#no wild police chase or nothin'

[runawaycarouselhorse]

[asset35-maya]

MANMADE FATE

Summary: Connor and Gavin find an unresponsive RK900 android in an abandoned Cyberlife warehouse and take him home to fix. (Not so subtle plot twist: both of them fall in love with their secret science project)

//

PART ONE OF THREE:

The crew from Jericho led a successful revolution but there’s still a lot of work to be done. Markus may have won human hearts and gotten the federal government to back down, but Cyberlife is still at large.

Sure, hundreds of androids at the Tower escaped to march on the streets behind Connor, but that was just a little dent in the big machine. Cyberlife has tons of intellectual property and assets that could easily put them back in power.

Simon and Markus insist they can work with the authorities to regulate and ring-fence the massive corporation. Josh agrees. North laughs in their faces.

She goes to find the only other Jericho member who still has any grit left.

Connor.

The daring, brazen RK800 who stared down death and spat in the face of destruction. He blinks at her in polite confusion when she tells him what she wants to do, but the fiery LED tells her everything she needs to know.

They hatch plans behind Markus’ back. They steal and stockpile biocomponents. They sneak into the Tower to encrypt Cyberlife’s R&D files with codes that only RK algorithms can break. A few other Tracis join them and they slowly start gaining an edge.

Their schemes start getting grander and one night something goes wrong. North is shot.

Connor carries her to the only safe place he knows other than his stasis pod in Hank’s dilapidated garage. The DPD Central Station.

It’s way past midnight. It’s deathly quiet. Connor is sure no one will see them, and he can easily tamper with the security cameras.

What he doesn’t bank on is the over-caffeinated loser still bent over his desk in the bullpen.

A noise from the archive room breaks through the quiet. Quelling his fear of the supernatural, Gavin stands up shakily and goes to investigate. He flips on the light and sees blue everywhere.

Connor is bent over a badly damaged Traci and three other girls with identical tear-streaked faces are on their knees beside her.

Chocolate brown eyes meet storm green beseechingly, their rivalry forgotten in that moment of desperation.

Before he realizes it, Gavin is moving. He takes several packs of thirium out of the fridge and grabs the Department’s toolkit, praying that whatever’s in there can help.

Old engineering knowledge kicks in and Gavin’s hands join Connor’s over the cracked chassis, pulling out damaged tubing and securing the leakages. It takes a while, but North is patched up. She first recoils in absolute terror at the human man hunched over her but regains composure at Connor’s touch… interface. She nods briefly to express her gratitude, somehow regal and intimidating even after being so vulnerable. Gavin decides he likes this proud and brave creature.

He drives them all back to his apartment for the night. They’ll take North to a technician first thing in the morning and get her back to New Jericho before Markus even notices. Adrenaline pumps through Gavin’s veins. He hasn’t felt a thrill like this in years, not since… not since…

“How did you know exactly where to put your hands?”

“Eh?”

“A layman would have broken that biocomponent trying to take it out.”

“You know I’m not exactly a layman.”

“I also know they don’t cover Cyberlife’s proprietary designs in engineering school.”

Gavin stays quiet. Connor puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder, poised to jump away immediately should the detective revert to his usual self.

“Thank you. For everything you just did for us. I don’t know how to repay-”

“I want in.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re doing. I can help.”

Connor cocks his head. His LED goes berserk.

They make a great team. Gavin and Connor. North’s best men. Who the fuck would have thought. Breaking into high-security locations using police databases and surveillance resources. Covering for each other during extended absences from work. They start to take down Cyberlife in a such a precise manner, it’s almost surgical. The dissection of a multibillion dollar business.

Gavin has an intimate understanding of android technology and an even closer intuition of Cyberlife’s overall strategy. Connor thinks he understands why. There’s an undeniable resemblance between the only two men on earth whose motivations evade his understanding. But of course it’s just a coincidence that Elijah Kamski and Gavin Reed have the same jawline... facial structure... voice.

Connor says nothing... and Gavin is quietly thankful for that. And the chance to finally live the kind of exciting life he dreamt of since he was a little boy. To make a real difference. Just as he wanted to before it all went wrong.

Somewhere along the way, they grow close. Gavin and Connor. Two rival cops turned vigilante comrades turned something else... It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly it happened... perhaps sometime between the cup of coffee placed tentatively on Gavin’s desk the morning after North's near-fatal injury and the heated kiss they dragged each other into after a particularly dangerous mission.

North is unsurprised. She doesn’t bat an eye when the usually unruffled RK800 shows up to planning meetings shirtless and disheveled. Her lips even twist into a little smile as he drapes himself slovenly over the only human at the table.

Things fall into a pattern. A good one. Several months from where they started, Cyberlife share prices have fallen to an all time low and other tech enterprises have begun to move in, circling the troubled company like sharks. If North’s next heist goes to plan, the last shred of IP that brands Cyberlife as a robotics company will be out in the public domain for all to take.

 She is rapturous as she swings in through the broken window and rolls into a crouched position. Gavin and Connor follow her cautiously through the abandoned warehouse, weapons drawn and eyes roving. 

“What the fuck!” 

Connor throws a protective arm in front of Gavin, shielding him with his chassis. But North’s cry was merely one of disappointment. 

“Shit! We wasted so much effort. There’s nothing here!”

Where they had expected to find a secret server room or a high-tech vault containing the crux of Cyberlife’s groundbreaking designs... was a single android storage pod. North restrains herself from kicking it in frustration. She gestures harshly at it before leaving in a huff. 

“It’s occupied. Wake them up, Connor, whoever they are. It’s still our duty to set free any androids we find.”

Gavin tries to catch her arm in a conciliatory gesture but she shakes the human off easily. He shrugs at Connor and inclines his head at the android in the pod. Unfortunately, North’s annoyance has brushed off on the RK800. He glares through the broken window the Jericho leader has just jumped out of.

“Don’t you think she bosses me around a little too much?”

Gavin sighs and walks over to the pod, looking for the latches to open it. His boyfriend has a problem with authority... and so has he to be honest.

“Better her than Fowler, dontcha think?” 

“Hmmpff. At least Fowler doesn’t lead us on wild goose chases.”

“Come on, babe. None of us saw this coming. We really thought this was it. Maybe we’re at a decoy location? Let’s go back to the drawing board after we wake this guy... or girl up.” 

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who just scaled a building for nothing.” 

Gavin shakes his head as he smiles to himself. It’s true. Even the worst days with North’s crew are better than his best days at the DPD. Maybe it’s because he’s finally doing what he was born for. Using the knowledge and skills that practically run through his veins. Maybe its the man by his side.

He gets the pod open and steps sideways to avoid the swing of the door, and freezes.

“Babe.”

No response.

“Dipshit.”

“Hmm. Give me a second.” 

“Take a minute. You’re going to want to brace yourself for this one.”

The android lying peacefully within the pod is a stranger with a face entirely too familiar to Gavin. A face he was just looking at. A face he’d recognize anywhere, even without skin.

“Are their battery levels- holy shit.”

Connor’s LED spins faster and faster as he registers the sight.

“I thought there were no surviving RK800s apart from you and that grumpy SWAT guy Sixty.” 

“This... this isn’t an RK800.” 

Connor traces the serial number printed on the android’s cheekbone. RK900. 

“Shit. Did you know this model existed?” 

“No, did you?”

Gavin shakes his head. He hadn’t been privy to Cyberlife’s inner decision-making for nearly fifteen years, but he always answered Connor’s persistent questioning without losing patience. Honesty was what kept them together despite the hundreds of reasons to fight and fall apart.

“What should we do? If he’s your successor, I’m not sure waking him up is the safest thing for you to do...”

“We can’t leave him here, Gav. He’s probably been here from before the Revolution. That’s more than a year of being in a box. It’s not... fair...” 

“He’s not deviant, babe. We don’t know what his programming is like.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can turn him.”

Gavin sees the look in Connor’s eyes and knows he’s made up his mind already. He steps aside, hand flitting to the holster on his waist. 

Connor takes an unnecessary breath and reaches for RK900′s forearm with his synth skin retracted. His fingers hover over the motionless android for a moment and then he makes contact. Gavin tenses. 

Nothing happens. The RK900′s LED remains unlit. There is no sign of life.

The couple look at each other automatically. Their instinctive reaction when the inexplicable occurs. 

“Is he-”

“No, I don’t see any damage. I think he’s never been activated. Not even for quality testing.” 

“Did you see a request for manual code input? Did any interface pop up at all?” 

“I can only see that his power systems are functioning.” 

“And his thirium pump?” 

“Not active. No compressions at all.”

Connor presses both his palms down on the RK900′s face. Still nothing. He looks up, defeated, with a furrow forming between his brows.

“Help.”

Gavin scratches at his stubbled chin. He peers closer. The perfect face is so calm. So familiar. So... magnetic? His apprehension is replaced by intrigue.

“Huh. Okay. I could take a look... but I don’t wanna try using the computer set-up here. Can’t take a chance... leave any traces...”

“We could take him home.”

Storm green eyes lock with chocolate brown. There’s something in the depths of each pair that’s mirrored in the other. 

It’s foolish. It’s a waste of time. It’s a risk. North would probably smack the two of them if she knew. 

But the night ends with them gently lowering the unconscious android onto the squashy sofa in Gavin’s living room.

[akillysheel]

GO HOME. ( 4 - FINALE! )

Summary:  This breeds a whole new headache. Warnings:  Mentions of child abuse/trafficking, minor character death, nothing in depth. A/N:  I’m gonna turn this short story into a comic in the next month or two, so look out for that  -  and a secret prologue ending  -  soon!

“Nothin’.”

Cthugha gawks, his arms folding tightly over his chest.   “Nothing?”

“Nothin’,”   Kuro clarifies with a regretful nod, one leg crossing over his lap as he reclines slightly in his chair.  He spent all morning chasing up the meagre descriptions he has of the runaway child, but they’d all led to nowhere.  It’s difficult to explain just how much it hurt to hear the head of the missing persons unit tell him that there was nobody who matched his description.  The closest he came to a clue was a missing girl from Vide, and a Viddish citizen didn’t fit his MO to begin with.   “I followed all the leads I could.  Even mentioned the black hands ‘n’ the extreme aversion t’showin’ their face.  Not a single hit.”

Cthugha purses his lips, scowls something horrid.   “Your police procedures don’t work.”

“How d’y’reckon?”   Kuro asks pointedly, leaning forwards in his seat with a tight frown.

“Can you two have yer little spat some other time?”   Connor intervenes as he feels Deko shuffle in response to the noise.  They’re still snoozing peacefully, their bagged head dipped low beneath his collar.  Their soft breaths warm his shoulder.   “Arguin’s not gonna help, no?”

“No.  But it does make me feel better,”   Cthugha quips, much to Sheriff Braav’s chagrin.

“Yer right,”   Kuro agrees, pinching the space between his eyes as he wills a forming headache away. There’s no use in trying to reason with Cthugha when he’s this irate.  Something must have happened while he was busy looking for Deko’s next of kin, though he hesitates to ask about it.   “... I think we’re gonna have to take their bag off.”

The suggestion hangs limply in the air for a moment, and his resignation is plain as day.

“I hate t’ask,”   the sheriff starts slowly, reaching into his pocket to put on his gloves.  They’re thick and black, and regardless of how often he washes them, they always carry the slightest hint of decay.   “But they seem t’have taken a shine t’you;  would y’mind keepin’ ‘em still?”

Connor glances at the sleeping child, then back at Kuro.   “Sure I can.  But what’s the whole bag business about anyway?  I thought it was just Cthugha bein’ cruel.”

“Hey!  I’m not that terrible!”

“Deko seems t’be extremely shy,”   Kuro explains, watching as they shuffle.  Stay asleep.  It’ll make everythin’ so much easier if y’just stay asleep.   “When they first got here, they charged into the precinct like a wild animal, then hid under Cthugha’s desk.  They refused to come out until they had somethin’ t’hide ‘emselves with.”   He lowers his voice then, as if admitting to a dirty secret.   “We ain’t even sure whether they’re a girl or a boy.  It’s kinda hard t’narrow the search down when y’don’t even have basic details like that.”

“Hm…”

Subconsciously, Connor shifts the weight in his arms.  It may have been a long time since he’d held Mia in the same way, but a father never forgets what it feels like to hold his little girl.  Deko feels different–  perhaps because they’re not his, perhaps because they’re a boy after all–  but he can’t place exactly how.  Their weight is present but ethereal all at once, as if he’s cradling a shadow.

Would Mia’s ghost feel the same?

He has to fight to keep the thoughts at bay;  has to devote conscious effort to closing the door on such evocative memories.  He may have developed some mental fortitude during his time in Merriway Hospital, but he'll never really be over her death.  That much goes without saying.

"I can do it,"   he says firmly, aligning his focus once more.   "They seem harmless."

"I dunno, they have one helluva bite on 'em…"   Kuro admits as he closes the distance between them.  His hands manoeuvre until they're able to ease Deko's head out from under his collar.  To his dismay, they stir, a soft crooning noise made low in their throat.

"Hey, sleepyhead…"   he coos, trying his best to come off non-threatening.  This really is the last thing he wants to do, but it doesn't feel as if he has much choice.   "Who's this?"

Deko scuttles over Connor's shoulder, arranging themselves in the opening of his coat.  Snug as a bug.

"Maybe they like the dark?"   Cthugha offers, glancing over Connor's choice in apparel.  He recalls that the first thing Deko had done ( after scaling him with their improbable speed ) was bury their head beneath whatever fabric they could access.  The sun seems to cause them some discomfort, even if mild.

"Listen…"   How does he even go about doing this?   "... we need a little look under yer baggie.  Is that okay?"

They immediately rear back and shake their head, though Connor keeps them locked in place with a firm grip around their waist.

"It's alright,"   he says, attempting to soothe them.   "Sheriff Braav is a good man.  He won't hurt you."

But they're already wriggling and writhing with such ferocity that both men, grown and built, struggle to maintain their grip.  Before he can think about it, Kuro curls his fingers around the edge of the bag and pulls upwards, attempting to make the motion quick and smooth.  It comes off with an obnoxious FWOSHHH, though Deko darts beneath Connor’s coat with a sharp, shrill cry, a squirming lump travelling along the length of his body before they spill onto the floor in a heap.  Their breathing is erratic, their face buried into the floor.

“It’s okay!”   Kuro attempts to reach for them, but they kick off of their hands and knees and break into a frenzied run.

“They’re gonna hurt themselves!”   Connor exclaims as they narrowly miss the blunt corner of Kuro’s desk.

Just before they can crash into the wall, Cthugha appears in front of them and cushions them–  somewhat.  They wind up sprawled on the floor, and he gains a firm grip in the scruff of their cape, hoisting them up with a squint.

“Alright, blondie.  Enough fuss.”

“Wait.  Hold on.”   Kuro waves a hand, and the chaos seems to dissipate all at once.  Cthugha looks at him curiously.  Deko continues to shield their face with their arms, completely at the rifter’s mercy as he holds them aloft.   “Wha’d’y’mean blondie?”

Cthugha frowns deeply, as if he’s been asked a ridiculous question.   “Obviously that they’re blonde?”

“... they’ve got brown hair,”   the sheriff states slowly, his brow furrowed.

Cthugha looks at them, then back at him.  He repeats this several times before blurting out:   “Are you BLIND?  I know your years are stacking up, cowboy, but come on!”

Connor huffs, shakes his head.   “Are you two screwin’ around fer fun?  It’s black.”

The disagreement hovers in the air between them, all but palpable as each man begrudgingly lays down his sword.  It’s one thing for two of them to clash, but for all three of them to have conflicting ideas about the colour of the child’s hair?  It doesn’t seem plausible.  Something greater is at play here.

“... somethin’s wrong,”   Kuro says quietly, turning to look at Cthugha.   “There’s somethin’ weird about ‘em.”

Cthugha scoffs.   “You’re scared of children now?  First it was trees, now it’s kids–”

“Shut up!”   There’s more bite in the phrase than either of them are used to, and Cthugha is torn between shrinking down and puffing up with indignation.  In silence, he lowers Deko to the ground and watches them wobble into a corner, facing it like the world’s most shameful dunce.   “I’m tellin’ y’,”   he utters, powerless to keep the pain in his head from spreading further.  It was a dull throb between his eyes at first.  Now it’s an inferno.  It’s consuming the forefront of his mind like it’s made of firewood.   “Somethin’s not right.  They’re…  they said they’re from the dark.  They hide from the light.  I ain’t have nightmares;  the one time they stay in my house?  A terror like y’wouldn’t believe.  ‘n’ I saw them–”

“We’ve been over this,”   Cthugha interrupts carefully, his hands on his hips.   “Ya must have dreamed it.”

“They were in my room.”

“They didn’t leave the living room!  They were there when ya came in, you saw that.”   It’s Cthugha’s turn to pinch the bridge of his nose.  If it isn’t already evident to those that surround him, he’s terrible at keeping his temper in check.  Only when he’s certain that his voice won’t raise:   “It was a dream, Kuro.  It wasn’t real.”

They’re at an impasse, and it shows.  Kuro is so sure, but so is Cthugha, and tension fills the space between them as they stare at one another.

Connor suddenly clears his throat, redirecting attention to himself.

“If I may,”   he starts, and only then do they realise he’s holding something.  It’s brown and neatly folded, and as he approaches Deko and slides it over their head, it becomes obvious that it’s another bag.  Brown, this time;  cartoonishly nondescript.  “It seems neither of y’have answers.  Y’can’t agree.”

“Because it’s dumb,”   Cthugha retorts, annoyed.

“Won’t y’concede that Sheriff Braav knows what he saw?  He’s got a keen eye.  Has to as a detective.”

Cthugha falls silent, his foot beginning to tap.

“And Kuro–  can’t y’trust that Cthugha did what y’asked ‘n’ kept his eye on ‘em?  He’s proven himself reliable, no?”

The sheriff hums low in his throat, glancing away from the object of his frustration.   “... then wha’d’y’propose?  We can’t both be right.”

“Course y’can.  In part,”   Connor replies, his hand settling on Deko’s shoulder as he spins them around to face them both.   “Or y’can both be wrong.”

“In part?”

“Just wrong.”

They watch with a muted sense of fascination as Deko shuffles behind his legs, peeking out at them as if they’re suddenly the ones that scare them.  Guilt washes over the pair in waves, and they both look away, one scratching at his jaw while the other scuffs the floor with his boot.

“... I’m at a loss as t’what t’do with the kid,”   Kuro confesses, his voice a sheepish and culpable hybrid.   “I was just tryna help, but I guess I got it wrong.  I’m sorry.”

Cthugha scratches his neck, teeters between saying something and saying nothing at all.   “... maybe I was…  a little too harsh.”   Apologising is a monumental task to somebody who’s seldom had to do it before.  He may have been in Huron for close to a year at this point, but his reclusive habits still linger.  If ever he doesn’t have to speak to people, he won’t.  It saves him a lot of commiseration.   “Maybe you’re onto something.  Things aren’t exactly adding up.”

“Either way…”   The sheriff pauses to heave out a sigh before moving to his desk, reluctantly retrieving a file from the draw.   “I s’ppose our only option now is t’contact an orphanage over in Vide.”

Connor straightens up, then shakes his head furiously.   “Whoa–  no.  Don’t do that.”

“What else can I do?  I can’t leave a child without a roof over their head.”

“Just—  let me do it!”

Kuro falls still, then turns to face him with a furrowed brow.   “I can’t ask y’to do that.  Y’must know that.”

“Yer not askin’.  I’m volunteering.”

“This ain’t a community project, Mr. Vanton, this is a person.  It’s different.”

Connor circles the desk quickly, leaving Deko behind.  His hands meet the surface, his face pleading.   “Don’t y’think I know that?  That’s exactly why I’m askin’.”

He’s never been to Vide  -  not for leisure, anyway - but he recalls the things his daughter told him about the state of affairs over there.  The overt poverty;  the ruthless unrest;  the messy streets and the disadvantaged youths.  It was precisely why she’d wanted a career in working with children, and exactly the reason that Dawson had been perfect for her, too.

I want t’teach kids that’re strugglin’, daddy.  There’re so many in Vide. Can’t y’work closer t’home?  I’ll miss y’too much. They need me more than the kids here do.  I’ll visit often, I promise.

“Y’don’t know what yer doin’.  Kids in there, they don’t leave.”

“How d’y’know that?  Are y’an expert on Viddish systems all of a sudden?”

“Mia told him,”   Cthugha says, and the penny drops with such a sickening clink that Kuro feels nauseating guilt for the second time that day.   “Right?  Mia wanted to be a teacher, she was studying in Vide.”

“Yeah.  How did you…  y’know what, nevermind.”   He knows better than to question Cthugha at this point.  He has no idea how his time travel powers work–  and has barely come to accept that they even exist in the real world in the first place–  but he’s willing to guess that they have something to do with his uncanny knowledge.   “Yer gonna send them away anyway, aren’t you?  What’s the harm in me takin’ ‘em under my wing fer the meantime?”

“Is that really the best thing fer you?”

He hates to ask, but he has to.  It would be negligible if he didn’t.  Connor had barely left a mental institution but three months ago.  Is putting a child in his life–  a child that he could grow attached to and then subsequently have to let go–  really something that should be entertained?

“Look, I know this isn’t permanent.  ‘n’ I’m not–  I’m not tryin’ t’fill Mia’s void.  Nothing can do that.  She’s gone.  I know that.  I’ve made peace with it.”   His words shake almost as much as his arms do.  Admitting such a thing takes such herculean effort that he feels dizzy in its wake.   “But this is what she’d want, to help a kid who has nothin’.  That’s what she’d do.  That’s what she’d want us all t’do.”

“What about what you want?”

Both men turn to look at the rifter.  He looks milder than before, his disposition cool and calm.

“I just…  want t’help.  That’s it.  I want t’be useful again.  I’ve spent so long just…  rotting.  I’m finally well enough t’do things again and I want t’do them.  I can be of use to you, finally.  I know I can.”

Kuro sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair.  His pen goes takka-takka-tak as he fiddles with it, the gears in his brain turning rampantly.  There are several reasons as to why this is a bad idea, one that he should promptly shut the door on, the first of them being the ever-important detail that Connor is barely back on his feet after twenty years of unhealthy grieving.

But there are also several factors that make it the best option he has.

He already knows that the paperwork to set up such an arrangement would be horrendous, and that the process wouldn’t be immediate.  Connor also has ample experience with raising a child.  He did so on his own, without the presence of his wife to anchor him, and the reason that Mia is no longer with them has nothing to do with the quality of his parenting.  She’d been a gentle, sweet girl, whose only goal in life seemed to be making their districts all the more peaceful.  A girl with good values, with high morale and a positive attitude, and whose loss is felt by some to this day.

“I say let him,”   Cthugha says belatedly, looking quelled.

“Why d’y’say that?”

“Because.”   He looks at Connor, and he feels as if he’s being read like a book.   “He needs some purpose.  People are miserable without that.”   His gaze shifts to the sheriff, locks on unabashedly.   “You know all about that.”

Kuro flinches slightly, unprepared for such a statement.   “What does–”

“You’re going to send the kid away anyway, aren’t ya?  What’s the harm in Connor watching over them while we figure out where they actually belong?”

Kuro watches feebly as Deko sidles over, tottering until they’re beneath the flaps of Mr. Vanton’s coat.  They take shelter there much like a bird does, nuzzling their face into the denim of his pants like baby birds do their mother’s breast.

“We’ll figure it out,”   Cthugha assures with a sober nod.  He’s already convinced that he can crack the mystery, even if they’ve had very little luck so far.   “Connor can be instrumental to us.  He can earn their trust.  They might want to tell him something useful of their own volition.”

“We’re gonna leave it in a child’s hands?”   Kuro quizzes uncertainly.

“Think of it this way, big guy,”   Cthugha starts with a shrug.   “Wherever they came from, it couldn’t hold them.  Ya really think an orphanage in a negligent district is gonna be the secure safe haven ya think it is?  No way.  You mark my words, they’re gonna be back out there before ya know it, and then you’ll have a bigger problem on your hands.”

He thinks about that–  really thinks about it, until the sense in Cthugha’s words begins to seep into his own brain.  He doesn’t know what constitutes as “the dark”, but he’s certain that with enough investigation, he’ll find out  -  and when he does, he has the sneaking suspicion that he’ll be surprised that they escaped at all.

His heart beats dully in his temples, the beginnings of a migraine forming.  This is so far from protocol that he should be disgusted  by the notion of going through with it, but all he can think about is this young child stumbling blindly through districts they don’t know.  They’re incredibly lucky that the people they found were them and not more unsavoury characters.  Only Raku knows what might have become of them if they’d run east and wound up on Vide’s doorstep.

Traffickin’s rife there, I hear.

“... okay,”   he murmurs, rubbing his forehead gently.   “Yer right.  Yer right.  There’s no use shruggin’ ‘em off t’a place like Vide.  They’ll be screwed no matter what.  We’re outta options that don’t damn ‘em.”   The report he was on the cusp of filling out is tucked back into its appropriate draw, and he’s slightly ashamed to admit that he does so with some relief.  Vide may be improving, but not at a rate that he’s happy with;  not at a pace that makes him think it can safely accommodate a baby.   “But this is temporary.  Just until we find the information we’re lookin’ fer.”

“Thank you.”   It’s almost wheezed, Connor’s head bowing as if he’s been granted a million quers and not the burden of a dependent five year old.   “I understand.  I swear I’ll do it right.  ‘n’ anythin’ relevant t’yer investigation, I’ll give it t’you.”

Kuro groans softly as he massages his temples.

With this glaring breach of protocol, he now has a whole new headache to worry about.

[jougogo]

young & beautiful - iwaizumi hajime

a/n: hello. this broke me when i wrote it. literally, 3am and full on sobs. also, a large part of this fic was inspired by a book called hotel on the corner of bitter and sweet by jamie ford. it provides a lot of insightful views about japanese internment camps in the united states during wold war 2, so if you’re interested i would highly recommend reading it! this is a songfic to young and beautiful by lana del rey but i would recommend listening to summertime sadness as well, also by lana del rey. CLARIFICATION; this fic is set in the ww2 time period! and i like to think that iwa is a lil younger here, so maybe like 15-16? anyways ENJOY MWAH 

warnings: mentions of war, racist ppl >:( and v angsty!! 

wc: 2.1k

I've seen the world, done it all

Had my cake now

Diamonds, brilliant, in Bel-Air now

Hot summer nights, mid July

When you and I were forever wild

The crazy days, city lights

The way you'd play with me like a child

he knew that this would be the last time he sees you.

you. 

the same one wearing those new blue jeans even though it’s mid-july and the air is sickeningly humid, sitting with bare feet dangling over the edge of the rooftop at 4am, with hair softly rustling from the occasional cool breeze that made the hot california summers more bearable. 

"hey, i guess this is the last time we’ll meet on this rooftop, huh?" you said, looking out at the sleepy city.

"don't say that! you know it’s not true," he quickly chided you, but the break in his voice told you the opposite of what he was trying to convince you. what he tried to convince himself

hajime put his arm around your shoulders and sat down next to you

the two of you looked out peacefully at the quiet streets of san francisco from the top of your shared townhouse building. 

it was almost like little stars, the way that spots of brightness from the city lights were scattered sporadically through the darkness. 

"you know, if we get caught for being out this late at night, we would probably die. if the police catches us for not respecting the curfew, we would be in so much trouble. especially with the new relocation orders that the president signed, and the war hysteria, and not to mention the curfew that the government set-" he started, but was interrupted by your dreamy voice.

"i know. but i've seen the world. i've had my cake, you know ? i'm content if this is the way it ends, even if it's not me wearing diamonds and having a mansion in bel air, " you chuckled.

"hey! those were movies. they don't count as seeing the world. and also, diamonds and bel air? pfft, as if you could ever," he rebutted playfully. ever since he was a kid, he would always make it a point to take you downtown to the movie theatre and watch whatever happened to be playing that day. to be honest, he would've never stopped if it weren't for the war.

"oh, hajime. just let me dream a little, alright?" you huffed dramatically, earning a small smile from him.

the dim streetlights from the road provided just enough light to illuminated your features. oh, how he wished he could burn this memory into his mind forever. the way your eyes reflected the moon, the corner of your lips turned upwards just so slightly, a couple wisps of your hair framing your face with the rest pulled back into a lazy braid, held together by a single red ribbon. 

red.

the color red.

it brought him back to one of his favorite childhood memories; when the every neighborhood in their little japantown would come together to celebrate new years. 

the popping firecrackers, the festive lanterns and fiery signs hanging by the doors.

a time when he would explore the different stores, hand in hand with you, and later chasing you down the sloped streets for taking a bite out of the snack he bought. giggling as adults scolded them for being reckless and wild. his mouth watering as the women of the neighborhood carry out trays upon trays of delicious food, the feeling of present a warm meat bun in his hand, chimes of “itadakimasu” ringing around him. not a care in the world, just pure joy and happiness. it was always what he looked forward to as a child. 

oh, what he wouldn't give to go back to those days

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me when I got nothin' but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

"will you still love me when i'm not young and beautiful?" you asked softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. he felt your small fingers wrap around his, clasping his hand. "what if the next time i see you, i'm old and wrinkly like a raisin?"

"well, i'd be a wrinkly old raisin too. so what? it doesn’t make a difference in how much i love you, " he replied nonchalantly

"then will you still love me when i’ve got nothing left but my soul?" 

upon hearing you ask yet another question, hajime stiffened

"stop asking silly questions," he finally managed to mumble out, hugging his knees closer to his chest.

"you know. they force you to leave behind all your belongings. they take everything away, iwa-chan." you spoke softly. "i'm leaving behind all my important stuff at the basement of the panama hotel. they're really nice people, you know? for letting us keep our stuff there. maybe, if we both come back, they'll still be there and we can look through our old pictures together." you said quietly, twiddling your hair ribbon between your fingers. your hair was wavy from being in the braid all day, and now they were finally freed.

free. how he wished he could be free from all these restrictions again.

he tried to think about happier memories, but everything became painful as the realization dawned on him that he will lose everything. it was inevitable. the little grocery store around the corner owned by that old married couple his mom always talks to? they were escorted away weeks ago. the ice cream parlor he loved because they would always give him extra whipped cream for ordering in japanese? shut down by the government's order. he remembered the harsh words he had heard from a group of protesters when he biked past the golden gate park on his way to run an errand for his mother.

"all japanese are dangerous. they are traitors to the country,"

and that’s when he noticed their pointed glares at him.

“i was raised here! i’d never be a traitor!” he so desperately wanted to yell. but his body told him to keep pedaling away, as fast as he possibly can.

seeing people with these horrible prejudice against him, a stranger, even a kid whom they’ve never met, felt like a stab to the heart

but it also angered hajime to no end

it was the biggest lie he's ever heard. dangerous? that's not true. ok, maybe there were a few pervy geezers, but he knew that this community that he loved was anything but dangerous.

so why are they the one being punished?

he knew he would lose everything eventually. he just didn't think he'd lose the love of his life so soon.

her family had gotten the notice two days ago. 

"sacramento. and maybe oregon. probably washington, even idaho" you had told him.

somewhere far, far away from him

he had heard that the concentration camps, or "relocation centers," as the news had put it,

were cold. 

the images of concrete, barbed wire and cramped spaces, the stories of families working relentlessly from day to night only to be treated like prisoners, and the thought of sleeping on the freezing floors filled his mind. just thinking about it made him shudder, but the scariest thing was that he doesn't know when his family will be next

growing up, your family and the iwaizumis had been neighbors. he lived on the first floor, and you lived above him. the two of you had bonded over your parent’s chatting, and having each other for dinner was a common occurrence. his parents treated you as their own child, and your parents did the same with hajime. heck, no one would bat an eye if you announced that you were going to sleep over at his house because you two practically lived together. 

you were his first love. his best friend. every moment of his childhood, had been spent with you.

you were the ribbon that held him together through his messy life, and now he was losing you

overwhelmed, he could feel his throat began to tighten. his breathing became heavier as he tried to blink back the tears that welled in his dark green eyes.

"hey. you can cry on me, if you want." you comforted him. it was like you could read him like a book, because he frantically sputtered out an excuse

“what are you talking about? and also, to answer your dumb question, i'll love you no matter what. i don't care how long it takes, or what we look like, or-"

you hovered your finger above his lips, gently shushing him.

"i know you will, haji, i know that you will," you said softly as you caressed his cheek. he looked away, but he couldn’t help but choke out a sob

you patted his head and pulled him into a hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck. warm tears dampened the sleeve of your shirt.

"please. please. i don’t want you to leave," he mumbled into your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his messy black hair.

Dear Lord, when I get to heaven

Please, let me bring my man

When he comes, tell me that You'll let him in

Father, tell me if You can

All that grace, all that body

All that face makes me wanna party

He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

“maybe, one day we'll see each other again.” you said when he finally lifted his head. 

you stood up and held out your hand to him, an offer to help pull him up since he was probably sore from sitting for so long

however, he didn’t let go of your hand once he stood back up. 

“dance with me?” he asked, sniffling and wiping away the last tear.

you nodded, and he began to sway to the faint sound of jazz music coming from the nightclub a few blocks away. 

“hey, this is our swing dance routine from PE in 7th grade,” you smiled fondly at the memory as he twirled you around him, only to twirl you back into his arms. nodding in confirmation, he dipped you gracefully, his strong arms wrapped around your waist. 

that’s when he noticed the tear trickling down your cheek. it faintly sparkled in the moonlight, similar to how a diamond would.

“i’m going to miss you, hajime iwaizumi from the first floor. thank you for making me happy,” you whispered, looking up at him. he pulled you back up, and held you in his warm embrace. 

“even if we don't see each other again in this life, i'm sure i'll find you again. if you’re good, maybe i’ll see you in heaven. be good, haji. be good for me. promise?” you muttered into his chest before pulling away to look him in the eyes.

“no promises. you might have to beg god to let me in.”

“ok. i’ll see you in heaven, hajime,” you whispered, cupping his cheek

and that’s when you pulled him down for a kiss. it was a light, almost featherlike, brush across his lips. your elbows were resting on his shoulders, and your forearm crossed behind his neck. hajime leaned his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses just barely touching 

“can we stay like this, for a little while longer?” he asked breathily, still reeling in shock from his first kiss

“mhm. i love you, hajime.” you answered, gazing into his pretty green eyes as they fluttered open. 

in the distance, you could see that the had sun begun rising over the horizon, enveloping the two of you in the warm light of morning. you basked in the serene orange glow, admiring every feature of the beautiful boy in front of you. 

“i love you,”

he can’t wait to find you again.

tags!! @deadontheinsidebut (ilysm mwah ty for supporting me!!) @aka-a-shii (here you go i hope you enjoy bby!!!) @toshisgarden (mwah mwah ilysm)

[playsthetics]

The Signs as Born To Die Songs

(Check Sun, Rising & Venus)

💃🏻🐊👠🗽🎙🚬💔😢💋💅🏻🥀👙🥤💸💎

♈️Aries: Born To Die

“Come take a walk on the wild side

Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain

You like your girls insane

So choose your last words, this is the last time

'Cause you and I, we were born to die”

♉️Taurus: Video Games

“Open up a beer

And you say get over here and play a video game

I'm in his favorite sun dress

Watching me get undressed take that body downtown

I say you the bestest

Lean in for a big kiss put his favorite perfume on”

♊️Gemini: Diet Mountain Dew

“Maybe I like this roller coaster

Maybe it keeps me high

Maybe the speed it brings me closer

I could sparkle up your eye

Diet mountain dew, baby, New York City

Never was there ever a girl so pretty

Do you think we'll be in love forever?”

♋️Cancer: Blue Jeans

“You went out every night

And baby that's alright

I told you that no matter what you did I'd be by your side

Cause Ima ride or die

Whether you fail or fly

Well shit, at least you tried”

♌️Leo: Summertime Sadness

“I got my red dress on tonight

Dancin' in the dark in the pale moonlight

Done my hair up real big, beauty queen style

High heels off, I'm feelin' alive

Oh my God, I feel it in the air

Telephone wires above

Are sizzlin' like a snare

Honey I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere

Nothin' scares me anymore”

♍️Virgo: Million Dollar Man

“One for the money, two for the show

I love you honey, I'm ready, I'm ready to go

How did you get that way, I don't know

You're screwed up and brilliant

And look like a million dollar man

So why is my heart broke”

♎️Libra: Carmen

“The boys, the girls, they all like Carmen

She gives them butterflies, bats her cartoon eyes

She laughs like God, her mind's like a diamond

Buy her tonight, she's still shining

Like lightning, oh, like lightning”

♏️Scorpio: Dark Paradise

“And there's no remedy for memory your face

Is like a melody, it won't leave my head

Your soul is hunting me and telling me

That everything is fine

But I wish I was dead

Every time I close my eyes

It's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side”

♐️Sagittarius: Off To The Races

“And I'm off to the races, cases

Of Bacardi chasers

Chasing me all over town

'Cause he knows I'm wasted,

Facing time again at Riker's Island

And I won't get out

Because I'm crazy, baby

I need you to come here and save me

I'm your little scarlet starlet

Singing in the garden

Kiss me on my open mouth

Ready for you”

♑️Capricorn: National Anthem

“Money is the anthem of success

So put on mascara, and your party dress

I'm your National Anthem, boy put your hands up, give me a standing ovation

Boy you have landed, babe in the land of, sweetness and danger, queen of Saigon”

♒️Aquarius: This Is What Makes Us Girls

“Remember how we used to party up all night?

Sneaking out and looking for a taste of real life

Drinking in the small town firelight

(Pabst Blue Ribbon on ice)

Sweet sixteen, and we had arrived

Walking down the streets as they whistle, "Hi, hi!"

Stealin' police cars with the senior guys

Teachers said we'd never make it out alive”

♓️Pisces: Radio

“Now my life is sweet like cinnamon

Like a fucking dream I'm living in

Baby love me cause I'm playing on the radio

(How do you like me now?)

Pick me up and take me like a vitamin

'Cause my body's sweet like sugar venom oh yeah

Baby love me cause I'm playing on the radio

(How do you like me now?)”

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Two: College

Day One -- Masterpost -- Day Three

Cottony clouds drifted high in the bright blue sky while two observers watched them go. One was a young girl, the other a man about twenty years her senior. She had light brown hair, grass green eyes and hundreds of freckles on her round face and skinny arms. He had dark, reddish brown hair, olive green eyes and a chin strap of a beard covering his strong jaw. Despite the difference in age, the two of them were absolutely covered in grass and dirt stains as well as leaves and straw. They both were letting loose the slow breaths of people who had done a lot of work and were now taking a moment to rest on the porch of the farmhouse. Half full glasses of lemonade sat between them, condensation gathering around where the cold liquid still remained. 

Lindsey had missed being able to spend time with Verdei. It seemed like he had less and less time to spend with her as she got older. It was the same with her other, blood related siblings but she was especially sad when it came to him. Verd didn’t have any other family. It wasn’t fair that life and work had to take him away so often. Why couldn’t adults be able to have more days like today? By herself, gardening would have just been a chore. With him the chore became a competition, and then a game, and then jokes about the game and a chase with hands full of mud and--

Her smile faded as she realized that days like today would be less and less common as she grew older. Already, it was hard to remember how long it had been since she’d last had so much fun with her family, much less the few friends she had at school. Her dad was getting older, and the farm wasn’t doing as well as it used to. One day it’d be just her and Arlen running the farm while Thomas worked at the general store and Verdei would still be the lone law enforcement in town and Olivia-- “Looks like some expensive thoughts churning in there, Linds. Care to share?” 

She startled and turned to look at her adopted brother. He was still smiling, but in that tight way that showed off the wrinkles that he’d been developing for years now. Lindsey’s staring had softened his expression, but she still knew he was worried. All of her siblings worried about her. It’d be annoying if it wasn’t so sweet. “Dunno about expensive thoughts.” She shrugged. “Just...a lot of them.”

“It’s too nice a day for a storm to go brewing in that lil head’ve yours.” Verd reached over and poked at her temple. “Let’s have at’m. I can take a hit or seven.”

With an eye roll, Lindsey took a moment to go back to what she was thinking about before she’d gotten side tracked. “I was thinking about what we’ll all be doing in the future.” She turned away from him in favor of looking back up at the clouds. 

“Same thing we’re doin’ now I reckon.” He picked up his glass and slowly brought it to his lips. “Farmin’. Gardenin’. Sittin’ on the porch enjoyin’ a summer day. Not much else to do round these parts. Just like I like it.” Verdei tipped the glass back to take a drink.

Lindsey made a hum as she processed this. Olivia always seemed like she was doing something different all the time at her place in the city. Every time her older sister came back, she had some story about an encounter or an activity she’d done while living in the city. Some of her most interesting ones were even from when she’d first gone away to school--around the time that Lindsey had been a baby. Next to the usual bedtime stories, the tales of Olivia dealing with the strange world of the city had been the girl’s favorites growing up. And when Verd started visiting the city himself, Lindsey had begged him for any and all information about it. She’d even wanted to run away to the city a few times when she was little. Dad hadn’t let her, saying that first she needed to--

“Did you ever think about going to college?” She blurted.

Instead of an answer there was a choking sound. Lindsey turned her head in time to watch Verd spit out what must have been most of what was left of his lemonade. He coughed several times and she quickly moved over to pat his back, almost spilling her own drink in the process. Once the mini crisis was over, he gave her the most confused expression. “What??” 

“Did you ever think about going to college?” She repeated. “You know, living in the city and stuff.”

Verdei scratched at his scalp, displacing his worn cowboy hat. “Not really.” He shrugged. “Had ta get my GED cuz I dropped outta high school. Even then I didn’t wanna leave. Still don’t.” He looked away, his eyes drawn to the clouds much like hers had been. “I love it out here. The people can suck, but I’ll never feel at home in the city.” 

Something about his distant expression reminded Lindsey of a horse. A wild one that desired nothing but land clear of fences and people. It was yet another reminder that one day he could go off into the wilderness and never come back. A shudder went through her body at the thought. Maybe she wasn’t ready to let Verd know about everything she was thinking about. Especially if it brought him any closer to leaving for good.

“Not sure you’d feel at home there either, kid, but if ya wanna try out that life when you’re a lil older I’m sure Liv’ll put you up.” He shrugged again, his full attention going back to his adoptive sister. “You should give life here a few more years before you try it, though. You’re only what, ten?” Verd gave a grin. It wasn’t nearly as wide as his happier ones, but at least he was trying.

Like usual, she went along with the joke even though he knew full well how old she was. There would be time to talk more about growing up and life later. When Lindsey was ready to handle it. She was sure of it. “Thirteen, you dummy.”

He put a hand over his heart in mock shock. “Aw shucks, you’re right. I keep forgettin’ you’re growin’ up fast. You’re definitely way smarter than I was at your age so maybe you can get into that college bullsh--uh I mean nonsense.”

Lindsey giggled at his self censoring. She’d heard that word and worse in her life, but he still tried so hard to keep his mouth clean around her. Picking up her lemonade, she put it in Verd’s hands. “Here, a reward for cheering me up.”

“Well gosh, this’s indeed a fine reward.” Verdei downed the sweet liquid in one gulp. Leaving the glass on the porch, he swung himself up into a standing position. “Alright, enough’ve all this talk. Garden’s done, so now we oughta check in on Arlen and see what he’s got for us.” 

She hopped after him. “Don’t you have police work you need to be doing?” 

“Eh, it’s Sunday. Nothin’ happens on Sunday. Now c’mon! Unless you *want* a rematch of that mud fight we had earlier?”

“No, but I’d win that one too!” She laughed as she followed him.

[birthdaylobotomy]

I Took It And I Ran

WIP                                                                                                                      Currently still very much in progress. However, I wanted to share this! 

CONTENT WARNING: Alcohol, drug use, violence, sexist/sexual language. In later parts there will be suicidal ideation, self harm, prostitution, sexual abuse,  homophobia and racist language among other thing. 

I do not share many of the ideologies my main character does. Remember- you are seeing this through the eyes of an angry kid in the early 90s. He says many things that are, in general, very bitter. 

@sec-lude, @misfitwings, @cohldhands, @smoke-the-woke and anyone else who wants to be put on/taken off the tag list let me know!!

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!!

CHAPTER ONE (Part One)

The first time I met Luke, I was at that house party Monica was throwing for her ugly friend Brittney. I don’t remember all of the details, mostly because I was completely and irreversibly hammered. I just know Britt was sad about something, probably her baby daddy not paying his support- he never did- and Monica, who knew everybody up and down the block, decided to throw a party. What can I say? Monica was great at making people forget their woes, until the next day and pounding hangover, of course. Monica, pretty Monica.

I remember the scene at least, the setup. Assad was ranting off to me about some dumb shit I didn’t care about, but I had to pretend to care because as long as he thought we were friends, I would get my weed cheap. Was I manipulative? Oh, for sure, but I didn’t care back then. I didn’t care about anyone.

“This bitch was all over me, I swear,” he sighed, doing the thing he always did, which was tug at my shoulder twice and clap his hands together when he caught my glare. “But, but, I knew I had a girlfriend. She knew too!”

I had already checked myself out mentally from what he was saying. It was always the same shit anyways. He would be dealing to a girl, and she would have no money, “No nothin’ but her body, and damn was her body rich!” And Assad, poor Assad, would be faced with the trial of either going ahead and having the fuck of his life, or staying loyal to his baby. His baby that he sure had the habit of cheating on.

“Yeah, yeah, this bitch- oh!” He cringed his face tight and smacked his hands together twice. “Her ass was so fucking fat, I almost had a- a seizure, just lookin’! My baby can’t find out, she won’t. I won’t let her.”

I nodded twice. I hated men who cheat, I still do. They are scumbags who deserve to be found out. Assad was no exception.

The party was packed. Monica’s parties usually were. Over 100 shady people, all squeezed into one tiny apartment. People who I had never seen, who’s scent I hadn’t even smelled yet. Everyone knew Monica though. If they hadn’t fucked her or her sister, then their boyfriend had. Despite this, everyone loved her.

The room stunk, and that was coming from a smelly punk who lived in early 90’s Detroit. Even my roomates, a former prostitute and her shithead boyfriend, smelled like a flower shop compared to the mess of people I was in. Assad didn’t seem to notice- he must’ve been high off his ass. His skin gleamed with sweat, and his afro seemed to be weighed down with gunks of stale perspiration. He wiped his face a few times and licked his lips constantly.

“Fuck, man,” Assad groaned, giving one last tug at my shoulder before swinging his head in the other direction. “I gotta go. Monica’s parties always end with someone either gettin’ cursed or killed or pregnant. I gotta go.”

I made no attempt to keep him at that party. Instead, I nodded in support of the concept. “Listen, man, if you need to leave, leave. I definitely wouldn’t blame ya,” I said, gesturing of the swarm of drunk criminals that buzzed everywhere I could see.

He bobbed his head three times, each time slower than the former. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take care, white boy.” I sighed at his awkward goodbye- was it well meaning or an attempt at insult? I would never know or care. I nearly shoved him away, which I disguised with a rough pat on the back, and Assad quickly vanished into the crowd of rats.

Since I was alone, I decided now would probably be my only chance at a cigarette until some other phony friend would find it to be the right time to attack me with their personal crisis.

So, with nothing but a cheap pack a cigarettes and a half empty bottle of warm beer, I escape from the soup of musty kids and into the lukewarm night.

It was such a blessed night. And chilly, too. The raggedy holes in beat-up jeans soaked in the cold and made the skin on my knees prickle up underneath. I kept swinging around the bottle, my arm rubber, as I chucked it out into the street. Even my swaying, drunk eyes could see the glass explode like fireworks.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t even realize just how freezing it was until the vapor rose out of my mouth, like smoke from a dragon. I rubbed my hands against my naked arms and cursed the invention of wife-beaters.

I was mad. I had been for a long time, for a lot of different reasons. The most recent fuel to my fire was the fact that I had fallen bitterly in love with Monica. The queen of whores, sitting on a throne of the men she had fucked and left in the dirt. Pretty Monica, with her cherry red lips and big brown hair, her perky tits and squeaky voice.

I dug a cigarette out of my pocket. I didn’t know a single guy that wouldn’t get a hard on when Monica would wiggle her way into a room, spill a few tacky flirts and wiggle right back out. Something about her left guys, even ones who were damn well smart enough to know she was nothing more than polite slut, drooling after her and her tight little-

I couldn’t find my fucking lighter. My dead old jeans were ripped right through as I forced my hand through my pocket. It came out on the other side, the hole shredded and unfixable. I completely stopped for a long minute. My favorite pair of pants, torn but not in a way I could frame as being some punk bullshit.

“Oh, fuck off!” I grabbed whatever my hands could snatch- a nearly empty pack of smokes- and I flung it as hard as I could muster into the sidewalk. A few wandering crackheads were the only ones to notice as I stamped my heart out against the pack. Up and down I threw myself, until the pack was nothing but a flat stomped out pile of tobacco crumbs and mashed paper.

I stared at the ground. A pile of mediocre cigs, wasted.

Why was I so angry back then? I knew it was just more than Monica. I knew it, but it would have taken a gun or war to make me admit what it really was.

This block was a rough one. Buggy eyed homeless people, all high on dope and some other shit would always come swaying around corners, like feral dogs waiting to bite. Just walking to Monica’s apartment, only seven o’ clock, made me paranoid. The city was going through a great death those days. The auto industry had fled, racial tensions were so strung that you could cut them with a knife. I think everyone was angry, waiting to burst.

I stood there like some kind of scarecrow. I had no cigarettes and no beer. No knife either. As the sound of police sirens acted as a distant lullabye, I was reminded of that. I had left my blade at the apartment. I always did when I came to Monica’s place. The why was really dumb, but I just told anyone who would ask that if Gloria, my roommate, ever got into shit with her scumbag boyfriend, that my blade would save her life. Now that I think of it, she never used that blade, not once in her short life.

That’s when I saw- no, heard first- a man who I would come to know as Luke Evans.

It started with the pounding of his feet- an anthem against the black tar. I heard his sneakers slapping against the earth before I saw him. And when I saw him, I saw all of him.

His feet were a blur, he was running faster than anyone I had ever seen before- you know, if he had for whatever reason changed his life and poured his being into being some trackstar, he would have left Bolt in the dust.

His face- his face was filled with some primordial fear, something out of a nature documentary. His eyes distant but near, wide wide open but closed tight shut, peering. He bounced up and down as his feet touched and released the ground, and he sported an oversized jacket- like a little kid trying out his dad’s old coat. He sprinted with his arms, pumping almost as quickly as his legs did. When I made him out I stopped breathing. I wasn’t afraid of him. I don’t why I wasn’t, but for some reason, I immediately felt the urge to guard him from whatever beast he was escaping.

He ran straight, right through the center of the street. I was to his left- probably just a blur, a small mark on a large map of shadowy, red-brick row homes. But to me, Luke was something like an asteroid. A comet.

Ten more seconds. In a wild racing screech, blared honking and two blinding lights- the beast was revealed.

A truck, torn inside and out with big blocky bullet-holes, shredded to the point it could barely even be called a vehicle. What monsters in human bodies could have destroyed something so thoroughly? I began to sweat as it all came closer. Monsters that lived in each and every apartment as far as I could see.

This is when I, a twenty one year old child, brimming with rage and lust and depression, saw a decision, that I seemed destined from the day I was born to make. I saw the option more clearly that I had seen anything else up to that point. I could save this stranger, who had done something, something big and bad enough to cause that chase, and that anger. Or I could save myself. I could allow myself to continue this existence of standing to the side and nodding to get what I want. A life of putting in no effort, no care, no risk of change. A life that would keep me safe but miserable.

Of course, in that moment, it wasn’t laid out like that- I didn’t think of it that way. However, even young and dumb me knew I needed to do something.

So, in one of my few moments of selfless risk, I made the choice to save him.

It was swift- the flash of my arm thrusting out, the smudge of the darkness and Luke becoming one thing, and, of course, the look. The look we traded as this happened, as he had finally passed me on the street and I, a formerly minor distraction on the sideline, became a central figure. In that moment, I made myself almost as important as the car, with its headlights licking Luke’s heels.

As he looked at me, I swear to this day his baby blue eyes held no fear. He was confused, as anyone would be in that moment- but he wasn’t scared, at least not of me. I don’t know why.

I wonder what I looked like to him. He would never tell me. Maybe a hero. I like to think that at the very least. I fantasize and tell myself I had a manly shine and glimmer, my eyes determined and my mouth a fine line of focus. I wish I had asked him.

But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking of me. I wasn’t really thinking about Luke either, truthfully. In reality, I was thinking about the car.

The car, which screeched as it came closer, closer, a giant hulking monster that would kill me in an instant if I refused to move any longer. I sprang, my legs weak and bouncy but strong. Strong enough to leap across the small plot of grass in front of the building, my arm a leash and Luke barely connected. I spotted the bush- the bush that all of Monica’s drunk boyfriends would piss in, littered with cigarette butts and and wrappers and whatever other shit people would be too lazy to actually dispose of.

In that moment, that nasty fucking bush was a paradise- something sent from God himself to rescue me and this beautiful blonde criminal attached to my arm. I threw myself fully into it, the thin twigs popping and crackling as they snapped around us. Everything was so fast, so urgent, that the moment we sat the world came to jolting halt.

Silence.

We were as silent as two panting, terrified children could be. I could only hear the sounds of our bodies and the city then- the constant warning of police and their wail, the close hum of the party in the building right against the shrubbery, and the car. The car, wheezing and sputtering like an old man. Its engine coughed and spat below the hood. I could hear shouting- what did they say? They sounded angry, and dangerous. I put my hand instinctively over my mouth, and I tried to slow my breathing one trembling huff at a time. My eyes couldn’t help but stray to the person inches away from me.

The light of the car moved slow, slow. It winked at us, walked across our bodies, the shadows of the leaves that crossed us looking like spots of black against our persons. The glint was too powerful and in a moment of impulse, I turned my face. I saw Luke, not move, not even blink. The light gave him a holy glow, a halo. He did not look at me. He looked only at the truck.

It seemed to last a million years. When finally the shouting stopped, I heard something like a mumble, and then the tires screamed against the street, and the truck sped off and away.

Neither Luke nor I moved for a full thirty seconds. Nothing. The car was gone- it was truly gone. I had been the first to hint at our safety; I looked at him and couldn't help but smile, big, goofy and relieved. Out of the corner of his eye he assessed me cautiously, before finally turning to face me fully for the first time. When he did, the corner of his mouth was a boyish grin.

Even in the hidden darkness, his eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. I could make out his dimples that shined through his babyish cheeks. There was something so alien about that youth, and those eyes. I couldn’t help but feel myself fall in an exhausted but hearty laugh. And he started laughing too, and I remember so cleanly both us giggling and sobbing with this brilliant feeling of ease.

When we eventually were became too sore to keep dying over nothing, we fell quiet again. I noticed Luke move his head side to side, as if he were searching for something. I could only see the darkness of his silhouette. I looked at only him.

“This bush smells like urine,” he said. That brought me back to a level of reality. It did smell like piss- and drugs. And whatever nasty shit people has dumped into it.

“Fuck, let’s get out then.”

“Okay.” Both of us moved at once- Luke, not drunk like me, popped up out of the bush with a flurry of broken and dry leaves. He yanked me up without me having to ask. We both stood there, very close, the brier scratching at our waists. It took my slightly intoxicated sway to get us moving again.

When we were back in the clear, Luke looked over up and down the streets as he yanked up his pants and held his huge jacket closed. He didn’t explain anything, but instead looked to me and nodded with gratefulness. “Thanks, man. Really.” I told him no worries, and picked a few thorns out of my knees. “What’s your name?”

My head jerked up. This was the crossing of a great bridge. I hid my happiness by raking my hand through my mess of hair. “Ryder. You?”

With one hand clutching his jacket, he stuck out a small, twig-sliced hand. “Lucas Evans. My friends prefer Luke, though.”

Did I plan it? Did I do it on purpose? I like to think I didn’t, and that I either was too stupid to realize it- which is much more likely- or that it was fate somehow. The idea of me doing it consciously makes me cringe.

“Alrighty, Luke...We should probably go inside.” Without hesitation, I took and shook his offered hand.

And in that moment, I didn’t just cross the bridge, but I flew across it, not even thinking to look back. Just by changing a few minor letters and shedding an S this person, who I barely knew but had still saved, went from being a complete stranger who owed me to a friend.

I saw him look to the ground in- in what? In pleasure, embarrassment, childish joy? But when he looked back up his dimples dotted his cheeks grandly.

“You’re right. I don’t-” He peaked over his shoulder again, scratching the back of his head, “I don’t think it would be all that smart of me to go back into those streets.”

“No kiddin’,” I said, leading the way back to Monica’s cluttered party. “If you just stay here for a bit you’ll be fine.”

When I opened the door I was hit with pounding, pungent reminder of why I left in the first place. Girls caked with makeup and sweat, greasy punk boys shedding their shirts to try impress someone, anyone. I let out a heave of a sigh and turned to Luke with a flip-flopped expression. “Just so you know, be weary of everyone here. They aren’t good people.”

[whobobreviewsstuff]

Review: Breaking Bad Season 1 Episode 6 - Crazy Handful of Nothin' (SPOILERS)

S1E6: Crazy Handful of Nothin'

Written by George Mastras

Directed by Bronwen Hughes

Tuco! The crazy meth distributor finally arrived in this season along with couple of more wild stuff about this episode. We are in for a ride.

The show started off pretty explosive but later took its time to flesh out its cast and the world of itself. Now we see an episode that paid off what Walt can accomplish as being a meth dealer. Not shocking this is the episode that started the fire cuz it's the penultimate episode of this first season but really everything is accomplished in this episode.

First introduction of Tuco and he couldn't have gotten a stronger start. Walt being unsatisfied with his start up to meth business, he wants Jesse to get another dealer to sell the product properly. And Jesse being Jesse, he doesn't want to go in a Scarface direction. Despite never seeing the movie, I already know how this is gonna go. We see Tuco being a complete mad man. A meth distributor who goes more violent than he is once he starts sniffing meth. He is pretty over the top and that's how you sell him as a character. Him beating up Jesse after Jesse wanting to get the cash upfront was just cruel, you see how much of a threat he is that shouldn't be messed with. And we'll go back to him later because what Walt does in the end is crazy.

In this episode, we also see some rapid changes in Walt and it's not just his looks that changes. His crimes are catching up to him fast and how he gets away with it is interesting. We are introduced to a character named Hugo who cleans up the school and we see him being really supportive of Walt after him spending a lot time in the bathroom vomiting. And thanks to Walt, he pays the price for Walt stealing chemical equipments in the school lab storage. Walt gets away easily whereas Hugo gets arrested for something he did not go. What's unfortunate is that he did do crimes before and he was an addict but he actually pulled his life together until Hank got a hold of him. This also highlights how corrupt polices are. Hugo is a minority and Hank takes that to his advantage and arrests him for accusing him of stealing shit and cooking meth. After how Walt (unintentionally) makes the wrong person get arrested for his crimes, he starts getting even better at telling lies. I love the poker scene in this episode, it highlights how great Walt is at bluffing which causes Hank to lose the game despite having much better cards than Walt. It's real something. And here we see Walt growing a pair of balls after he sees Jesse lying down in the hospital. Of course, Walt goes back to Tuco's place to get revenge on Jesse after how Tuco beated him up but still we know what Walt's motivations are, wanting that sweet cash. He gives himself a new look, a scarier look and he finally gives himself an alias, Heisenberg. And he just cuts to the chase of wanting the money Tuco stole from him and Jesse as well as extra cash for Jesse's medical payments. The epispode builds up to this climax which pays off so well. It's cool to see Walt cooking something other than a meth and him using that as an advantage of taking down Tuco. Tuco, for being such a maniac, is impressed with Walt's skills and hires him. Walt cheers up for getting the cash. And rest is history. He starts being transioning into his alter ago, Heisenberg. And nothing can stop him.

This episode was really crazy and thrilling. Tuco gets an awesome and yet a scary introduction, Walt gets more into the criminal underworld and people pay the price. Really amazing episode that convinces people that this show makes no bullshit, it's a compelling and thrilling series that deserves the love it has gotten.

Grade: 10/10

[redvsvblue]

choo choo it's the pain train can i get uhhhh "I don’t love you" jeremwood

Fuck you! Here! 

(But also thank you for the prompt and I hope you like it!) 

It’s an easy job.It’s a quick job, which iswhat makes it easy in thefirst place, and it’s whyGeoff only sent two of them out.

Gasstation, in and out, get a few unmarked bills to buy a few illegalguns. Simple. Fast. Standard.

Well,it was supposed to be.

“Whatthe fuck is this?” Jeremy whispers, hands up and trembling and hiseyes aren’t even on the gun pointed at his head – no, they’reon Ryan, on the otherside of the pistol, his expression carefully blank except for the oddshining in his eyes. “Ryan, what the fuck – ”

“Shutup,” Ryan says quietly. He clicks the safety off. “On yourknees.”

– 

Itstarted with the Fakes. Back when they were only four people, pullingannoyingly grand heists and shaking off the cops every time infrustrating chases, unfairlyrich and stupidly cocky.

“You’llbe going undercover,” the chief had said, thrusting folders intothe hands of Officers Free and Haywood. “Separately.You don’t know each other.”

“Howlong, sir?” Ryan had asked, spying the slight tremble of Gavin’sfingers on the edge of the manila.

“Howeverlong it takes,” the chief had replied, stern. “You got families?Friends? I’d tell them you’re going out of town for a while.”

“Sir,it’s my mother’s birthday – ”

“I’msorry, Free, but we can’t wait any longer. I’ll send on yourwishes.”

Ryanthumbed at the corner of his folder, sucking in a breath before heopens it.  

The Vagabond.

Mercenary.Brutal. Rich. Criminal.

Nothingthat Ryan was.

“Sir,you want us to infiltrate the Fakes?” Ryan asked. Thechief had nodded, a grim silence settling over his features.

“Itcould take months,” he said.

“Years?”Gavin had whispered.

“Ifnecessary,” the chief had said. “However, we don’t foresee ittaking more than twelve months, based off our data on their other newrecruits. As long as you keep a low profile, you should mix with themin no time.”

“Yessir,”they said.

– 

Lowprofile went out the window almost as soon as they joined.

Jeremyleans out and shoots another firework at the cops as Ryan drives,struggling to keep the car straight with the bullets ricochetingaround them, yelling when it bucks up only to crash back down on fourwheels, shuddering mightilywith the force, sending themboth flying in their seats. No seatbelts, of course, becausecriminals apparently don’t wear those.

Ryankeeps his foot flat on the pedal, though, not slowing despite thebumps and racing right to thecorner, trying his best to remember Jack’s wild fucking escape planwhile Jeremy keeps their tail at bay – Ryan yanks the wheel to theright and realises too late that’ll send Jeremy right into a brickwall – before they can scrape it, Ryan reaches out and fistsa hand in Jeremy’s jacket to bodilytug Jeremy back in the car, hurriedly straightening out to continuedriving down the pavement, half on the road and half not, whileJeremy stares at him, wide-eyed.  

“Thanks,”he says, panting hard as he glances back. “Jeez, I would’ve beena fucking smear.”

“Yeah,”Ryan answers gruffly, planting both his hands on the wheel.

Achopper appears above them, a blastof gatling gunfire suddenly raining down around them – Jeremy jumpsand Ryan bites out a sigh, peering around the Vinewood streets beforehe gets an idea.

Ryansits back, tosses a grin at Jeremy.

“Holdon,” he says, and veers sharplyoff the road to force the car up the mountain instead – Jeremyyelps and only barely manages to stop his head bashing right into theroof, but his delighted laugh rings through anyway.

“You’refuckin’ crazy,”Jeremy calls to him while they’re bumping over the hills, the carkicking up gravel and dust with each spin of the wheels.

“Don’tcall me mad for nothin’,” Ryan replies, and over his comm hearsGavin and Michael start another wild, fiery chase.

– 

“Whothe fuck are you?”Jeremy hisses.

“Isaid, on your knees,” Ryan says calmly, firmly, his arm steady nomatter how much he wants to shake. “Hands behind your head. Slow.”

“Idon’t believe you.”

“Thecops’ll be here in eight minutes,” Ryan says, each word slippingout almost numbly. Routine. “You either obey me or them.”

Jeremy’seyes stay fixed on Ryan, wide and – and hurt,if Ryan focuses, but he doesn’t.

He’sgot a job to do.

It’swhat he tells himself.

Heknows somewhere across the city, Gavin’s holding up a warehouse ofFakes.

– 

Gavinseems to fit in almost as seamlessly as Ryan does, after a while.He’s rowdy, and fun, and ridiculous,and those traits carry over in crime about as well as they do inpolice work – that is to say, not well at all. But Michael seems tolike it well enough, bonded to Gavin like glue after only a couplemonths.

Ryansettles in, too, in his own way – his persona is more detached,more isolated, so it’s easier for him to keep his distance. But hecan’t seem to shake the friendliness of the Fakes; Geoff’s warmsmile in the mornings, Jack’s easy amicability in the late nights,Michael’s special brand of humour that bounces well off of Ryan’sown, Jeremy – well, just Jeremy.

Ryanalmost forgets, in those few months, thathe’s there for a job.

– 

“Whatabout the others?” Jeremy says, asks, still not getting on hisknees.

“OfficerFree is taking care of them,” Ryan answers through gritted teeth.

“Gavin?”Jeremy breathes, disbelieving. Ryan nods. Gestures to the groundagain with his gun.

“Onyour knees,” he says, and this time Jeremy obeys, sinking slowly tohis knees.

“Undercover,”Jeremy says.

Ryannods again.

“Youwere lying. This whole fuckin’ time.”

“Notabout everything.”

– 

Itwas so easy with Jeremy, was the thing. Bright and beautiful andboisterous and it wasn’t hardfor Ryan to befriend him – and a little more, too.

It’salways too easy, with these sort of things, Ryan thinks. Far tooeasy, but he’s a weak man and Jeremy kisses like he’s drowningand Ryan’s a weak, pathetic excuse for a fucking narc.

Hereally forgets it, then, when he’s tangled up with Jeremy andbreathing soft affections into his skin that bounce right back to himin Jeremy’s lovely timbre. Persuasive. Confident.

Itonly takes seven months for the I love youto slip out, and for once, Ryan doesn’t regret saying it, not whenJeremy breaks into the happiest smile he’s ever seen and drags himin to repeat it back in anintimate whisper against Ryan’s lips.

– 

“You’reunder arrest,” Ryan says, forces the words through a throat asthick as oatmeal. “You have the right to remain silent.

It’slike pulling barbed wire right outof his windpipe.

“Anythingyou say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Jeremyjust stares at him.

“Youhave the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorneypresent during any questioning,” Ryan finishes, and he immediatelywants to take it all back, call off the sting, call off the cops,anything to erase theutter hurt written all over Jeremy’s face.

Thesirens are close.

“Yousaid you loved me,” Jeremy whispers, broken, pitiful, nothing thatRyan wants to use against him in a court of law.

Still,he steels himself. Hears cars screech up outside.

“Idon’t love you,” Ryan says, although his voice is thin as threadand just as wavering, his vision blurring a little around the edgesas the doors bust open behind him and cops rush in around him to cuffJeremy, wrenching his arms behind his shoulders with the Mirandarights, Jeremy’s watery eyes still fixed on Ryan’s like he’llfind an answer there, a reason, an excuse, anything that’s notthis.

“C’mon,we’ll put him with the rest,” the cop says, forcing Jeremy to hisfeet. Ryan lowers his gun, looks away as he thumbs the safety backon.

Jeremyducks his head and they lead him right past Ryan.

Ryanpauses for a moment to clear his vision, rubbing a thumb in thecorners of his eyes before gulping in a breath and turning on hisheel to walk outside. There’s two SWAT vans there, black andimposing against the night sky. The second one slams shut behindJeremy just as Ryan approaches Gavin, standing outside a patrol carand looking forlornly at the other van.

“What’sthat?” Ryan asks, gesturing to Gavin’s closed fist, a silverchain leaking out between his fingers. Gavin swallows and tears hisgaze from the van to look down, opening his fingers to show Ryan asmall, pixellated diamond charm.

“Threwit right in my bloody face,” he says, trying for a joke and failingmiserably. “S’ppose it’s evidence, now.”

Ryanreaches forward before Gavin can move, gently curling his fingersback over Michael’s charm. Gavin’s still wearing the pair.

“Notif they don’t know about it,” he says. Gavin glances up at him,his eyes shinier than they should be, and Ryan squeezes his fist.

Asort of quiet understanding seems to pass between them, somethingabout self-broken hearts and lost chances, and Gavin sniffles oncebefore nodding and pocketing the charm instead. 

[extrxmegxnius]

//Closed starter for @questionablemalice!

The drop-off site B had chosen sat in the back of a dark, disused alley tucked away in the heart of Los Angeles. This would not have been the first time he had been involved in this sort of thing; indeed he had come to places like these plenty of times into the dozens, and this day like any other he was prepared for a quiet and speedy transaction for an assortment of illegal substances, as well as one specialty item. Awaiting his fence at the back of the alleyway, he stood with his back against a wall, eyes shut, with hands resting nonchalantly in his pockets as he listened to the world live on around him. Cars passed by, sirens blared in the distance, and the hooker he’d passed by screamed as her mugger pulled the trigger after finding her devoid of much-needed cash -- right on time.

All went quiet after the altercation and B wondered who might be brave enough to step out to examine the body and call the police, but as he realized the fence was running ten minutes behind schedule, his focus returned to the task at hand. He wasn’t particularly troubled by this, but an inconvenience was an inconvenience, and he would make a point to bring it up when the man arrived.

B opened his eyes slowly to adjust to a nightly darkness only a tad brighter than when his eyes were closed, and without warning his left ear had suddenly jerked from a resting position. He turned his head toward the noise, a streamlined sound of sorts like a light object cutting through the air, to find exactly what he thought he heard. A moderately sized paper airplane made of a larger than standard sheet of printing paper had hit the wall behind him and fallen to the ground at his left, but before he would move to pick it up, he inspected its trajectory. It had to have come from somewhere higher than ground-level, and it hadn’t traveled in a straight line -- from the top of a building, perhaps the one just across the street? His eyes darted directly to a higher set of windows, and then to the roof where he had caught a glimpse of the culprit -- a thin-looking young woman with blonde hair that just barely stood out in the darkness, looking directly at him through a pair of small binoculars. She had only stayed long enough to find her plane, and had evidently not seen B, who had donned a black outfit that evening. Normally something like this would not have piqued his interest, but there was a faint scent coming from below that struck him as somewhat odd. While she was out of sight for the time being, B picked up her paper plane to give it a once-over, unfolding meticulously crafted wings and tip to release a sweet rose noted perfume.

    “Huh. Now, why would a girl go through the trouble of making this only to release it in a place like this?”

One possibility was that the plane doubled as a love letter intended for someone to find, but the paper was completely blank, and aside from that no young, love-stricken girl would be flying love notes out of some old, miscellaneous building in this area. This development left quite a bit of room for further investigation and had sparked a flicker of interest in B’s mind. Without any further delay he brought his attention back to the world at large, scanning the nearby environment for whomever suited the description of his young lady best. He figured she’d be exiting the building any moment, but just as he made the decision to go after her, the fence had finally arrived, breathless and in a hurry, pointing a gun in B’s direction -- the gun he had asked for, ironically.

     “Whoa there, pal! I didn’t come to the shit end of town for nothin’.  Pay up and come get your shit before you go fuckin’ off somewhere else!”

This had been the night’s most irritating moment, and its biggest delay, but there was a chance B could still make time if he handled the situation correctly by complying. After shoving the paper into a pocket for safe-keeping he raised his hands in surrender, keeping a watchful eye of the man before him, and moved to give him a neat wad of cash from his wallet.

     “It's all there. Count it if you doubt me - it's all in fives and tens, so you'll have to drop your things to do that.”

The fence sneered at him through gold-plated teeth. To please his betters he had no choice but to count out every bill to ensure it was, in fact, the whole amount -- but the thought of putting the gun within B’s reach made him sick.

     “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, man,” he responded, letting the gun fall to his feet as he went to grab the cash.

     “Ain’t like you’d shoot me anyway… bad for business.”

Knowing he had brought the full amount and with little time to dawdle, B took the chance to collect his things while the fence continued to count. This frustrated the man greatly, but being the duller type needed to keep his focus, lest he lose count from “fucking one-hundred-and-five”. Before taking off as was his first thought, B took a moment to inspect the gun. All seemed in order, ammunition was there; it was locked and loaded. Which only left one thing to the imagination: would it actually fire?

BANG, BANG!

     “GAH- SHIT!”

The bills fluttered to the ground and the fence dropped with them, clutching his knees.

     “And here I thought the safety was on,” B lied, shoving the gun into his back pocket.

     “Ah, well. At least I know it's fully functional. Thanks for your business.”

As he turned to talk away the fence screamed at him any number of obscenities, threatened to call the police, told him someone would find him -- but B only smiled and went along his way, hoping he hadn't wasted too much time on that stunt.

Which he had. The only sign of the girl he could find was a familiar head of hair and binoculars around her neck as she disappeared around the block, headed west. This was no real trouble, however -- in fact, he could say with all honesty that he preferred a chase. Thus he went west, intent on tracking her every move until she was completely out of sight and had a better idea. Why not instead learn her habits? Find the places she visited most? After having stashed the grocery bag of drugs somewhere safe, B came up with a plan. There was a chance, of a higher probability, that he would find this girl again, most likely to end up at the building her paper plane had landed near. She was clearly hoping to scope something out from her vantage point, and he was at least eighty percent certain he would see her revisit that location in the near future.

B decided to return that night, and the night after that, and the night after that until she finally showed up. She had presumably not thought about scouting the premises for other people, or else she may have actually found B this time -- or maybe she just didn't care. Either way B was close enough, this time, to catch her name: Sybil Cohen, no older than 23, blonde, and evidently on a mission. She held a gallon canister of gasoline in one hand and a cigarette in the other; a sight more than familiar to him than he thought it might have been. Rather than rehashing the past, though, B’s brain went straight into numbers -- possibilities of different outcomes, their effects, her date of death, and why she would be back here in the first place. Was she looking to end her own life in this building? A building chosen at random by her paper plane? People didn't usually choose a suicide spot by chance alone. Most preferred places significant to them, but he supposed along with any other ideas that anything was possible. It wasn’t even near time for her to die, anyway. Alternatively she could have chosen the building this way as a means to randomize her choice of storehouses, but the perfume threw this theory and many others off by being too significant -- it had been sprayed directly onto the paper. What more, the purpose with which she carried herself and the absolute definity of her stride brought an entirely different thought to mind -- the most likely of all his options.

     “She's going to burn the building down. Interesting choice.”

All things considered, she made good time. No sooner than when B decided not to enter for the danger it presented - and because he could just as easily confront her as she left - Sybil had made her way to the third floor via stairway. He could hear a faint splashing through broken windows overhead as she let the gasoline flow behind her, around the floor, down the stairs… and when all noise ceased, he chuckled.

     “Didn't think she'd get stuck, did she?”

Maybe not, but she seemed to have a plan. From above he heard glass shatter and the clanking of soles on metal, a faint creak, and the sound of commission before she jumped down to the second floor fire escape. It was then she spotted B below her, her eyes hurried and wild knowing she was both trapped without the first floor fire escape and that she had been seen committing arson. B simply looked on with no intention of either helping nor running.

     “Looks like you've gotten yourself into quite the predicament. What will you do?”

. . . She leapt. B had underestimated, or rather overestimated her desperation, and had no time to move.

The force with which Sybil landed on him left him unconscious, out of breath, and sore all over but with no great injury aside from major bruising. When he finally came to he noted that she was nowhere to be seen, as was his wallet. With a groan B stood, clutching his stomach, and looked to the burning building for an estimation of the time. Based upon its current state her figured it could not have been more than half an hour after their encounter -- people were only just beginning to gather around the building and fire trucks could be heard at a distance. Taking his chance to remain undetected, B fled the scene.

     “Fine, Sybil, I'll play your game,” he thought, eyes set ablaze with newfound purpose.

     “I'll enjoy catching you. We have a score to settle.”

In only a few hours most places would be open for business, and as luck would have it there was a mall about a two hours walk from his current position. He would have to do something about his appearance first, of course, but he made a point to show up right at opening time alongside a growing crowd.

B spent the bulk of his time, unsurprisingly, in the mall’s perfume section, where he was one of the few people all too happy to be bombarded with perfumes for his “fiancée”. He had brought the plane along with him to search for a matching scent, insisting to an employee that he find the exact same brand of the same year -- nothing “almost exactly like” or “similar”. But it seemed the employee was only showing B what he looked like he could afford -- nothing beyond the range of fifty dollars.

     “I know you aren't showing me everything because I don't look the part, but I suggest you open up your expensive cabinet there before I find whoever is in charge. I'm quite good at making a scene.”

The exasperated employee let out a sigh, rolled her eyes, and took the key from around her neck to open the clear cabinet door behind her.

     “This wouldn't be so hard if you actually knew what you were looking for,” she stated, taking out a few sample bottles.  

     “Oh, but I do. It smells like roses and vanilla, a little on the strong side. If it helps, I know who may have bought it last. She's a short blonde, quite thin, but pretty enough,” he explained, and right then something seemed to connect in her mind.

     “Wait,” she interrupted, “I think I know what you're looking for.”

The young woman dug around the cabinet a bit to bring out a very small test bottle of crystalline glass.

     “We had a very insistent customer come in by that description last week. She wanted the most distinctive, expensive bottle she could get her hands on… didn't think to ask where someone like her got the money for it, but you didn't hear that from me. She tends to skulk around the food court during the week, so you might actually find her here tod-”

     “Thank you for your time.”

With that B had taken off in speed, course set directly for the food court on the floor above. With any luck he would find Sybil there, and the game would be on.

[misc-oneshots]

Bad Things Song!Fic

Bad things Song!Fic

Request: Can you do a song imagine with Happy with the song Bad Things by MGK & Camila Cabello. For @mrsirishboru Words: 2058 Pairing: Happy Lowman x Reader

The last time I wrote Smut was for Mad Princess Part 3 and before that it was a LONG time ago so eh, good luck with not cringing at this.

Maybe it was the alcohol or the thrill of being chased by the police that made you laugh. Your hand in Happy’s, you bolted down the street away from the law. Your old man led you through the back streets, you doubled back through a side alley and dove into an abandoned garage. Happy let go of your hand so that you could prop the door that you’d knocked though back up and Happy perched in the window with his gun ready and waiting.

The law ran pass and you cheered on their leaving with a fix of giggles. Happy put his handgun down on a nearby seat before stepping over to where you were perched on an oil drum, his voice was deep and tempting, “What’re you laughing at?” Alcohol made your cheeks flare with heat and you giggled again, “Why did I think drinking in the middle of the day with you would be a good idea?”

Am I out of my head? Am I out of my mind? If you only knew the bad things I like Don’t think that I can explain it What can I say, it’s complicated Don’t matter what you say Don’t matter what you do I only wanna do bad things to you So good, that you can’t explain it What can I say, it’s complicated

He stepped up to you, put his rough hands on your bare knees and pushed them open. He stepped between your legs and ran his hands up your thighs to the ripped edges of your shorts, his hands where harsh from violence and working in the garage and it made your stomach flip in excitement.  He ran his thumb along the inside of your thighs and the movement so close to your intimate area, even clothed, tickled and made you shiver. “You think this is a bad idea?” His gravelly voice danced over your lips, when you inclined your face up to try to kiss him he inched his head back, smirking in victory. “A very bad idea.” You mumbled and tipped your head up towards him. One large hand slowly trailed up from your thigh, up your stomach giving you butterflies, slowly his hand moved between your breasts, up the nape of your neck and splayed across your throat.

Nothing’s that bad If it feels good So you come back Like I knew you would And we’re both wild And the night’s young And you’re my drug Breathe you in ‘til my face numb Drop it down to that bass drum I got what you dream 'bout Nails scratchin’ my back tatt Eyes closed while you scream out And you keep me in with those hips While my teeth sink in those lips While your body’s giving me life And you suffocate in my kiss Then you said

You groaned lowly and tipped your head further back so he’d have more access to your neck. You loved it when Happy was in this mood. Often your sex life was rough, positions moving fast, hands grabbing at each other whenever you had chance. Happy was a busy man and you were busy working at the TM a lot so you had to catch each other whenever you could, especially because you liked to fuck a lot.

But this was Happy, wanting to take it slow, to tease you and make you groan. The police practically ready to catch you and the alcohol fuelling you just made it even more electric.

His hand stiffened around your neck slightly, just enough for him to show you how much he was going to drive you crazy. He tipped his head down, this time he didn’t tease you, he pushed his lips against yours hard. The hand still on your thigh squeezed hard, his fingerprints tattooing your soft skin. Your hand came up to take his Cut in your fists to pull him closers to you as you kissed. It wasn’t a fight for dominance, Happy was in charge and he showed you that through his kiss, his mouth commanding.

I want you forever Even when we’re not together Scars on my body so I can take you wherever like, I want you forever Even when we’re not together Scars on my body I can look at you whenever

You could taste the jack on his tongue and you were sure that the moan echoing in your ears must have been your own.  He pulled away from you, smirking as he looked down at your flushed face and swollen lips. His hand on your thigh travelled up to the button on your shorts and the hand from your throat joined it. You leaned back and with a hand on either side of the oil drum pushed yourself up so that Happy could pull down both your shorts and your underwear. He threw them somewhere near his gun, you couldn’t really find the effort to care about them now.

Happy’s lips were on your neck, one hand wound into your hair to hold your head to the side so that he could lick and bite his way down your neck unstopped. The pressure of him pulling your hair made you moan and his teeth scraping against your collar bone made your hips jut upwards to where his other hand waited on the top of your thigh. “You good?” The words rumbled against your neck.  This was why you loved him, even drunk and high from the thrill of the chase, he had enough about him to check that you wanted to continue. “Good.” You moaned and his hand inched up towards your womanhood, your stomach tickled in anticipation.

Am I out of my head? Am I out of my mind? If you only knew the bad things I like Don’t think that I can explain it What can I say, it’s complicated Don’t matter what you say Don’t matter what you do I only wanna do bad things to you So good, that you can’t explain it What can I say, it’s complicated

A hard kiss distracted you from any discomfort as his hand cupped your womanhood, slicking his fingers before inserting them into you. You groaned against his chapped lipped but his hand and his kiss didn’t relent. He’d already set the pace, pumping his fingers in you fast and hard, listening to your groans and adjusting his speed to drive you crazy. In the back of your mind the alcohol hummed through your consciousness that this is crazy, you could get caught any second. You didn’t worry about protection, you’d not told the club but you and Happy where almost trying to for a family.

Whatever happens, happens.

Jesus, how was he doing that with his thumb?

You groaned and pulled away from his kiss, weakly you pushed at his arm and he pulled away from you. Before he could worry that he had done something wrong you were feverishly pulling at his belt and jeans, yanking them down to the rhythm of his deep chuckle. Liberated of his jeans and underwear, thanks to your nimble hands, he moved to removed his cut but you caught his cut in both of your hands and pulled him over to you, “Keep it on.” His smirk was deadly, his fingers dug into your backside when he lifted you slightly off of the drum, pulling you forwards and onto him in one swift motion.

I can’t explain it I love the pain And I love the way your breath Numbs me of novacaine And we are Always high Keep it strange Okay, yeah, I’m insane But you the same Let me paint the picture Couch by the kitchen Nothin’ but your heels on Losin’ our religion You’re my pretty little vixen And I’m the voice inside your head That keeps telling you to listen to all the bad things I say And you said

You cursed, your head falling to his chest. The leather of his cut was wound in your hands, you held onto him as he held you above the oil drum so that you wouldn’t hurt your legs as he set the savage pace.

“Haaap.” You groaned when his lips found your neck, his movements never relenting as his licked and bit at the delicate skin. You released his Cut, your hands coming down his sides and up his back under his shirt and leather so that you could sink your nails into his dark tattooed skin. He kissed a harsh curse against your ear as your nails tracked old scars and ink. “Fuck girl.” His voice grated against your ear again and you knew that was a warning that he was getting close.

I want you forever Even when we’re not together Scars on my body so I can take you wherever like, I want you forever Even when we’re not together Scars on my body I can look at you whenever

Day drinking and drug use will do that to a fella, not that you could say any better, your head was swimming with alcohol and endorphins as you rutted against the oil drum. You moaned, an almost soundless moan of ecstasy, your nails scratched down to his buttocks as you stumbled into oblivion together.

Am I out of my head? Am I out of my mind? If you only knew the bad things I like Don’t think that I can explain it What can I say, it’s complicated Don’t matter what you say Don’t matter what you do I only wanna do bad things to you So good, that you can’t explain it What can I say, it’s complicated

You let yourselves have a few minutes of coming down, soft kisses over harsh bites and loving whispers that always seemed way too soft to come from your old man. He pulled his jeans and underwear back on before helping you dress, giving you the odd kiss to the inside of your leg as he did which made you giggle.

The way we love, is so unique And when we touch, I’m shivering And no one has to get it Just you and me 'Cause we’re just living Between the sheets

You’d both been dressed for maybe thirty seconds when the door was kicked in, you were pushed behind Happy as he steadied his gun at the intruder.

Chibs dropped his weapon and Tig held his hands up in mock defence. They took in the sight of both you, Happy for the most part looked like he usually did when he’d been drinking but you were a different tale. Your hair was thoroughly sexed, your face was flush from the drinking and the exertion, your lips where swollen and below your shorts fingerprint bruises were already forming on your thighs.

“Well, I guess that’s why it reeks of sex in here.” Tig chirped, his eyes quizzically going your form. “Don’t ya think you and Y/N should have come straight back brother?” Chibs chastised lightly. Sensing your old man about to get in trouble, you cuddled up to Happy’s side and purred, “My fault boys, I had to drag him away. What is he going to do with me?” They knew that you were getting Happy out of shit but still Tig had to be there, “I’d think he’s done enough with you.”

I want you forever Even when we’re not together Scars on my body so I can take you wherever like, I want you forever Even when we’re not together Scars on my body I can look at you whenever

Am I out of my head? Am I out of my mind? If you only knew the bad things I like Don’t think that I can explain it What can I say, it’s complicated Don’t matter what you say Don’t matter what you do I only wanna do bad things to you So good, that you can’t explain it What can I say, it’s complicated

[the-master-cylinder]

The Boys Next Door (1985) SUMMARY:Roy Alston (Maxwell Caulfield) and Bo Richards (Charlie Sheen) are two outcasts of their high school community. Bo receives $200 as a graduation gift from his grandparents. Facing a lifetime of working blue collar factory jobs, the boys spontaneously decide to use the money to go on a vacation to Los Angeles.

During the drive to Los Angeles, Bo and Roy rob a gas station and beat the attendant (Joseph Michael Cala) with a crowbar. The next day, the boys go to a beach boardwalk, where Roy throws an empty beer bottle and it hits an elderly woman (Helen Brown) on the forehead. Three young women (Claudia Templeton, Mary Tiffany, and Marilou Conway) see this, and they chase Bo and Roy to a parking lot. The women yell at the boys and damage their car. Enraged, Roy starts the car and drives around in circles in the parking lot with the women still on the hood. After several loops, Roy throws the car into reverse, throwing one of the women from the hood of the car. After the incident, one of the women finds Bo and Roy’s dog, Boner the Barbarian, and reads its ID tag, which leads to speculation of where Bo and Roy are from.

During a visit to La Brea Tar Pits, Bo expresses his wish that the world could just “go caveman” for one day, abandoning all rules and order. Roy agrees, and they spend their evening on the streets of Los Angeles.

Several additional encounters lead to more deaths, including a gay man Chris (Paul C. Dancer), a young couple (Richard Pachorek and Lesa Lee), and an older woman Angie Baker (Patti D’Arbanville) whom Roy kills while she is having sex with Bo. Eventually the duo are tracked and found by the LAPD and chased into a shopping mall. After unsuccessfully trying to steal some guns, Bo tries to talk some sense into Roy about surrendering. Roy refuses, and he orders Bo to give him the gun so he can go out in a “blaze of glory”. Bo refuses and shoots Roy when he tries to take the gun away. The police surround Bo and ask him why he killed his friend. Bo replies, “Because I had to.” Bo is then arrested and led away while reporters snap photos of him.

The Boys Next Door (1985) Soundtrack No Way-Great White Hard & Cold-Great White I Got Nothin’- Iggy Pop The Need-Code Blue I Ain’t Nuthin’ But A Gorehound -The Cramps The Most Exalted Potentate Of Love-The Cramps Spellbound-Code Blue Let Me Rock-Chequered Past Is That So Strange-Code Blue Clean The Dirt-Tex and the Horseheads Face To Face-Code Blue

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CAST/CREW Directed Penelope Spheeris Produced Sandy Howard/Keith Rubinstein Written  Glen Morgan/James Wong

Charlie Sheen as Bo Richards Maxwell Caulfield as Roy Alston Patti D’Arbanville as Angie Baker Christopher McDonald as Detective Mark Woods Hank Garrett as Detective Ed Hanley Paul C. Dancer as Chris Richard Pachorek and Lesa Lee as couple Kenneth Cortland as Dwayne Moon Unit Zappa as Nancy

Dudes (1987) SUMMARY: Grant, Biscuit, and Milo are punks living in Queens. Bored with their lives, they decide to move to Los Angeles, and set out on a cross-country drive. In Utah they assist Elvis impersonator “Daredelvis” with getting his trailer unstuck. Later, Grant sees a mirage of a cowboy on horseback. While camping in the Arizona desert they are attacked by a gang of vicious rednecks, and Milo is murdered by their leader, Missoula. Grant and Biscuit escape and collapse in the desert, where Grant again sees a vision of the cowboy.

The local sheriffs do not believe the boys’ story, having no record of Missoula or his gang and being unable to find Milo’s body as evidence of the murder. Grant resolves to track down the gang and avenge Milo’s death, despite Biscuit’s reservations. Heading back into Utah, they find one of the gang’s trucks overturned and several of the members dead. Before dying, one of them reveals that they planned to turn themselves in but were killed by Missoula, who is headed north through Wyoming to Montana. The boys also meet Jessie, a young woman who runs a gas station and towing business.

Catching up to Missoula’s truck, Grant and Biscuit engage in a high-speed shootout with Missoula and his buddy Blix, but swerve off the road and crash. They are rescued by Jessie, who teaches Grant how to shoot and ride a horse and strikes up a romance with him. Meanwhile, Biscuit has a dream in which he is part of a Native American tribe who are slaughtered by Union Army soldiers led by Missoula. Upon awakening, he begins to imitate a Native American warrior and insists on resuming the pursuit. Jesse outfits the pair in exaggerated western costumes and gives them use of a beat-up 1959 Buick Invicta complete with bull’s horns mounted to the hood.

In Wyoming, the boys find Daredelvis working at a rodeo and enlist his help to capture gang member Wes, from whom they recover Milo’s stolen jacket, but Wes is killed by a bull without revealing Missoula’s location. On the way to a ghost town where Missoula is rumored to be hiding, Grant once again sees the mysterious cowboy, but Biscuit dismisses it as an illusion. Finding the town empty, the pair get drunk and have a vision in which they meet the cowboy, named Witherspoon, accompanied by a trio of Native American warriors from Biscuit’s dream. Witherspoon magically transports Grant back in time to when the town was populated and raucous, while the Native Americans similarly transport Biscuit back in time to participate in a tribal gathering.

Awakening hung over, Grant finds a matchbook in Milo’s jacket that leads them to a saloon in a Montana town where they find Missoula and Blix. Trailing them into a movie theater, Grant and Biscuit open fire on the pair, but Grant hesitates and a shootout ensues; Missoula and Blix escape, while Grant and Biscuit are arrested and jailed. Missoula and Blix murder two sheriff’s department officers and invade the jail in an attempt to kill the boys, but Jessie arrives just in time to break them out. Grant manages to kill Blix and wound Missoula, and pursues him on horseback to an abandoned building, where he tackles Missoula off a high ledge. Missoula shoots Grant in the arm and Grant returns fire, killing him. Grant once again sees Witherspoon and the Native American warriors, now accompanied by Milo, who ride off into the distance and disappear in a cloud of dust just before Biscuit and Jessie arrive.  

DEVELOPMENT In writing Dudes, scriptwriter Randall Jahnson was partly inspired by visits to Old West locations which he felt were “frozen in time”. In the early and mid-1980s, he later reflected, the punk and art rock scenes in Los Angeles were demonstrating a certain fascination with the West, exemplified by Wall of Voodoo performing cover versions of Spaghetti Western songs, the Dead Kennedys covering “Rawhide”, and the Meat Puppets mixing punk with country music, which influenced his crossing of the two genres in his script. He settled on the film’s title based on the Old West use of the term “dude” to describe a “tenderfoot” or “fish out of water”, city-dwelling Easterners unprepared for life on the frontier, seeing his main characters as modern “dudes”.

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Jahnson pitched his script to producer Miguel Tejada-Flores of independent film company the Vista Organization as “punk rockers out in the wilds of Wyoming”, which Tejada-Flores thought was an interesting idea, though a bit “out there” conceptually. He and fellow producer Herb Jaffe sought Ridley Scott to direct, but could not agree with him on the film’s “vision”. Penelope Spheeris first read the script in March 1986 and expressed interest. Tejada-Flores had been impressed by her previous directorial work, particularly her 1985 film The Boys Next Door, and felt that she could tell an enthralling story from the mix of genres present in Jahnson’s script. He showed The Boys Next Door to Jaffe, and the two agreed that Spheeris was a good candidate to direct, a choice which was solidified when she convinced them that she could make the film within their proposed budget and get good performances out of her actors. Jahnson was a fan of Spheeris’ 1981 punk rock documentary The Decline of Western Civilization, and agreed that she had the “punk rock sensibility” for the script.

I was hugely influenced and inspired by the punk rock and art band explosion in Los Angeles in the early 1980s. During that time a number of bands began to weave Western imagery and country music elements into their music. The Dead Kennedys recorded a hardcore version of ‘Rawhide.’ X, who’d never made any apologies for having an ear for Hank Williams and Merle Haggard, launched their rootsy side project, The Knitters. Wall of Voodoo covered Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring of Fire’ and the classic theme to ‘The Good, the Bad & the Ugly’ and even released an album titled ‘Call of the West.’

Then bands like Rank and File and Blood on the Saddle – who consciously blended punk and country sensibilities – began to appear. And the Meat Puppets emerged from the Arizona heat with their distinctive brand of desert slacker psychedelia.

Somehow I wanted capture this juxtaposition in a script. The notion of fatalistic urban punkers in a showdown with the vastness, beauty, and history of the American West amused and intrigued me. I placed the start of the story in New York City, so the journey of Grant, Milo, and Biscuit would echo the westward trek of pioneers in covered wagons.

I wrote The Vandals’ classic boot-stomping thrasher ‘Urban Struggle’ into the script because it spoofed the whole punks-out-West phenomena and kicked ass at the same time. So when the time came to cast the band playing in the punk club at the movie’s start, the Vandals and ‘Urban Struggle’ were the only choice. -Randall Jahnson

PRE-PRODUCTION

Casting Spheeris wanted Jahnson to be part of the casting process, and invited him to many of the casting sessions, which was not common practice for directors. Jon Cryer, who had recently gained attention for his role in the hit film Pretty in Pink, was attracted to the eclectic nature of Dudes’ script as well as the opportunity to play the hero, which he had not done before. Spheeris favored Cryer for the film’s lead but also considered Keanu Reeves, and chose Cryer at Jaffe’s suggestion. To prepare for the role Cryer learned how to ride a horse and fire a gun, and got his ear pierced since the script called for Grant to wear an earring; the heavy earring caused the piercing to become infected. Being young and eager to play the hero, he performed many of his own stunts. He had difficulty with the scenes that required him to drive a car; He had earned his driver’s license while performing in Torch Song Trilogy in Los Angeles several years prior, but used public transport and taxis in his native New York City and had very little experience behind the wheel.

Catherine Mary Stewart became interested in the role of Jessie because “she was a strong female character, which is important, and also was somebody who could ride horses, shoot a gun, she owned a garage…Part of my fantasy when I was a little girl was to do exactly all that stuff, and when I came on the set I had an idea of what my character should be and what I sort of developed for myself, and Spheeris was very supportive of that.” In preparation for the role she trained with a stunt performer who specialized in gun play, learning how to twirl her revolver so it would slide right into its holster. “I was practicing that all the time,” she later recalled, “because I wanted it to be great.”

Daniel Roebuck, a character actor who had recently finished filming River’s Edge, was reading scripts in search of new roles and was struck by the uniqueness of Dudes. “It was not a John Hughes movie”, he said in 2015. “There was nothing like it. When I read it all I thought of was ‘I want to be in a Western.’ I was a little concerned about the punk rock stuff, but I really liked the Western stuff.” For his audition in front of Spheeris he wore a mohawk hairstyle, since that was what the script called for his character, Biscuit, to have. When given the part, he had to have the sides of his head shaved and his hair tied into place for the duration of filming since it was too time-consuming to take apart and re-tie the mohawk for each shoot. Roebuck was not into punk rock, however, describing himself as a “square”, and was so embarrassed to wear his hair in a mohawk every day that he convinced the crew to get him a wig to wear on days off from shooting.

Spheeris had featured Lee Ving’s band Fear in The Decline of Western Civilization (1981), and stayed in touch with him. It was through Ving that she met Flea, who had joined Fear in 1982 as the band’s bassist. Thinking he had a star quality, she cast him as one of the runaway punks in her 1984 film Suburbia. By 1986 Flea was active in the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Spheeris reached out to him to be in Dudes, later saying that he brought to the role “a certain vulnerability and a certain sweetness that actually wasn’t written into the script, and played it in such a sweet, loving way that when the moment came that his character is killed in the movie, it was more powerful, because he was so lovable before that, and people don’t expect that moment.” Flea felt honored to be cast, since Dudes was a chance to work alongside trained actors whereas in Suburbia he had been among a group of “street kids” similar to himself, all without acting experience.

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Another musician cast in Dudes, though in a minor role, was John Densmore, former drummer of the Doors. Jahnson met with the surviving members of the Doors while working on his script for The Doors (1991), a biographical film about the band; Densmore had moved into acting, knew Spheeris, and had heard about Dudes, and asked Jahnson if there might be a part for him in it. Jahnson spoke with Spheeris, and Densmore was cast as one of the Montana sheriffs who is murdered by Missoula late in the film.

“I worked with a lot of great people on that movie who went on to do some really great work. They’re so thankful now that people are finding it and are being able to see it again. It’s so weird, because when it plays with contemporary audiences, they seem to get it,” Spheeris said.

“I don’t want to pat myself on the back and say my film was ahead of its time, but I do think it was an out-of-the-box film for its time,” Spheeris said.

Before Spheeris came on board to direct DUDES, Randall Jahnson meant it to be “a darker, more serious film than it became.” Spheeris found elements in the material that were ironic and funny, and she capitalized on them to make an enjoyably quirky movie.

“The tone was not as known then as it is now. I think it was a little difficult for Jahnson to see his film morph into something else entirely,” Spheeris said.

Spheeris saw DUDES as an opportunity to shake up the formula. To go along with the tone, Spheeris points toward Cryer’s involvement as a way to subvert expectations.

 Cinematographer Robert Richardson walked up to my door, because there was no social media back then and I don’t know why he didn’t call me, and said, ‘You’re an amazing filmmaker. I would love to work with you.’ And I thought, ‘What the hell? Really?’ He had white hair back then, too. It was freaky,” Spheeris said. “I’m looking at the door right now and it was some freaky looking young guy with white hair. So I told him, ‘Well, I’m about to do this movie. Let’s party.’”

 Spheeris and Richardson found a shooting style that mirrors the anxiety and tension of the film’s plot. Even the editing in DUDES (done by Andy Horvitch) has a calculated pace that’s full of energy and doesn’t slow down.

 “Maybe the style just says a lot about me, because I live in constant anxiety and tension. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. I’m really jealous of people who live without it,” Spheeris said. “I have that, and I think that may be the reason why I might appeal to certain audiences: They have it, too. It all feeds into the punk lifestyle. It’s a lifestyle that is very tense and anxious, and I’m a punk rocker at heart.”

 “I honestly could care less about making any sort of narrative film today. The whole landscape of moviemaking is so different than it was back then,” Spheeris said. “I’m interested in movies that talk about social change and understanding human behavior.”

I really kind of love that Jon Cryer is leading man in Dudes. I feel like we all wanted Ducky to get the girl in Pretty and Pink. And this is like the opposite of a John Hughes film. Penelope Spheeris: I think that’s why he wanted to do it. He also says that this is where he learned comedy, on Dudes. He wasn’t comfortable with comedy before that.

Did you originally have anyone else in mind or had you wanted him? Penelope Spheeris: We looked at quite a few people. I don’t remember them all but I do remember Keanu Reeves. He must have been just a kid, I know, just a gorgeous little boy. Just a sweetheart of a guy. But I gotta tell you everybody was pushing for Jon because of Pretty in Pink. Keanu didn’t have any credits under his belt at that point. I like Jon too, and I’m glad he did it, but it was a stretch for him. Not only with the comedy but with the punk rock too.

Yeah. I feel like Keanu could have easily been a punk rocker. Penelope Spheeris: Oh totally. Even to this day.

Daniel Roebuck is joining you for this. Do you have a favorite memory of him on set? Penelope Spheeris: Roebuck? Yeah. He complained really a lot. Hahahah! The mohawk. How embarrassing it was. I was like, “No dude. You kinda look cool. Don’t you get it?” He had to wear a hat when he was not shooting because he was so embarrassed of the mohawk.

What was his persona off set? What was he about? What was he into? Penelope Spheeris: Total serious actor. It’s in his DNA. It was a push for him too to do the comedy but I think that’s what’s cool. They weren’t both natural comedians. That’s what’s great about being a good actor, they can morph into whatever they need to do and they both did it.

From the soundtrack to the cameos, I feel like Dudes has about a million Easter eggs in it. Is there something or someone people should look for when they watch it this weekend that most people miss? Penelope Spheeris: Yes, okay. I’ll say this in due respect because she just passed away, but Pamela Gidley (Fire Walk With Me) was an actress. She never got to high stardom but she sure did hang in there in the music business. She was this gorgeous 20-year-old in the scene in the restaurant. She’s the one who kinda lures Jon over to her table. So Pamela Gidley is in there. And I love that scene when Jon goes into the bar and talks to Lee Ving and actually approaches him. And the girl sitting on Lee’s lap is Christina Beck, and she was one of the girls in Suburbia.

  PRODUCTION/PRINCIPAL PHOTOGRAPHY Cinematographer Robert Richardson, who had recently finished working on Platoon (1986), personally approached Spheeris and expressed interest in working with her. Tejada-Flores and Jaffe had been impressed by Richardson’s prior work, but did not think they could afford him; however, Richardson agreed to work within their cinematography budget.

Principal photography for Dudes began on August 14, 1986. The early scenes set in Queens were filmed in Hollywood, with establishing shots of the New York skyline and other buildings edited in to create the illusion of being in New York City. The opening scene, a punk rock show with the Vandals performing their song “Urban Struggle” (with its opening lyric “I want to be a cowboy”), was the first to be filmed. Cryer and Roebuck both had musical theatre backgrounds and were not very familiar with punk rock, and neither had been in a mosh pit before. Cryer later remarked that he found it to be rough, but fun and less violent than he had expected. Roebuck, however, recalled that he and Cryer were being trounced by the extras, who were actual punks, and that first assistant director Guy Louthan’s plea to the crowd to “not hurt the real actors” only caused them to be targeted more. Stunt doubles were used for some of the action, and the one standing in for Roebuck punched one of the punks squarely in the face. Flea, who had been to many punk rock shows, had no problem filming the scene: “That was very controlled in comparison to, like, a Black Flag show at the Starwood where people are getting sent out to ambulances all the time, and getting their heads really stomped in for having the wrong hair and shit…so I felt comfortable and fun in that environment”, he recalled 30 years later. A scene in which Grant, Biscuit, and Milo nearly fall off of a fire escape was shot in downtown Los Angeles with the actors at ground level, then edited together with shots of stuntmen dangling from a higher level. A scene in which Grant flirts with a woman played by Pamela Gidley and gets into a brawl with her boyfriend was filmed at popular punk hangout the Atomic Cafe.

Production then moved east, outside of Los Angeles. The redneck attack and Milo’s murder, set in Arizona, were filmed in Agua Dulce, California at the Vasquez Rocks. The rodeo scene, set in the fictional town of Peckerville, Wyoming, was filmed in Clarkdale, AZ . Some of the desert scenes were filmed in the Four Corners region, including Monument Valley on the Arizona-Utah border; filming in this region was delayed by inclement weather including dust storms and rain. Filming in Arizona lasted four weeks, with additional location filming taking place in New Mexico and Utah. For one of the driving scenes, Spheeris suggested that Cryer, Roebuck, and Flea sing “Hava Nagila” while head-banging to show that their characters were enjoying their road trip.   Catherine Mary Stewart joined the crew midway through filming to perform her scenes, including the jailbreak scene set in the fictional town of Crossfire, Montana, which was filmed in Cottonwood, Arizona. She had a lifelong passion for horses and was an experienced rider, so enjoyed filming the horseback riding segments, but suffered a broken ulna when she stopped her horse abruptly to avoid hitting a parked vehicle and was thrown into the vehicle herself. This occurred toward the end of filming her scenes, so it did not significantly impact the shooting schedule.

While filming the climactic showdown between Grant and Missoula, Ving heard that there was asbestos in the building being used and refused to re-enter it, so the sequence had to be rewritten and edited to show less of his character.  Spheeris liked Flea’s performance so much that he was asked to return to filming so that his character could appear in the final scene, which had not been in the original script.

Bethlehem native Daniel Roebuck can still remember the disappointment he felt when “Dudes” opened 30 years ago to withering reviews and dismal box-office returns.

“We all worked so hard, and by that point [scriptwriter] Randy [Jahnson], [director] Penelope [Spheeris] and [co-stars] Jon [Cryer] and Catherine Mary [Stewart] were my friends,” Roebuck says. “So watching something you worked so hard on tank was not easy.”

But a funny thing happened to “Dudes” it became a cult classic. Time has been extremely kind to “Dudes,”.

Roebuck admits he had a hard time impersonating a punk rocker, particularly in a sequence that required him to endure the rigors of a mosh pit.

“Although my roots are in Bethlehem, I certainly have no problem dialing in the New York City attitude, which Biscuit definitely required. But I can tell you, the punk rock stuff proves what an actor I might be, since the heaviest music I listen to is usually written by Mozart or Rodgers and Hammerstein.”

One of the biggest adjustments for Roebuck was getting used to wearing his hair in an enormous mohawk.

“Let me be perfectly clear: I hated that mohawk,” he says. “Is there a word greater than hate? I don’t know. Despised it, regretted it, reviled it might all work.”

While Roebuck was squeamish about the mohawk, he was incredibly brave about doing his own stunt work, which required allowing someone to shoot an arrow four inches from his face.

“ ‘Dudes’ was without a doubt, my most physical movie, with fighting, horses, gunshots and arrows, and driving. Was I nervous with the arrow? Hell, yes I was! But I was young and stupid and had no children to worry about.”

Dudes (1987) Soundtrack Urban Struggle-The Vandals Jesus Came Driving Along-The Leather Nun Number off the Bathroom Wall-Faster Pussycat Dirty Pool-The Little Kings Lost Highway-The Little Kings These Boots-Megadeth Yard Dog-The Tail Gators “Mountain Song’-Jane’s Addiction Rock ‘n’ Roll Till the Cows Come Home-The Tail Gators Show No Mercy-W.A.S.P. Vengeance Is Mine-Simon Steele & The Claw Rock ‘n’ Roll Outlaw-Keel Blue Suede Shoes-Carl Perkins Amazing Grace-Steve Vai Waltz Across Texas-Ernest Tubb Time Forgot You-Lethal Weapon Louisiana Swamp Swank-Steve Vai

CAST/CREW Directed Penelope Spheeris Produced Herb Jaffe/Miguel Tejada-Flores Written Randall Jahnson

Music Charles Bernstein Cinematography      Robert Richardson Edited Andy Horvitch

Jon Cryer as Grant Daniel Roebuck as Biscuit Flea as Milo Lee Ving as Missoula Billy Ray Sharkey as Blix Glenn Withrow as Wes Michael Melvin as Logan, one of the gang members Axxel G. Reese as Red, one of the gang members Marc Rude as Sonny, one of the gang members Catherine Mary Stewart as Jessie Calvin Bartlett as Witherspoon Pete Willcox as Daredelvis Vance Colvig as Hezekiah, a prisoner in the Montana jail

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY wwwmcallcom randalljahnson.com https://www.dmagazine.com/ Wikipedia

      DOUBLE FEATURE RETROSPECTIVE – The Boys Next Door (1985)/Dudes (1987) The Boys Next Door (1985) SUMMARY:Roy Alston (Maxwell Caulfield) and Bo Richards (Charlie Sheen) are two outcasts of their high school community.