’s headed” ).

ii. John’s actions in the immediate aftermath of Joe’s death do not strike me as the actions of a man wrestling with a lot of guilt.

when Bev first finds him in the rectory, covered in blood on the floor, John looks more shocked than anything. He keeps staring wide-eyed at Joe’s body, as if he’s in disbelief that he was actually capable of killing a man. But when Bev approaches him, he doesn’t apologize, he just starts scrambling for excuses and continues to do so without Bev really prompting him to ( “ I don’t know what happened... Something came over me ” etc. ). He’s not really.... remorseful? He’s more so trying to explain it away.

Then, of course, Bev outright asks him if he feels any guilt to which he quite readily responds “no, not at all”. He thinks about it for a moment, granted. But not for long.

And during the pinnacle meeting with Riley in ‘Gospel’, when Riley is calling him what he is ( "Murderer.” ), John does not express ANY sort of guilt or even seems to WANT to think about what he’s done. Instead, he immediately deflects ( “A murderer, maybe. So was Moses. Paul, my namesake... I’m hardly unique in this room, either, am I? I mean, you’ve killed someone.” ). He even mentions that he prayed on the fact that he felt no guilt, Bev just cemented those feelings by showing him some scripture from Hebrews later on.

iii. John and Bev are BOTH very talented at manipulation, and twisting their faith to justify their actions and agendas, together as well as separately. It’s just that John’s ability to willfully bend the meaning of Biblical literature to justify himself, and rid himself of any guilt for his misdeeds, is often overlooked.

Throughout the events of Midnight Mass, John and Bev’s dynamic never registered to me as one in which there was a clear manipulator and the other an obviously innocent party. There’s definitely an argument for Bev being the primary manipulator in the dynamic while Pruitt is old and suffering dementia - that’s a given. But once John returns young and healthy again with a sound(ish) mind, that shifts into an alliance in which these are both equally manipulative people who tend to bounce off one another. They try to manipulate each other really, and while to a degree I think John can see through Bev using him, he knows he needs her on his side to reach his end goal and plays along. 

I think the reason that Bev gets a lot of John’s actions pinned back on her is that she’s much more outward about her manipulation. She actively throws the scraps of weight she has around to benefit her. John, by contrast, keeps his agendas hidden, and as opposed to threats and intimidation, takes the route of getting others to trust him before pulling the proverbial rug out from under them. Hell, he even hides his true motivation from Bev, as he’s been bread-crumbing her with only pieces of the truth so that she does not know his ultimate goal is to have a second chance at life as Millie’s partner and Sarah’s father. 

It should also be mentioned that while John and Bev have separate motivations (John wants to be a savior for his island community, primarily for his lover and their daughter ; Bev wants power and affirmation that she’s much more holy and righteous than anyone else on Crockett), the end goal for both of them IS to give their parish community this “miracle”. John just wants to share with everyone, while Bev ultimately wants to use this as an excuse to play Judge and Jury. To play as God. 

At the end of the day, John also has WAY more power when it comes to influencing the church community and interpreting scripture as a male priest than Bev ever will. Roman Catholic power dynamics are highly patriarchal in nature and what John says is ultimately what goes. He’s been a priest long enough to know this, to know that now that he can think more clearly he’s not “under her thumb” anymore. He can put an end to a lot of her shit any time he wants, but he doesn’t. Because he needs her to do what she does best for this all to work.

And while Bev definitely likes to twist a lot of things and recite a lot of scripture to justify both John and herself, well.... she didn’t haul an “angel” back to Crockett from Damascus and start feeding everybody its blood without their knowledge in the first place. That was wholly his doing, as was declaring the creature as “God’s messenger” in the first place. 

iv. finally, and this may be an unpopular and more sinister interpretation, but on some level.... i personally think that John killing Joe is due in part to a reaction of their conversation. Even as a possibly subconscious motivation, I think John meant to kill him for it. 

When Joe first arrives at the rectory, John’s body language is guarded. He’s crossing his arms, pressing himself into the opposite side of the room, genuinely looks like he doesn’t want to go near him in fear of hurting him. This changes once Joe sees the old newspaper clipping on the wall, and mentions how much Father Paul resembles Pruitt ( “you could be his son... you know that was a rumor when I was a kid, that the old man wasn’t exactly celibate” ). 

Now in Joe’s defense here, he hardly strikes me as the type to have an interest in town gossip (at least, not beyond whatever shit Bev is pulling) and he likely doesn’t judge anyone else or care deeply about anyone’s business beyond surface observation, just as he says. But here’s the thing. John has no way of knowing that for sure. Despite living on the island for almost all of Joe Collie's life, he and John are essentially strangers. Joe has never stepped foot in St. Patrick’s before the day of the first AA meeting he attends. It’s most likely that beyond names, Joe and John know nothing about each other.

Dolly, Wade, Sturge and Bev were all there to witness John’s death and rapid resurrection and know who he really is at this point as well.  But the key difference here is that he knows them. Knows that they will heed his guidance and directions as their longtime priest, meaning that when they promise to keep the truth to themselves, he trusts that they will. And in Sturge’s case, he is at least visibly intimidated enough by Bev to do just about anything she says.

Joe is an entirely different case. He has not been a part of the parish for decades. At this point, there’s only the very beginnings of trust formed between them. Father Paul/ John is in the process of helping him, and Joe is visibly grateful for that kindness, but certainly not enough to the point where Joe would cater to the priest’s every wish. He doesn’t have the lifetime of Catholic guilt and indoctrination to back that kind of behavior up. So how can John trust Joe to not run his mouth? Because if Joe does by chance, then this could create a significant obstacle that prevents John from spreading this so-called miracle to his community. Yeah, Joe’s first conclusion likely wouldn’t be “Father Paul is actually John Pruitt and he’s a vampire now!”. But a scandal about Pruitt having a kid (when at this point, the island doesn’t know the truth about Sarah Gunning’s father) could put his leadership and intentions under way more scrutiny than what is comfortable, as well as these “miracles” he’s been performing. A lot of the otherwise stupid shit that John pulls only works because of Crockett’s blind trust in their priest and the faith that he has their best interests at heart. They never question him. He doesn’t want them to start.

It is AFTER this observation of Joe’s that John’s disposition visibly shifts. This is when he decides to get close to him. This is when he approaches him and encourages an embrace. THIS is when he smiles and tells Joe how proud he is of him, how he knows that hunger and how “hard it is to fight against it”. I picked up on this as a hint - Maybe John’s been fighting it this whole time they’ve been in the room together. Maybe this is the excuse he needed to stop fighting and give in. And it seemed to me that he’s using Joe’s trust in him as a confidant, in this moment, to create a false sense of security and validation so that he’s more compliant.

And I would like to point out that John knows, by this point, that his blood should be able to heal and resurrect someone. When Joe is bleeding out on the floor, he mutters half-hearted apologies, weak “are you alrights” in a manner that almost feels like it’s to save face, but he does not offer Joe the ‘gift’ of new life. He simply feeds, and lets him ultimately die as a sacrifice for “the greater good”. 

So... No. At least during the murder/ consumption itself, and in the immediate aftermath, I don’t think John is wrestling with a lot of guilt about it to begin with. Once he sees where his plan as a whole has led them all then likely yes, I think that remorse and regret for what he did to Joe (and damn near everyone else) finally hits him. I’ll give John one thing, and that’s his ability to eventually clearly see that what he’s done is awful. But by that point, it’s far too late to change the course.

[because-edmund]

I think this is the official first chapter. Don’t come at me @the-redheaded-league @agirlinherhead

Bitter like whiskey, Sweet like wine.

It started off simple enough.

He would walk in to his shitty little office, cramped and always a bit wet smelling from the constant sea air. Humid, maybe? What did it matter, it was his. And as he would finally get his coffee the way he would like it, insanely sweet with no cream, she would start her shift at the little market. They would chat, everyday, and so he got a crush on the new girl.

Not many people shopped too often, outside of whatever they needed that is, so it was pretty quiet. The folks who owned the store needed a break and Annie Flynn wanted to spend more time with her recovering son, so when the owners granddaughter came from the mainland, the opportunity was too good to pass up.

The first time he saw her, he restrained himself from doing a double take. She was older than he thought she would be, maybe 26-27, and quite frankly, stunning. Short and a bit thicker, she kind of reminded him of a porcelain teapot. Always dressed in pastels, and horribly sweet.

(That was the worst part. She was sweet and kind to everyone, even to Beverly, even to him.)

“Hello,” was all he could mutter out the first day, his throat was failing to catch air, he hadn’t had feelings like these in much too long.

“Hiya!”

Who says hiya he thought.

“Hassan. Sheriff,” he poked his badge, the dinky metal the only thing that most people respected on this island.

“Daphne. Pleasure to meet you,” she held out her hand, chipped nail polish on her fingers and a dainty pink ring on.

He shook back, maybe a bit too hard as she made a muffled squeak at the contact. Or maybe his hands were sweaty and gross, either way, he ran into his safe space and slammed the door.

It took him a few extra moments to breathe properly, and he couldn’t focus on anything the rest of the day. He would hear her lilting voice through the wooden walls, “Have a lovely day!” Or “Oh course I’ll be at mass, I heard there’s a new Father!” And even, in a very hushed tone, “Grace, you didn’t tell me about him.”

What did she mean by that last one? The fact she was going to mass was already a flag in his mind, maybe not red, but a flag. When he finally got up that night to do his daily scooping up of Joe Coolie, he saw her again, somehow still chipper.

“Ya leaving already, sheriff?” She said, her smile with just a bit of lipgloss still on and a scarf added around her neck.

“Got to take care of someone, you probably know who, make sure he and his dog don’t get mauled by a certain woman.” He tried to joke, but his voice didn’t waver from his monotone octave. He was worried he frightened her.

She still laughed, thank god. “Alright then! I’ll be heading home soon too. Don’t stay up too late!” She went back to reading a book as he walked out on shaky legs.

Who was he? He was a 40 year old man. Never has been the kind of guy to have butterflies in his stomach or be nervous. When he met his wife he wasn’t nervous, he was cocky, certain she was his. And she was, but only for a bit of time. And now this kid, dressed in a pink skirt and white sweater the first time he met her, looking for all intents and purposes like a goddamn cupcake had him jelly in the legs.

He went home, and Ali immediately asked about her.

“Who’s the new girl?” He asked, not looking up from his paper.

“Daphne.”

“What’s she like.”

“I didn’t talk to her much…”

“Shocking.”

“Shut up, and finish your dinner.”

The next day was worse.

“Hiya, sheriff!” She grinned, today she was in a red pair of pants, and black cardigan over a white and black polka dot sweater. She even had a beret on. Why did she dress like a character off Disney channel?

“Hello, Daphne.” He wondered if she would find his everyday blue ensemble boring.

“I have a present for you, if that isn’t too weird,” she giggled. He could melt into the floor from that sound.

“Depends, nothing illegal, is it?” She actually had a small smile on his face.

“I certainly hope not. I googled recipes and everything, it this!” She pulled out a small strawberry shortcake from behind the register, “It’s halal! I know that’s important. Bev couldn’t shut up about how you’re not Christian, so Erin helped me out and told me you’re Muslim, I hope you don’t mind. But since we’re neighbors I thought this would be nice!” She was blushing and looked a little nervous. The cake itself was beautiful, frosted with swirls and bright red strawberries decorating the top in a perfect circle.

He was speechless, no one on this island had ever made him anything, let alone cared about his beliefs. He was stuck staring at the the pastry for a solid minute before he finally spoke, “Thank you… this means a lot. Trust me.”

He tried his best to not eavesdrop on her all day, especially since not many people were shopping so she stayed on the phone with Grace all day. He could tell when she would talk about him, because he voice would drop deathly low, and then of course she talked about the “handsome new Father Paul” which for some reason made Hassan feel… jealous.

Again, he was 40. Not some teenager. And she was too young for him anyways, just because she was pretty and nice didn’t change that. He didn’t need anyone new, he had his son, he would put a stop to these feelings quick. He had to, because he didn’t want to deal with his morals if he didn’t.

He brought the cake home and stared at it for another five minutes. Ali had finally come home to find him, looking at the stupid cake like it was a bomb.

“What’s that?” He asked shrugging his backpack off.

“Shortcake, Daphne made it for us, halal too.”

“Oh, you talk to her more?”

“No,” he sighed.

“I saw her with Grace today, she’s pretty cool. Nice looking too.”

“Mhmm… I think she’s got it for that Father Paul fellow.”

“No, not her,” Ali laughed as he cut a slice.

“Dinner first,” Hassan said as he grabbed Ali’s plate, and instead, ate the slice himself.

That night, in bed, he thought about how to repay her. It was difficult, he didn’t know how to do nice things. Besides being a cop and protecting people, he didn’t do much for anyone outside of his family. Time had made him a little bitter. Shrivel into himself a little more than he used to. Less confident, more cautious.

This girl, this girl, clearly still had a hope for humanity. Sweet and caring and he’d only “known” her two days. He would destroy her. He would kill that innocence. And that wasn’t fair to anyone. The plan was to keep it as it had been, vague conversations, nothing meaningful, nothing more than a hello and a goodbye if he could manage. And definitely stop listening in to her conversations. Father Paul could have her, he didn’t care.

He did, in fact care, as the plan failed, spectacularly. After the cake incident, he just couldn’t stop talking to her. He was quickly obsessed. Asking about her baking, her day at home, what color nail polish she had just bought. And she was the same with him, asking what kind of food he’d like delivered to the store, if he needed a break from Ali, what new “crime” Joe Coolie had to be stopped from doing. He loved it, the conversation flowed easy and he found her chatting on the phone less and less, he wondered if she hoped to talk to him as much as he wanted to with her.

“Bake me anything today, sweets?”

“Sorry, sheriff! Can’t have you getting chubby! You might be a dad, but you don’t have to have a dad bod just yet,” she laughed.

“A little chub never hurt anyone, shortcake.” He said with a wink, a wink, who was he?

She immediately blushed, “Well, sheriff, I better, um, get back to work!” She ran off to the milk box in the back. Head down, and arms across her chest.

He cursed himself. It was too much. She probably didn’t feel the same towards him. He was old, bitter, and gross like bad whiskey. She was soft, sweet, and easy to take in like a good wine. He ruined it all, he was sure. She had no feelings other than just enjoying the causal talk with this old man and he for sure made it creepy. He wanted throw up over it. The whole day was ruined, and he couldn’t focus on any work, he was sure he would die from this.

Until he heard the knock on his door, “Come in,” he responded gruffly.

“Hiya,” she squeaked out.

“Hey, sh- Daphne. I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable or overstepped. I’m not good at being funny or even fun-“

She cut him off, “You’re sorry? I’m sorry! I- I… I’ve never, felt like this,” she huffed out a laugh. “You’re an odd one, Hassan, but I’ll see you tomorrow ok? I’ll bring something special for you.” She winked back as he couldn’t help but feel a blush creep up his neck.

She said his name.

He put his head in his hands and couldn’t stop the grin breaking on his face. You’re an odd one, Hassan. replaying in his head over and over again.

He was completely and utterly screwed.

[abdifarah]

The Batman

Falling Bat by Kenny Rivero. 2017.

Nipsey Hustle, government name Ermias Asghedom, was gunned down in front of his store Marathon Clothing in his Crenshaw neighborhood of South Los Angeles by a member of his own gang, the Rollin’ 60’s Crips. Hustle and his business partners had only two months prior purchased the strip mall that included their store, with big plans to revitalize and transform the plaza into an edifying commercial and civic hub for the neighborhood. The murder of a rapper–especially one with gang ties–is unremarkable, but Hustle's death felt particularly tragic. He had made it from the bottom, and instead of reveling in fame and its glittery spoils, he chose to move different. Hustle talked about building communal wealth, business ownership, and financial literacy in his raps and interviews. Him and his partner, the actress Lauren London, could have easily posted up in Beverly Hills or Calabasas with the rest of the beautiful celebrities. Instead they chose to lay down roots and dedicate themselves to South LA and its people. Their good deeds were directly punished. 

The history of black leaders and celebrities being violently taken before seeing the fulfillment of their work is as old as America itself. When I think about the murders of revolutionaries like Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, and Fred Hampton, or artists like Nipsey Hustle, or the Notorious BIG, I am reminded and mildly comforted by the fact that, while they died grossly premature, they all had children: heirs to their formidable legacy and–in the case of the successful artists–often a significant monetary inheritance. These children, possessing the singular combination of revolutionary pedigree, a DuBoisian double-consciousness, personal trauma, and a trust fund are the only plausible persons capable of embodying a hero as complex as the Batman.

On the occasion of the release of the tenth Batman film, The Batman, starring Robert Pattinson, the sixth white man to portray the Dark Knight, I will explore the acutely black aspects of Batman. I will first trouble Batman’s perpetually and pathologically antagonistic relationship to the police and the government at large, in direct contrast to other superheroes that enjoy a problematically close proximity to law enforcement and entrenched systems of power. This leads to an examination of Batman’s doggedly local, yet supra-American purview. A dichotomy exists between Batman and the other titans of the superhero universe. Many of whom either gallivant the globe as unencumbered sovereign citizens or elect to become mascots and dogmatic mouthpieces of American nationalism. 

Additionally, I will examine the actual person and body of Batman. As an artist, I want to formally analyze the body and visage of Batman and the ways in which the equally campy, erotic, and ghoulish semiotics of the Batman persona and costume illustrate Bruce Wayne’s conflicted relationship to his own racial and gender identity. In particular I want to examine Bruce Wayne as the black son of rich and famous parents, torn between the poles of his monetary privilege and marginalized racial identity, and made explicit by Wayne’s bizarre employment of his inherited wealth; his “talented tenth” elitism; and the code-switching double-consciousness inherent in any superhero alter-ego.

This is not a case for the recreational recasting Batman as black for a future Batman property, but an attempt to show that blackness is intrinsic to the character and key to the Dark Knight’s enduring relevance. Public Enemy

Bruce Wayne witnesses the murder of his parents as a young child, which catalyzes him to rid Gotham City of the ills, both particular and systemic, that terrorize the city’s citizens. Through the various Batman properties there is ambivalence as to who actually killed Batman’s parents. In some retellings Batman’s eventual arch-nemesis, the Joker, is the gunman. In others, a nondescript mugger, Joe Chill–emblematic of the pervasive and indiscriminate violence of Gotham. Still, in some instances this Joe Chill is a patsy or hired gun for the mafia, intertwined in every facet of Gotham’s infrastructure and government, bent on ridding Gotham of its do-gooder first family, the Waynes. The inconclusiveness of this central event is reminiscent of the confusion surrounding the killings of Martin Luther King Jr., or Malcolm X, or the still unsolved murders of the Notorious BIG and Tupac Shakur. At the heart of all of these events is a suspicion of the government and an unknowability of their knowledge and/or involvement. Imbued with this inherent distrust and seeing the ineptitude and disinterest of Gotham’s government and police to protect its people, and in many cases outright abetting and colluding with organized crime to plunder its own, Batman opts for self-defense.

A perverted synergy often exists between superheroes and law enforcement. Despite not technically being Americans (or even humans), super-powered figures like Superman and Wonder Woman are spokespersons for the USA, and are routinely called on to bail the nation out of international conflicts requiring extraterrestrial might. These thorny superhero/geopolitical entanglements are keenly satirized in Alan Moore’s Watchmen. The Superman-like Dr. Manhattan is called on by a US government at the end of its rope to help put an end to the Vietnam war. Dr. Manhattan, who can control all matter down to an atomic level, savagely vaporizes all the Viet Cong, bringing the conflict to a swift end and becomes a national hero. Unlike other superheroes that are granted this honorary membership amongst the ranks of police and military, or have military/law enforcement  backgrounds themselves (Captain America was literally created by the US government), Batman, despite all the good he performs, is inexplicably, almost pathologically, despised by the police. In the eyes of the state, Batman is a terrorist.

In practice, Batman is a weird amalgam of MLK’s nonviolent pacifism and the fire with fire, self-defense pedagogy of Malcolm X and the Black Panthers. To call Batman a pacifist is laughable, but he does operate within a byzantine moral code of distributing violence. The Batcave contains an arsenal of military grade tanks, air and watercraft (the Bat Boat!), weapons, gadgets, chemicals, and technology formidable enough to defend a medium-sized nation. But Batman does not use guns and is zealously against killing. However, he will stomp a foe within an inch of their life. This odd mix–a dogmatic code of virtue and bloody-knuckled brutality–may appear incongruous, unless you grew up a black man amongst black men. To be a black man in America is to confront injustice and brutality daily, and to know that no one, especially not the state, will protect you. It is also to know that you cannot confront that injustice and brutality in kind. Black people in their heart of hearts know that the constitution, and particularly the second amendment, does not fully apply to us. Stand Your Ground statues are not to be trusted in our case. For black folks, carry permits, like birth certificates, are fictitious to the larger white world. See Philando Castille.  

Most summers I lived with my Uncle Frank and Aunt Romaine and my cousins Little Frank and Hugh. My mom insisted that she was sending me to live with my cousins to toughen me up, but really, my single-mom just needed a break after the long school year. I did not mind. I loved those summers spent roaming Baltimore for basketball courts with functional rims; accompanying my cousin Frank on house calls giving people tattoos in their kitchens; nights watching music videos on The Box while drawing X-Men, Spider-man, and characters we’d make up. My Uncle Frank is the calmest, coolest person I know. Only a few times I can recall him getting angry and losing his temper with me and my cousins. Usually, it involved us spoiling our appetites on junk food throughout the day and not being able to finish the dinner he made. One other time I remember vividly was in a dollar store. I reached for a neon orange water gun and asked Uncle Frank to buy it. He snatched the gun out of my hand and said something like, “Never!” His aggression was not towards me, but the gun. The speed with which he placed it back on its display peg with the rest of the toy guns was tinged with fear and danger, as if he was dismantling a bomb. My Uncle Frank had served in the Navy in the time directly after the Vietnam War and hated guns. Between Baltimore and the military, Uncle Frank had witnessed what guns did to those on both sides of the barrel. He also knew that a young black boy with a gun–even a translucent, neon orange, plastic one filled with water–was a target for the wrath of the state. See Tamir Rice. Neighborhood OG

Thinking about my Uncle Frank some more, it is interesting to look at Batman through the lens of a baby-boomer American black man. Born in the mid 50’s, these men were the children of segregation, but witnessed the civil rights era live: its factions, phases and eventual fade. They attempted to justify their Americaness by serving in the military, but found more in common with the marginalized peoples in the various occupied cities where they were stationed. Since the Civil War black folks have opted into the American military-industrial complex as an attempt to assert and win their humanity in the eyes of White America, their patriotism and loyalty rarely requited. Black soldiers helped deliver victory to the North but were sold out by Northern Appeasement and the advent of Jim Crow. Black soldiers returned to the US after defeating facism in Europe only to be excluded from the heralded GI Bill and ghettoized at home. Dramatized in Spike Lee’s Da 5 Bloods, Vietnamese propaganda radio personality Hannah Hanoi, informed Black soldiers stationed in Vietnam that their hero, Martin Luther King Jr., had been assassinated in Memphis on the morning of April 4, 1968. 

Every black family has that father or uncle that served abroad and is a-little-too-into non-western cultures and political thought; from embracing Islam and other eastern religions to espousing Marxism; somewhat on its individual merits, but more to spite the American capitalism that brought their ancestors west to work against their will. Uncle Frank's multicultural eclecticism is pretty mild, and ranges from listening to obscure world music to practicing Ikebana. Culturally, Batman is this Asiatic, Marxist black man. Batman spent his early adult years in Asia learning martial arts, which he now uses to fight crime in the streets of Gotham. The transcendence of restrictive American blackness through an embrace of eastern culture underlies the blaxploitation kung fu movies of the 70s, a motif later adopted by the Wu Tang Clan and satirized in the Martin character, Dragonfly Jones. Black men realize that they will never be fully American, so they should probably find another national identity. 

Batman, similarly, is a man without a country. He does not have a vaguely patriotic credo like Superman (Truth, Justice, and the American Way), or nods to the red white and blue in his costume like both Superman and Spider-man. Batman is not a national hero. He is local. Ask any black man where he is from and he will rep his city: Atlanta, Memphis, Houston, Buffalo, Detroit. To actually speak of ourselves as Capital-A-American comes first with a hard swallow. Batman, similarly, has a myopic focus on his hometown of Gotham. Many assume Gotham is a stand-in for New York, but the DC comic universe already has a New York doppelganger: Metropolis, the home of Superman. Gotham on the other hand is the quintessential second-city; segregated, rife with inequality, post-industrial, a declining population, witness to rising crime rates, prey to predatory prospectors. 

Embracing this more blue-collar interpretation of Gotham, the Christopher Nolan Batman trilogy dispenses with the Art Deco and technicolor production design of the Tim Burton and Joel Schumacher Batman films respectively, in which Gotham–complete with its own empire state building–was very much a stand in for New York. In The Dark Knight Rises, the football team, the Gotham Rogues, was modeled after the Pittsburgh Steelers, down to the black and yellow team colors, and even had then Steelers’ players Hines Ward and Ben Rothlesberger playing the Rogues. Personally, the Baltimore Ravens would have been a better model for a Gotham football team as they were named after Poe's famous gothic poem The Raven, and broadly I like to think of Gotham as Baltimore. Its gray skies and gargoyle-covered gothic architecture inspired Billie Holiday's blues, and the city is imbued with the revolutionary spirit of Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, and Thurgood Marshall. A potentially overlooked exchange occurs between Bruce Wayne and his butler, Alfred, while first exploring the soon-to-be Batcave under Wayne Manor in 2005’s Batman Begins. Alfred informs Bruce that the passages were created by his great-grandfather and used to shelter runaway slaves during the underground railroad. The quick aside reveals the progressive pedigree of Bruce Wayne. Furthermore, what is the Bat Signal if not a constellation along the underground railroad? A symbol, not unlike the drinking gourd, serving as a light of hope in the face of governmental terrorism. Rich Nigga

Batman’s wealth is traditionally foregrounded in the default assumption of Batman as a white man. As much as US economic policy has historically worked to sabotage black wealth, there are in fact rich black people. More precisely, the volatile mixture of blackness and affluence combines to create the particular catalyst necessary for the creation of a Batman. The book of Ecclesiastes frankly states “[M]oney is a shelter.” But in America financial success has never protected black people the way it does other groups, and in many cases carries with it a curse. The Notorious BIG wrote, Mo Money Mo Problems. Successful black people still die disproportionately from treatable or preventable diseases (Chadwick Boseman) or have their potentially fatal pain disregarded (Serena Williams). And, not that being a rich celebrity should shield you, but black celebrities routinely have their civil rights violated by police and other agents of the state like all black people. These individual anecdotes can be place alongside the targeted and unabated massacres of thriving black financial enclaves like Black Wall Street in Tulsa Oklahoma or Rosewood, Florida, as well as state supported actions by the FBI to surveil, sabotage, and in some cases murder, black leaders like Martin Luther king Jr., Malcolm X, and the Black Panthers. 

Beyond the systemic and structural violence, to be black and rich is also to draw the attention of random evil actors. Quite different from invisible old money wealth, black affluence often comes with the spotlight of being a famous athlete or entertainer, where the specific dollar amounts of one’s fortune are typed in boldface on sports pages or the record sales charts. At a time when he was perhaps the most famous person on the planet, Michael Jordan’s father, James, was murdered by two teenagers at a North Carolina rest stop who carjacked him for his Lexus and dumped his body in a swamp. In tandem with these external threats, the burden of being black and rich exacts an internal toil. Right or wrong, black affluence comes with the burden to “give back”, to “not forget where you came from,” and to make up for the failure of the state to take care of those who look like you. Black billionaires are held to a higher standard and are demonized for participating in the same capitalistic practices that enriched the generations of wealthy whites before them. According to progressive politicians, “every billionaire is a failure of policy.” Conveniently, this chorus came into favor at the exact time when new demographics of persons were just beginning to take advantage of America's admittedly corrupt financial system.

Batman embodies this struggle of violence without and within. Undoubtedly, there is a sado-masochistic heart to the character. A billionaire who spends his nights in the seedy parts of town picking fights. Batman is Bruce Wayne slumming. Batman serves as Gotham's dominatrix; punishing the city for its bad behavior one leather gloved punch at a time. The pain also provides Wayne absolution for the survivor’s remorse he feels for both living through the deadly encounter that took his parents, and the burden of wealth that he carries as a black man. Bruce Wayne pours all of his time and fortune into crafting and maintaining his drag persona of Batman. He puts on eye black so that you can only see the whites of his eyes, adding to his ghoulish visage, but for some reason he does not apply the makeup to the area around his mouth that similarly peaks from under his mask, so avoiding full blackface. The avoidance of full blackface is not a decision of discretion or political correctness. This choice projects Bruce Wayne’s ambivalence. 

He is projecting a hyper-masculine-hyper-blackness but by revealing his pale complexion under his masks he reminds those he encounters that he is not actually the full version of blackness that he is weaponizing. The Joel Schumacher directed films Batman Forever and Batman & Robin from 1995 and 1997 respectively did much establish this bombastically hyper-masculine performance that augments into a queer and racial appropriation. Memes before memes, the shots zooming in on the batsuit’s vacuum formed rubber buttocks, protruding codpiece, and chest of Batman, complete with articulated nipples, were played for comic relief. Val Kilmer and George Clooney were less playing superheroes and more male drag kings. However ludicrous, the ever more anatomically accurate suit made manifest the dangerous proximity of Bruce Wayne’s performance of Batman to black minstrelsy.

The selective utilization and negation of blackness is an age old tactic. The larger world devours black cuisine, fashion, and slang while at the same time denigrating its originators. A young Justin TImberlake parrots black music while simultaneously scavenging and scapegoating the black body of Janet Jackson; all in service of establishing his adult artist bona fides. Unfortunately, this form of parasitism is also equally expressed by black men. Kanye West erected his musical career on raps mining the history and images black slavery as evergreen symbols of black people’s continued oppression. “This grave shift is like a slave ship.” Years into his success–as he personally attempted to assert his post-racial autonomy through self-hating proximity to white supremacist demagoguery–he called slavery a “choice.” This is the dangerous prerogative of black identity construction. Amongst all black people there is a judicious deployment of blackness to both survive and capitalize within a racist society. One might need to turn on stereotypes of black hyper-sexuality while hitting on a woman at the bar, and then immediately dispel with the bluster while negotiating an interaction with the cops during a “routine” traffic stop on the way home. In every scenario there is the need to perform the “right” style of blackness. 

Every one of these performative choices reifies the subjective status of blackness to the dominant culture. In Adrian Piper’s Mythic Being series the artist roams across New York city styled with an afro and thick push-broom mustache picking fights with white men and catcalling white women. The brilliance and continued relevance of Piper’s project lies in its reflexivity. Piper is parodying America’s reductive stereotyping of black men as dangerous and hyper-sexual. But she, as a mixed black woman, is also revealing, admitting, as the designer and performer of this character, that these depictions have been personally internalized. An interesting exchange occurs between Bruce Wayne and Alfred, as Bruce Wayne is first designing his Batman costume, again in 2005’s Batman Begins. Alfred asks the question we’ve all always wanted to ask, “Why bats?” Bruce Wayne insists that he’s terrified of bats and that he aims to embody that fear and project it onto the criminals of Gotham. “The’ll feel my fear.” Alfred appears persuaded, and the movie–feeling justified in its argument–moves on. But I call bullshit. How many grown men, especially ones that grew up in a large metropolitan area have a legitimate and debilitating fear of Bats? In the end, like Piper, it is Batman’s own blackness that he fears most, but also what he understands terrifies the larger society as well. Dark Knight, For Real

The recent adaptation of Alan Moore’s Watchmen on HBO opens with a jolting depiction of the 1929 Tulsa Black Wall Street massacre and a young black boy who is protected by his parents from the holocaust as they themselves are slain in the carnage. In a subsequent episode we find out that this character is the legendary Hooded Justice, the first of the Minutemen, the superheroes of the Watchmen world. A victim himself of Jim Crow era terrorism against black people, Hooded Justice narrowly escapes being lynched and proceeds straightway to thwarting a mugging he stumbles upon during his escape. The burlap sack over his head and noose around his neck–once the barbarous apparatus of his demise–are repurposed into the symbol of vengeance and liberation for the black folks in his neighborhood, as well as the looming comeuppance for the perpetrators of white supremacist terror running and ruining the city. 

This episode of Watchmen, written by Cort Jefferson who won an Emmy for his work, makes it plain: the foundational superhero emerged from a cauldron of racial oppression with a compulsion to fight on behalf of the marginalized. I would contend that this is the case for most, if not all super and everyday heroes broadly. Jurgen Habermas’ theories on the public sphere make an emphatic case that only those excluded from the center of public life have the vantage point to diagnose the inequities within, in addition to the actual impulse to rectify those injustices. Those who benefit from the status quo rarely possess the urgency to undermine their own comfortable station. 

Superheroes, in their most familiar form, are a distinctly American export for better and worse. In many ways their fiction lies less in their superhuman strength, or ability to shapeshift, or bend time, but rather in their implausible goodness. They are moral, kind, selfless, and brave; all things that Americans, feeling ownership over these characters, would hope to project as their own. Which brings us back to the inherent blackness of Batman and the superhero broadly. And why–despite its triviality–it irritates me that these icons and all the good they represent–good most often derived from the resolve and courage necessary to survive exclusion and oppression–are so effortlessly co-opted by the larger white world, that we do not question the ability of a white man to adequately fill the black suit of Batman.

[tarottchotchkes]

Fortunetelling Law Repeal Anniversary

FORTUNETELLING LAW REPEAL ANNIVERSARY ~ Connecticut Happenings column by Jon Roe

On March 31, 1993, Governor Lowell Weicker signed a law repealing the infamous Fortunetelling Law. Those of you who became interested in spirituality more recently may never have heard of this old Blue Law, how it hung like a cloud over readers, and how it took a united community effort to repeal it. This is the story.

In 1808, the country was new and Connecticut law was still very strongly influenced by the Congregational Church, the state religion in Connecticut. In an attempt to clean up the undesirables, a series of Blue Laws was passed. Title 176, Section 8 identified those individuals who could be sentenced to the Work House for up to 60 days of hard labor. Those identified included fortune tellers, jugglers, brawlers, beggars, prostitutes, vagrants, and men who did not support their families. Fine company readers were placed in.

In 1915, the law was revised to make it even more difficult to be a reader or medium. General Statute Section 53-270 made it illegal to advertise or take money to tell fortunes through the use of occult or psychic powers including astrology and psychology, but excluding the Spiritualist church. It also banned séances. The law was lengthy and detailed as to its description of "fraudulent practices." The penalty was $25-100 for each offense and/or 6 months in prison. In 1971, the prohibition against psychology and astrology was removed.

This law prohibiting all forms of readings was seldom enforced, but was occasionally used by local police after a major fraud case involving readings. Certain cultures use readings to take advantage of gullible clients, telling them they have been cursed which can only be removed for a large fee. One of these cases seems to come up and make headlines about every five years.

In the 1980's, the law hung over the heads of readers and many would become a reverend in the hope that as ministers they would be exempt. Meanwhile, readings and psychic fairs went on. Beverly Titus and Elizabeth Eisenhauer, two of the founders of The Door Opener, hosted bimonthly fairs in West Hartford for 9 years during this period.

In 1988, after a highly publicized fraud case involving fortune telling, the West Hartford police ran a sting operation against a local accountant who read tarot cards for friends under the name of Maryushka. Two officers posing as husband and wife went to her home for a reading and took Mary away in handcuffs. Most readers arrested under the law just paid the fine and the police saw it as a lesson to the community. But Mary felt this was wrong and chose to have her day in court. Stepping forward to defend her was Igor Sikorsky, Jr., a prominent attorney who supported the community and was a leader in the Course In Miracles community. The trial was most interesting and attracted a lot of media attention. Mary was found "not guilty," but the fact that she was arrested and tried raised awareness in the community and a strong desire to do something about the law. By the way, Mary's prediction to the officers that they would receive unexpected money proved true.

The following year, 1989, saw the formation of the New Age Guild of Connecticut. One of its purposes was to repeal the Fortunetelling Law. The Guild would grow to 200 members and established a committee to study how to repeal the law. Remember that the new age community at the time preferred to operate under the radar and had no experience in working on legislative matters.

Data and case studies were compiled but things moved slowly until 1992 when police in Mystic shut down a psychic fair to be held at an area bookstore. This galvanized the community and a committee was formed to take action. Representatives from across the state participated. As several of us lived in Vernon, we met with our local state representative, Joe Courtney, currently the 2nd District US Representative. He suggested we approach Richard Tulisano, co-chair of the powerful Judiciary Committee and a strong advocate of constitutional freedoms. Courtney provided an introduction and after studying the issue, Tulisano wrote a bill to repeal the law.

A press kit was developed for lobbying and sent to all the members of the Judiciary Committee. The Door Opener was very involved with the whole effort, updating the status in each issue, encouraging readers to contact their representatives, and providing details on how to do it. Our little community was coming into its power and this was before wide spread use of email and Internet.

We avoided the press for as long as possible and as a result only those of us who sought repeal appeared before the Judiciary Committee when a hearing was held on the bill on February 5, 1993. Of interest, Tulisano's co-chair was George Jepson, now the CT Attorney General. Twenty of us prepared to speak that day (I still have a copy of the sign-up sheet) and we organized the testimony so that people with a variety of backgrounds and professions would appear and each person would cover different aspects of the issue. We organized quite well to maximize our impact. Those on the list were a Who's Who of the community at the time and included Rev. Wandakay Parker, Rev. Charles Reuben, Bill Winkler, Mary Williams, Art Samson, Jon Roe, Lynn Merritt, Jennifer Page, Boyce Batey, and Harwood Loomis, among others.

The Judiciary Committee approved the bill a week later; then in March, the House of Representatives approved it 122-25, but it was much closer in the Senate at 20-15. Finally, Governor Weicker signed it into law on March 31, 1993.

It was a good experience for our community and served as preparation for lobbying efforts in the following years to protect the rights of practitioners to provide nutritional information (the American Dieticians Assoc. tried to highjack the right) and the general use of the term "psychotherapy" (again a group tried to claim it as only theirs). A secondary and very important result was the formation of community within the state - through The Guild, practitioner organizations, and just from working together and getting to know each other. We became connected and with the emergence of the Internet have become even closer.

Why remember this? As Americans we have had to fight our own government for our rights - racial freedom, voting rights, and women's rights. Although the right to do readings and mediumship is not of that magnitude, it is important to our community. And for each of the rights we exercise today someone had to step up and fight for them. It's important that we know our history and understand there will be other fights. A new generation must be ready to carry the fight forward to protect our rights to clean water, air and food, and freedom of expression.

~~~~~ Yes - in 1992, I became an ‘ordained minister’ so that I would be protected from the CT Fortune Telling Law. Also Remember - 1992 was the anniversary of the Salem Witch Trials - something that was not lost on us Tarot readers, either ....

Look up ‘The Universal Life Church’ and you, too, can become an ordained minister (for a small fee). ~~~~~

[engaged19times]

RHONJ Recrap - season 11, ep 1 - C U Next Tuesday!

Greetings fellow prostitution whores and welcome to my new weekly recrap of American institution The Real Housewives of New Jersey! Before I jump in I’ll introduce myself by saying that I’m a housewives super fan (I even watched DC, an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst sister-in-law), an underemployed comedy writer (I can’t define “napalm” either, Lauren Manzo), and nothing makes me happier than to watch 6 bedazzled hypocrites in Cheesecake Factory mansions argue etiquette and loyalty between physical altercations in the world renowned cultural hub of Paterson, New Jersey. I know essay recaps are a bit of a relic but I am fond of ye olde written word so please enjoy this blast from the past, you scumbags!

We open without fanfare mid-scene to red-eyed Jackie and dead-eyed Teresa sitting in Margaret’s partially finished, wallpaper smothered home. We get the Bad Girls Club black-and-white flashes but unlike in Beverly Hills we’re not flashing to “three months earlier” but instead to “three days earlier.” It might take women of less gumption precious time to build to a production-halting confrontation but it only takes these agents of chaos half a week to get the meatball rolling.

Let’s back up a little to the ominous “three days prior” and catch up with our hot girls. It’s Jackie’s giant hot husband’s 46th birthday so she’s throwing him a party under a tent in the parking lot of a Greek restaurant. We learn that Teresa and Joe’s father has sadly passed in the offseason and Dolores Thee Stallion and Margaret have both had full cosmetic overhauls - Dolores with a second butt enhancement that left her with a giant hip scar rivaled only by Sally from Nightmare before Christmas and Margaret with a boob lift and apparent nipple sharpening (is that a procedure?) that she advertises in a blush silk top with no bra. Never one to be outdone at a parking lot birthday party, Joe Gorga arrives with his storyline - I mean wife, Melissa - also smuggling raisins under a skin tight children’s white T-shirt. Nipples are trending, ladies!

The Nightmare Before Christmas.

A beautiful boob lift.

Tarzan’s headlights.

Margaret’s hot employee Lexi and Teresa’s hot realtor Michelle (both of whom are official friends-of this year), as well as iconic social wrecking ball and Aydin Center for Plastic Surgery mascot Jennifer all saunter in for car park cocktails at this 3D nipple fashion show and as the night devolves we see the cast getting truly shit-housed on shots when out of nowhere storyline sniper Teresa drops the bomb that she heard sexy birthday Bigfoot Evan is cheating on Jackie... more specifically, that he “does stuff” at the gym but mysteriously can’t remember any details or where she heard this head-scratching accusation that draws as many gasps as it does “huhs?” Honest straight people question: do y’all hook up at gyms? And if so, where? Are there co-ed saunas now? Also can one of you explain the allure of Mike and Molly to me? Moving on. Most shocking was that the Perez Hilton of North Jersey doesn’t just drop this wild accusation once, she gleefully skips through this asphalt soiree like a goddamn town crier, addressing everyone she passes like Belle through the town square.

The next day the hard partying crew of Jersey Shore: All Grown Up recovers from their throbbing hangovers and we see cool mom Melissa traipsing through her particle board mausoleum in see-through sweatpants with a visible thong in front of her kids’ friends (you girls keep me young!), Marge Sr. driving a blue Mini Cooper with eyelashes on the headlights (which I assume are like the spinning rims of the Jersey Grandma community), and a flashback of Margaret’s Joe puking next to a tree (relatable, my dude).

Marge Sr.: Fully Loaded.

You girls keep me young!

Over at Jennifer’s palatial child farm we learn that her parents fight so much these days that she moved her father (Carl from Up!) to her multi-generational compound which has only angered her mother more.

Jennifer’s sweet dad.

We then find out Dolores’s dry boyfriend David with whom she shares the burning passion of a melting ice sculpture now lives with her bulging slab of a son Frankie Jr. in the house he and Delores built together but Dolores curiously still lives with her also bulging but slightly slimey ex Frank Sr. in her original house, a near Braunwyn-level web of over-explained but still vague relationship fuckery of which none of them seem on the same page. Dolores hid her surgery from David until the day before, David still works constantly so she hangs out with her ex all the time, and I can’t help but think that we aren’t getting the full story on whatever the fuck is happening under these two roofs. Are they brother-husbands? Is Frank Sr. piping both of them? Can Frankie Jr. DM me his nudes please? The only one being straight-forward in these duel households of confusion is Dolores’s dog who is simply named Dog and I honestly appreciate his refreshing transparency.

Dog Catania, king of transparency.

Finally, Jackie calls Teresa to organize an infamous Jersey sit-down because she somehow got wind of the out-of-thin-air accusations that Teresa all but presented with a bull horn and a PowerPoint at Evan’s parking lot social. They decide to meet at Margaret’s partially constructed house/ wallpaper showroom because it’s neutral territory to hash things out in a relaxing landscape of ladders and contrasting patterns and the tension is so thick you could cut it with one of Margaret’s newly renovated nipples.

Jackie pleads with Tre to clear her husband’s good name and Tre enters a baffling Kelly-Anne Conway bullshit loop which includes such hits as “woman to woman, if I heard this you wouldn’t want me to tell you?” (a reasonable point which is actually working against Teresa because it’s the opposite of what she did), then explaining to Margaret the immediately contradictory “I didn’t tell her and it’s not like I told Evan, I told my friends” (which is an explanation of what she obviously did wrong but said in the tone of a defense), the wacky last ditch nonsense deflection “Alright let me tell you the reason why I did it. This year, now, you know I’m single now. I’ve been approached by a lot of married men that think that it’s OK to have affairs,” and finally just saying fuck it and rewriting history “I did not spread a rumor, I heard a rumor.”

The truth is that Teresa was retaliating for a cheating rumor Jackie entertained about her last year but neither can be held to such unreasonable expectations like addressing reality or admitting fault which is actually ideal because if I cared to see emotionally mature community leaders converse thoughtfully I’d watch Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday not this unhinged turnpike circus.

Jackie’s rival won’t budge so she chooses the nuclear option, looks the reigning matriarch of Paterson in her vacant eyes, and declares confidently “I heard Gia snorts coke in the bathroom at parties” which stopped time on Earth as far as I’m concerned. Is this wild accusation true? Probably not. Was this retaliatory tit equal to the offending tat? Debatable. Do I blame Teresa for immediately whipping into a tailspin and storming out screaming the C-word (no Kathy Wakile, not “canoli kit”) at Jackie no less than 80 times? Girl, no I do not. Jackie has since clarified (backtracked?) that this was an analogy not a rumor she heard which... OK, and whether or not either of the atomic bombs dropped in this breakneck premiere were true, I’m excited to watch our Paterson superstars battle it out for another batshit season!

Esteemed poet laureat of Paterson, NJ.

Join me and my own rock hard nipples next week to recrap a girls trip to Lake George, more developments in the case of Jackie vs Teresa: Jersey Crime Story, and hopefully another cameo by breakout superstar Dog Catania! Please share this recrap with the prostitution whores in your life if you enjoy and follow me on Tumblr (engaged19times), Insta (@engagednineteentimes), and Twitter (@_engaged19times)! I’m recrapping weekly but I don’t get screeners (yet) and it takes me a few days to catch up so please be patient!

XO engaged19times

[charyka]

MURDER BALLADS OF 1816. | (SELECTIVELY) ACCEPTING. 

@imbricare​ / bev keane said: By the lamb are we saved.

“Bitti.”

He speaks not with the tongues of man, not with the movement of its lips, not with the echo in a voicebox. No language of Abraham courses through those teeth, sharp teeth. No knowledge of the alef in this form. Just blood, the earliest writing of it all: in grooves torn from Adam’s rib the Lord wrote Eve’s name a thousand times. 

He was there at the heart of the universe when it happened. He ate the vowels before they could become consonant, and curled around the branches of an apple tree like fingers to a lover’s neck. To choke. 

Beverly Keane shivers when she thinks that voice inside herself. It is a moment, something like weakness, and when she finds it she drowns it with both hands. Those who saw an angel of the Lord feared first, and then they were delivered. She was deathly afraid the first time and allowed herself that fear but only once.

Anything else after that would be weakness.

Again. The Angel whispers “Bitti,” in the darkness of her skull, and she cannot stifle the revulsion of her wanting. The kiss. The blood. The power, most of all. She clutches her skirt until her knuckles turn white. In the corner of the derelict home, the Angel’s eyes blossom phosphorous, the rest of it shrouded in darkness. Its mouth is blood-stained.

Beverly knows it will not call her again.

She steps beyond the creaking doorframe, into a stench of rot and piss and shit and the small agonies of forgotten dying things. Yet Jesus Christ her Lord did not fear when he was nailed to the cross. When He was raised upon the hill. When the pain made His bowels give and He begged His father for an answer.

He was not afraid. She will not be either. 

In the translucent midnight moon, its wings shape arches beyond its shoulder-blades of maddened twilight. Like a blade. Like a heart. She shudders again. It opens its mouth to lick its lips and reaches out its hand to her.

Beverly’s head spins as she sees the teeth and the dark thick blood. She thinks It grins at her but cannot see It clearly in her swimming vision. When she saw Father Pruitt like an animal cowering in the corner she did not fear. When she saw Joe Collie’s brains on his mouth she did not falter. She did not fear. She did not fear.

But Father Pruitt did not sing inside of her. 

Her belly bottoms out, she feels the want as desperate. Consuming, and consumed. She is the rotten fruit, the apple barely held against the branch. When It crawls towards her, she cannot move. 

It presses a clawed hand to her cheek, runs the curve of Its palm along her head. Its claws rest in her hair. She feels it hold. She swallows and she looks It in the eye.

Her cheeks are wet with tears. She cannot find her legs to move them. Her body sings, and all she wants is to be opened. 

Nobody knows she is here tonight. She stole away in secret after the Monsignor decided to turn Riley Flynn before her. She stole away and wanted to find It still reeking of that bastard’s blood. Her father’s rings would carve their way across her mouth if he knew she had used those dirty, rotten words. Even if inside of her, in the secret box where she kept all her bad thoughts, grave-bound thoughts. In her secret box beneath her belly that nobody could touch.  And drown her sinful jealousy with a secret only she knew, a meeting only she had, a speaking only they could share. 

But if the angel speaks, she only feels it, does not hear it. It calls her bitti.

My daughter. 

Its face presses closer to hers. Its lips are rotten, its breath of putrefaction. Beverly catches her breath in the darkness. 

It will not hurt her. It will not kill her. Not her. After all she’s done for It and for Its Lord. 

Her throat is thick when she swallows. In the air between them the singing promise of Revelations. It lets go of her hair. It moves back, and is away, deeper into the darkness, before she feels the terrible beating of wings and knows It has left her. 

She wants to chase after It. She wants to crawl under Its sternum and burn Itself inside her. She wants what It will give her. She wants It all, wants it now. 

But the house is now empty. On the light air she feels silence. Past the rotting she can smell the brackish air. The agony of decayed flesh. The bodies she must sidestep and not look at.

Her knuckles are white. In each her palms five small moon-shaped indentations, bleeding. She walks backwards and does not trip in the crooked doorstep. 

But in the dark, still, of a morning not yet started, she runs all the way home. 

[steamedtangerine]

Vintage Gold Dollar flyer from October 2000

The month started off with a tribute to Cobb’s Corner, a famous jazz club whose owner, Henry Normile, was slain (along with Guy Willetts) outside the Soup Kitchen Saloon in Detroit back in 1979. There are a number of local sites discussing the strange circumstances of the murder and the overall attempt to avoid any investigation.

http://www.corridortribe.com/obits/henry_normile.htm

https://groups.google.com/g/corridortribe/c/qIvrmSZ6PUg

http://www.corridortribe.com/discus/messages/19/46.html?1262107475

https://www.detroityes.com/mb/showthread.php?15350-Vintage-Bars-Cass-Corridor-Area-and-More&p=360800#post360800

I was put to task on Reddit to explain my posting of it (back when I cultivated a long-withstanding 4-year Reddit account) further on /r/UnresolvedMysteries (some links defunct since I posted them last)-so, not one to let my efforts be lost, here it is:

A lot of it can be revealed by reading "Eighth Times the Charm" by Theodore P. Panaretos, and there are a lot of articles on Newspapers.com I'm not going to pay for-anyone who has access to either can be of big help in this.

The real focus should probably be on the killing of Henry Normile, which folks from the area still ask about.

Normile was a former seminary student, served in the US Air Force, had a masters in Physiology (some say Psychology, as well), and gave up teaching at WCCC and the Carnegie Institute in Troy to acquire Cobb's Corner on Cass Ave. and Willis. No stranger to bars and nightlife, Normile revitalized a troubled area by supporting a great portion of Jazz and other music in the Detroit area. He was described as an extrovert, amiable, unmaterialistic, charismatic with the ladies, intelligent, a gun-owner, and happened to be a small-time drug dealer. Mostly dealing in marijuana, he also dealt cocaine, but said he wanted to get away from the heavy people he was dealing with (shades of what my slain friend, Quincy, was hoping to do, but he would never touch coke by a long-shot.). Many penniless folks were getting drugs from him, which suggested Normile was quite permissive and not making the profit he "should".

Prior to all this, he was a manger at Verne's Bierstube on Forest Ave. for five years, but his boss worried about the dealings he was involved in (in fact, many clientele left that place to hang out at Cobb's). Cobb's was big deal for many folks in that area (the Cass Corridor was a mecca for independent culture for a long time, along with many artist groups and the publication of the Fifth Estate). Normile also was a fund-raiser (scrupulously or successfully remains to be questioned) for the MOT and the Detroit Children's Alternative School. This link gives the best bio http://www.corridortribe.com/obits/henry_normile.htm.

On January 27th 1979, 34 yo. Henry (preparing for a recording session there-this session on Youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txfKHO0D6dI&index=4&list=LLrOTfbop3iS9vT4raLNa5Fg was recorded the day before his murder and may have him introducing the Lyman Woodard Organization performing) supposedly heard a knock at the door at 8p., and a shotgun blast through the mail chute got him in the throat. Marcie Major who lived nearby, came and found him on the floor with his dog standing over him. Whoever shot him was stealthful and unseen, suggesting something professional.

Two police involved were Sgt. Cameron Knowles (not the NZ footballer)-who claimed there were no leads or motives-and Gilbert Hill who helped in the Atlanta Child killings case. Gilbert was later promoted to Homicide inspector in 1982 and appeared in the movie Beverly Hills Cop as Axel Foley's (Eddie Murphy's) boss. Gilbert has always had some rumors leveled upon him that his reputation was dirty, and recently with the issues with "White Boy" Rick making Detroit news still, Hill's handlings of the supposed frame-up of Charles Lewis and false confession of Eddie Joe Lloyd still brings his integrity into question as this independent article suggests http://voiceofdetroit.net/2016/12/23/dirty-dealings-gil-hills-role-in-white-boy-rick-case-charles-lewis-and-eddie-joe-lloyd-frame-ups/.

These links to a Tribes of the Corridor discussion have people still speculating. http://tribesofdetroit.com/discus/messages/19/337.html and http://www.corridortribe.com/discus/messages/19/46.html?1262107475. The first link has an adamant Kris Peterson (who comments on Youtube about this) claiming she confronted a cop/security guard working at a Bloomfield Hills drugstore about Normile's killing, but odder still, was the cab driver claiming he picked up a drunk cop who talked about Cobb's and how Normile was killed professionally by a joint effort of cops and the underworld.

Normile's brother, Howard, reluctantly took over the bar but it became a shaky establishment and less concerned with music. It eventually became a gallery.

On February 1st 1979 (five days after Normile's death), Grosse Pointe promoter Stanley Guy Willetts was shot in his car outside of the Soup Kitchen Saloon. The book I mentioned above will detail things better, but this is where I get headachey....

The following link to a 3-page PDF is very important as it brings a lot of persons into question. http://www.crimeindetroit.com/documents/041483%20Figure%20in%20'Hit'%20Murder%20Tied%20to%20Death%20of.pdf. According to it, a man named Milton Hunt (convicted along with his brother for a murder of a man in front of the Bon Ton Bar on December 23 1978) claimed that a Harold Jackson Jr. (former owner of Berman's Chop House and a supposed friend and regular cocaine customer of Normile's)-who was responsible for attempting to securing loans (ranging from 38 to 40k each) for both slain Normile and Willetts-and former Willetts employee Charles McLellan (who drove Willetts to the Soup Kitchen that day, and was later questioned by cops after the murder but let go.) had approached Milton on August of 1978 and asked him to perform the murder on both Normie and Willetts. Hunt rejected the offer wanting money in advance. He told all this to officers in exchange for an attempt to clear his brother's name in the 12/23/78 killing, but Gil Hill claimed no such interview took place and that no statements were recorded of such things.

Lonnie Thomas was revealed to be the killer of Willetts by Jackson who testified (as key witness in the Willetts murder trial) that he hired Lonnie to do the job. Jackson's story to police and at the trial was that Willetts' business partners (from a failed venture called OTAC which offered expensive cruises to the Middle East)-supposedly hoping to cash in on an insurance policy put out on him-promised him $100,000 if he would get someone to kill the Grosse Pointe filmmaker and business promoter. He is also a link to Normile but was never questioned by police in the murder of him at the time. Police arrested three of Willetts' OTAC associates but released one without charges. The Wayne County Prosecutor's Office dropped charges against another, Mat Alfei, for lack of evidence, and a Detroit Recorder's Court jury acquitted the third man, John Kiley. Jackson claims Kiley pad him $5000.

From what snippets I see in the book and the Newspaper.com articles there were a few attempts on Willetts' life that involved wine with pills https://books.google.com/books?id=rWMcpjlQu3MC&pg=PA155&lpg=PA155&dq=willetts+pills+wine&source=bl&ots=dvssIADrWc&sig=aHMcMZZze5hnCMg0fG7Uw1PbQgI&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjSotvRyOLTAhUK3YMKHbF_DbsQ6AEIIzAA#v=onepage&q=willetts%20pills%20wine&f=false.

Though possibly not connected, Jazz bandleader and vocalist, Eddie Jefferson (seeing as Detroit has a Jefferson Ave.-do not attempt to Google), was shot outside Baker's Keyboard lounge at 1:35a. May 8th that same year Normile and Willetts were shot. A  green Lincoln Continental was seen and a disgruntled male dancer was arrested and later acquitted. All three deaths severely hurt the thriving jazz club scene in Detroit.

Seems a lot of persons would profit from these deaths. Those wishing to "clear out" a scene impeding gentrification. Those partners wanting insurance or hampering loans (or taking orders from higher entities and promised not to get charged by the Feds). Those wishing to kill Normile for permissive unprofitable drug-dealing. The police playing along with haphazard investigations.---all speculations.

Maybe those reading the books and articles and with less of a headache to go on, can provide more information or insight.

TO RESUME WITH THIS TUMBLR POST: It’s interesting how Marcus Belgrave is mentioned (someone along with his son who played with a very talented drummer from a band I was in back when we both attended the Institute of Music and Dnace-RIP), as well as John Sinclair (someone I met).

Since this posting, Cobb’s Corner has been reopened (2018) https://www.metrotimes.com/table-and-bar/archives/2018/11/29/cobbs-corner-bar-has-officially-reopened, and someone had a discussion link on DetroitYes on it a year ago: https://www.detroityes.com/mb/showthread.php?24769-Eighth-Time-s-the-Charm

So, anyway, yes, the Gold Dollar Flyer above (this was a post about the Gold Dollar flyer, until vintage Detroit crime took the spotlight)-I’m sure one only has to briefly glance to notice the one renowned band name to jump out at you: THE WHITE STRIPES!....other honorably mentioned acts include Twitch, Bantam Rooster, and glam rock band The Trash Brats.