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mister-fleck · 5 years

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full of surprises: arthur fleck x reader

Prompt: Could you perhaps write a fic where Arthur has a praise kink?

“So, will you come?”

Shifting uncomfortably on the locker room bench, Arthur’s face scrunched into a hesitant wince. “I don’t know, Randall. Clubs like that aren’t really my scene.”

“C’mon, buddy,” Randall took a seat next to him and placed one of his meaty paws on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Don’t be a wuss. Birthdays don’t happen all that often, pal.”

Tilting his head, Arthur eyed him wearily. He had personally worked twelve birthday parties this week. “They kind of do.”

Randall tightened his grip and Arthur bit back the urge to shy away at the muted pain. He knew that he’d never hear the end of it if he acted like a frail little girl.

“It’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t,” Randall told him plainly, leaning in closer and raising his eyebrows expectantly. His bulky figure blocked out the sunlight from the window behind him and it casted a nasty shadow. “I thought you were my boy, Artie.”

My boy.

A wave of nausea washed over Arthur and he had to look away. There was something about that nickname, about the way Randall towered over him, about how he constantly reeked of gin and motor oil — it always smacked him in the face with unpleasant deja vu.

“I don’t want you to be upset with me,” Arthur eventually found himself mumbling, feeling helpless. He fiddled with the leather tongue of his clown shoe, green eyes focused on his own bitten-down nails and calloused hands. “I’d hate it if you were mad.”

“Then show up.” After firmly clapping Arthur twice on the back — almost hard enough to make him fall off the bench — Randall pushed himself onto his feet with an ugly grunt, slung his bag over his shoulder, and made his way toward the stairs. “Oh, don’t forget to bring some cash. You’ll be useless there without any.”

As Randall stomped off, Arthur tried desperately to figure out what it was about him that made him want to puke and hide. Every interaction with him left him with a headache and there was only so much of it that Arthur could take. He rubbed at his eyes after a few minutes of not blinking and forced himself to get ready for the long walk home.

Saturday night came quickly. With his mother tucked away safely in bed, Arthur paced around his living room, hair mussed and brow knitted. It had been an entire week since the forced invitation and he still wasn’t even remotely prepared.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Arthur scolded himself, echoing Randall’s distaste. He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt past his hands, finding comfort in the habit. “It’s just a party. They’re just dancers.”

Still muttering to himself, Arthur made his way over to the china cabinet against the wall and lifted the lid off of one of the delicate teapots. Inside was a meager amount of crumpled bills, his secret savings account that he had set aside for emergencies. It pained him to have to dip into what little he had, but with a grimace Arthur blindly grabbed at a handful and shoved the cash into the front pocket of his pants.

He’d be the butt of a joke if he showed up penniless to a strip club.

The subway ride there was bumpy and crowded and it didn’t help ease the queasiness developing in Arthur’s gut. His brain had kicked into overdrive, imagining every bad scenario and uncomfortable situation. What if he arrived first? What if the strippers didn’t want to go anywhere near him? What if he drank too much, made a fool of himself?

Arthur had never been taught how to properly act around a woman, let alone one scantily clad and asking for money. He knew that he’d have to be a little forward to fit in with the others, but he’d hate himself if he overstepped and made one of the dancers uncomfortable. A little lightheaded, Arthur lifted the fabric of his sweatshirt to his nose and took a sniff, making sure he didn’t reek.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood alone outside of The Centerfold. It was tucked away in the corner, the sidewalk illuminated only by the buzzing neon sign perched crookedly above the entrance. Arthur’s stomach twisted and he puffed out a sigh, scratching at his neck. He felt like a nervous schoolboy, but instead of teachers lurking the halls there were half-naked women.

“Hey there, Arthur,” came a soft voice beside him. Arthur looked around — and then down, to where Gary was smiling up at him kindly. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Yeah,” Arthur chuckled, pushing back his hair. He felt a little relieved now that there was a familiar face. “Neither did I.”

Gary shoved one of his hands in his pockets, the other holding onto a white envelope. He looked calm, almost bored. “It’s not too bad in there. Smells a little like piss and sweat, but aside from that — nothing awful.”

Arthur was too focused on the card in Gary’s hand to digest any of what he was saying. It had dawned on him that he hadn’t gotten any kind of present for Randall. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, leaning in to speak privately through his teeth. “I forgot to get him a gift.”

“I can add your name to the card, if you want,” Gary offered with a shrug. Arthur couldn’t help but smile a little — Gary was genuinely the only person aside from his mother that didn’t resent his existence.

“Are you sure?” He dug his shoe timidly into the gravel beneath his feet. “That would be great —”

But before Gary could open the envelope, Randall was pushing open the doors and grinning broadly at the two of them.

“Took you two clowns long enough. That for me?” He didn’t give Gary the chance to respond as he snatched the card out of his hand. “Better be somethin’ good. C’mon, we got a great table near the stage.”

Arthur felt his stomach drop and he exchanged a wary glance with Gary before letting Randall lead the way.

It didn’t come as a surprise to Arthur that he ended up having to frequently rush to the bathroom to hide his laughing fits. The club was a brand new social experience for him, one that he had never imagined having to tackle, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. The place was packed with guys that would happily taunt him if given the chance to. After decades of bullying, Arthur could spot them from a mile away.

Of course, the party of men he sat with all assumed that Arthur was escaping to the restroom to whack off, overwhelmed with all of the breasts and ass on display. The women working at The Centerfold were all beautiful, Arthur couldn’t deny it, but he was wound so tight with anxiety that he couldn’t even consider being turned on by any of them.

Upon returning to the table for the fifth time, Randall yanked him back into his chair by the fabric of his hoodie. “Just realized you didn’t get me anything, you son of a bitch,” he jabbed, and Arthur couldn’t tell if he was playing around or actually offended.

“I’m sorry, Randall,” Arthur spoke up quietly, rubbing at his arm. He tried to conjure up an explanation. “I think I left it on the counter at home.”

“Did Mommy help you wrap it?” One of his other coworkers cut in, leaning in with a sloppy grin. With the exception of Arthur, the birthday group hadn’t wasted any time on getting plastered. “Or did you do it by yourself like a big boy?”

Embarrassed, Arthur felt himself shrink in his chair, not knowing what words he could string together to defend himself. He settled instead for laughing a little, hoping to hide his discomfort and feign amusement.

“Don’t sweat it, pal,” Randall scooted his chair forward and slung a heavy arm over Arthur’s shoulder, making him nauseous all over again. “I know exactly what you could do to make up for it.”

Instantly sick, Arthur visibly shuddered and tried to push away that terrible deja vu. When he spoke, it was barely audible over the pulsing club music. “What is it?”

Randall leaned back — arm still very much around Arthur — and put two fingers into his mouth to produce a piercing whistle. A dancer from three tables over turned around on her heel, scanned the room and made her way over.

“You see, Artie, this isn’t just any strip club,” he informed him smugly through a sleazy chuckle. “They have… an array of special services available.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Arthur told him meekly, wishing he hadn’t left his cigarettes at home.

“I took the liberty of asking this young lady here to tell you all about it.” Randall finally retracted his arm, but only to smack the woman on the ass. She didn’t seem phased, but didn’t look particularly happy about it either.

“Hey there, boys,” she drawled in a low, silky voice, slender hands resting on her hips. She was wearing a black brassiere and a matching thong, red high heels giving her a couple of extra inches. Her eyes met Arthur’s and he twitched under her stare. “Is this Artie?”

Randall downed the rest of his whiskey and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a belch. “Yup. Take him away, hot stuff.”

Arthur stiffened, gripped at his throat in anticipation. This was all too much at once. “What’s going on? What do you mean?”

The woman sauntered around Randall and reached down to tuck a lock of hair behind Arthur’s ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you.”

—

You were able to spot him right away. He matched the brief description that had been given to you earlier — skinny, unkempt, timid. Kind of a loser. You fought back the urge to yawn. This wouldn’t be the first time you fucked a virgin. He’d be your fourth this month.

This really wasn’t how you had envisioned your twenties playing out. You were supposed to go to a respectable university, study psychology or ethics, maybe find some sort of garden apartment and adopt a couple of dogs — but all of that had gone to shit after getting knocked up at nineteen. You of course loved your son, he was your entire life, but being a single mother at twenty-five in downtown Gotham had unfortunately forced you into a dirty profession that guaranteed decent pay.

But you’d do anything to offer your son a good, clean life. And if that meant blowing strangers Friday and Saturday nights — well, that’s life.

Taking the man’s hand in yours, you gently led him through the bodies and crowded tables. His palm was sweaty as he stumbled behind you, almost tripping a few times over misplaced bar stools. The birthday boy Randall hadn’t been discreet about the purpose of all of this — he was nearly crying with laughter as he informed you that ‘his pal Artie’ would probably have an anxiety attack or cum in his pants thirty seconds into being alone with you.

You didn’t find the former funny at all — the latter was something you had experienced a dozen times, nothing special — and you ran your thumb over the back of the man’s hand as the both of you pushed through thick red drapes.

“How are you doing tonight, Artie?” You asked him smoothly, attempting to loosen him up a bit. He seemed like a good enough guy. “Having a nice time?”

“It’s Arthur, actually,” the man stammered, the lighter pitch of his voice endearing. “And I’m doing okay.”

“Just okay?” You teased, guiding him further into the dark hallway. You nodded at one of the security guards who stood rigidly against the wall. It always gave you great comfort, knowing that there were a handful of bulky men ready to defend you if something were to go sour during a session. All you had to do was call out.

“I’ve never been to a club like this before,” Arthur explained after a long pause, mousy and apologetic as the both of you passed several rooms. A loud groan erupted out of one of them, making him tense up. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

Stopping in front of one of the empty rooms, you took a moment to briefly look over Arthur. The poor thing looked like a stray dog with its tail between its legs. Giving Arthur a patient, sultry grin, you motioned for him to enter. “That’s perfectly normal, honey.”

Once the pair of you were inside and the door was closed, you watched as Arthur took in the space like a frightened child.

The room was something similar to a motel bedroom: a queen-sized bed, a small couch, a night stand. You had chosen one of the nicer rooms that had a small bathroom connected to it, figuring that Arthur might be more at ease if the space wasn’t too closed-in. Especially with the unnerving way he rubbed at his neck. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was claustrophobic.

Rolling your shoulders back, you approached the nearby table to fiddle with the CD player that had been placed there. No time like the present to kick things off. “Okay, Arthur. Take a seat on the bed and we’ll go over the rules.”

—

Arthur didn’t know how to process any of this. He had just gotten used to the whole table situation, finding that he could calm down and block out the pressure if he hummed a gentle tune under his breath, but now he was alone in a secret room with a stranger and his inner monologue had blurred into static.

He wanted to speak up, tell you that he wasn’t interested in this, that you didn’t have to do... whatever it was that you did. But once you began to rattle off your terms and conditions, Arthur closed his mouth. He didn’t want to be impolite.

“I’ll keep it simple. No choking, no leaving marks, no kissing on the mouth. We provide condoms and you must wear them. If at any moment I feel threatened, or if you break any of these rules, I will not hesitate to call for one of those big guys out there. Your friend prepaid for thirty minutes. If at the end of our session you’d like to buy more time, it’ll be an extra hundred bucks, okay?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, Arthur remained frozen, lips pressed together and fingers bunched up in his sleeves. You had said it all so quickly and he felt like he could pass out from the implications alone. He had heard the word condoms — were the two of you going to make love?

When Arthur finally mustered up the courage to respond, it came out jumbled and uncertain. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but — I, um — “ He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flitting all over the room, not knowing quite where to land. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You — I mean, you’re really beautiful, but I’ve never…”

He watched you walk over to him slowly, lips parting as you reached out to gently unfurl one of his fists.

“Arthur.” He had a hard time getting over the lovely, feminine lilt in your voice. “It’s okay if this is your first time.”

It happened before he could even attempt to stop it.

A jarring, strangled laugh surged out of him, loud and abrupt, and he felt you jump away from him in alarm, rightfully startled. Not wanting to frighten you, Arthur hid his face in his sleeve and closed his eyes tight, each spasming attack making him lurch forward. It almost felt like vomiting, the way his body contracted, but the source of it lived deep in his chest like a demon.

“What’s going on?” He heard you say after a few moments. You sounded guarded now, cautious.

Terrified that you might call one of the hulking security guards into the room, Arthur lifted his head and tried his hardest to speak through the laughter. “I have a — a condition — that makes me — “ Trying his best to muffle another series of hard laughs, he covered his mouth with both hands and ducked his head, buried deep in shame.

He hated the way he sounded during attacks. It wasn’t anything like his actual laugh.

There was a long beat. With his eyes cast downwards, Arthur couldn’t gauge your reaction, but the last thing he had expected after such a heavy pause was a pair of soft arms wrapping around him.

—

You switched modes before you even realized it. You had never seen anything like this before — this ambush of tormented laughter, but the panic attacks your son struggled with made it easy for you to recognize that this wasn’t intentional.

“Let’s take some deep breaths, honey,” you instructed calmly, rubbing careful circles on his back. Your fingertips wandered over the prominent dips of his shoulder blades and you wondered if this man ever even ate. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. We’ll do it together, okay?”

Arthur stiffened initially at the physical contact but it didn’t take long for him to warm up to the attention, nodding shakily through bursts of laughter. It was admittedly hard to watch — all of the choking and gasping, the pain in his eyes. Pursing your lips, you reached out for his hand and placed it flat against your bare abdomen.

“Here we go. Breathe in.” You took in an exaggerated breath, hoping that he would feel the deliberate rise and fall of your stomach to help him focus. “And out.”

It took him a few tries to properly inhale, his lungs hindering the process as they stuttered, but Arthur eventually found a stable rhythm. Not quite hunched over anymore, he kept his hand pressed against your stomach, the other now all balled up between his knees.

Lost in the transformation in front of you and more than pleased with how he had listened — men never listened anymore — you pushed his hair out of his eyes and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Good job, honey. That was very brave.”

With a bashful smile, Arthur shook his head and shyly retracted his hand from your stomach. “No, not really.”

Something had shifted in him. You narrowed your eyes a little, studying him. There had been a definite change in his demeanor upon your gentle approval. Some of the tension had faded. Running your teeth along your bottom lip, you hesitated a moment before testing it out. You had already gotten paid, there was really nothing to lose here.

“Yes, really.” Leaning closer, you brushed your lips against the shell of his ear and scratched at the middle of his back with manicured nails. “You were a very good boy.”

He whimpered a bit and you smiled. There it was. Priding yourself on your intuition, you let your free hand rest against his thigh and dipped your chin to kiss at the underside of his jaw. He smelled like an ashtray but you didn’t mind it. Anything was better than the terrible cologne most of your customers drenched themselves in. “Do you want to know what I think?”

You took a moment to look up at him and watched as he took a deep breath, seemingly steadying himself. His lashes were wet, the poor thing. When Arthur answered you, it was lost in the back of his throat like a secret. “What?”

“I think that this good little boy…” You tiptoed your fingertips up his chest before toying with the zipper of his sweatshirt. “Deserves to be rewarded."

—

Good little boy.

The phrase should have made him angry. If he was like any other man, he would have scoffed and retreated, asked for a refund — but the genuine approval in your voice filled Arthur with a belonging so poignant that it knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been called good. If ever.

Hot all over, Arthur watched you begin to unzip his jacket, his neck still tingling from that feather-light kiss. Although a part of him wanted to carefully take your hand and halt your intentions like a gentleman, he knew that this may be his only shot at being intimate with a woman. And if you were willing, if you didn’t feel disgusted, Arthur figured that he had to at least try.

“You have such pretty hands,” he murmured awkwardly, heat rising up his neck. “Do you play piano?”

You giggled next to him — giggled — and Arthur felt pride swell in his chest. “I used to.”

There was a playful tug to his sleeve and Arthur shrugged out of his jacket obediently, leaving him in his brown slacks and white button-up. His shirt hadn’t been pressed in ages and he frowned, reaching up in attempts to smooth away some of the wrinkles, but you playfully batted away his hands and popped open the top button.

“Why did you stop?” He heard himself ask, not knowing if it was proper etiquette to make small talk.

“Life got in the way, I guess.” Three more buttons undone.

Arthur watched as you moved closer and couldn’t hold back a groan upon feeling warm lips against his pulse point. Eyes fluttering shut, he felt his cock twitch hard in his pants, completely at your mercy. He had never been touched like this before and he was still fully dressed.

With the front of his shirt now open, Arthur shivered a little, his fingers bunching up the fabric of the comforter beneath him. When you nipped at the corner of his jaw, he gasped. “That — That feels nice.”

This earned him a warm chuckle, but then you were gone, the warmth of your body no longer pressed against his side. Worried that he had done something wrong, Arthur’s eyes flew open—

To see you ever so slowly sinking down to your knees.

—

You had to admit that there was something charming about Arthur. He hadn’t groped at you with greedy, dirty fingers, he hadn’t tried to smack your ass or tug your bra off. He was willing and kind, and more handsome than he allowed himself to be. You had to hold back your laughter — your faintest touch drove him wild and you wondered absently just how long he would be able to last.

Kneeling now, you smirked up at him from beneath long lashes and watched him squirm in anticipation. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you were great at giving head. You had recently developed a bit of an oral fixation, soothed by lollipops and toothpicks. But if the bulge in Arthur’s pants signified anything, there was an alluring alternative being offered to you.

“I can make you feel really nice.” You slid your palms up and down along his thighs, rolling back your shoulders again to accentuate your cleavage. “Would you like that, baby?”

Arthur heaved in a breath and nodded eagerly. “Yes ma’am.”

“So polite,” you tutted, fingers now dancing around the buckle of his belt. Once it was undone, you spread his legs and pressed a lingering kiss to the crotch of his slacks. “Such a sweet boy.”

As you expected, Arthur was a complete mess, trembling and speechless as you pulled down his zipper. You had neglected to press play earlier on the CD player across the room, but you didn’t mind it. The little noises coming out of him were…

Pressing your thighs together, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, thrown off by your body’s reaction. You never got aroused at work, but you had to pause after pulling his erection out of his pants, the dull throb between your legs unwarranted and distracting.

You must have been standing still longer than intended because Arthur eventually spoke up, voice tight with worry. “You don’t — You don’t have to, I know that I’m not handsome, I don’t want you to feel pressured —”

With pink cheeks you snapped out of it and kissed the head of his cock, effectively shutting him up. “You’re very handsome,” you assured him, trying your best to keep your confidence through the storm building inside you. You had half a mind to actually stop, not knowing whether it would be wise to continue with a foggy mind, but your mouth had a mind of its own: You flattened your tongue against the base of his length and dragged up, up, up before taking the tip of his cock into your mouth.

Arthur groaned again right away, low and desperate this time, and you found yourself grabbing onto the front of his pants to steady yourself, your other hand holding his cock in place as he trembled next to you.

“That feels so…” Swallowing hard, Arthur reached toward you for a moment before hastily retreating his hand, clearly very shy.

“You can touch me,” you told him in a breath, pressing lazy kisses to the side of his now very hard cock. You closed your eyes, thinking that maybe if you didn’t look at him, you could pretend that this was some other client and not Arthur. Not Arthur and his sweet little whimpers and — his now gentle fingers sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“Is this okay?” Arthur husked quietly, the pad of his thumb tracing along sensitive skin.

You shivered instantly and had to stop yourself from leaning into his palm, instead smiling demurely and nodding. “Very okay.”

With other clients, you had a bit of a routine. Some heavy petting, a little generic dirty talk, followed by a long, drawn-out blow job, hoping that you could take up most of the allotted time on your knees. Nine times out of ten, it would be more than enough for the men who frequented the club. They just wanted to get off, it didn’t matter how.

But with Arthur… you couldn’t stop yourself from taking the whole of him into your mouth, wanting to hear him moan again, wanting to please him.

Obviously not accustomed to this level of pleasure, Arthur yelped a little and sucked in a ragged breath. “I think — I might, I’m sorry I might —”

Knowing that he was looking for permission, you opened your eyes and finally looked up at him again. The sight of Arthur panting, his bare chest flushed, his eyes so dark — you realized that you were now very, very wet. You locked eyes with him and swirled your tongue just so, silently communicating that he could let go.

And he did with a ragged, handsome cry, cumming hard with quivering hips and the slightest tug to your hair.

You knew then and there that you were screwed. You never, ever, ever let any of your clients cum in your mouth.

But Arthur didn’t need to know that.

Swallowing slowly, you didn’t pull back right away. Partially because you didn’t want to, but also because a part of you knew that there was still at least twenty minutes left. You hadn’t been prepared for this. So you remained kneeling, in a daze as you dragged your bottom lip along his now very sensitive cock.

Arthur was out of breath and sounded a little hoarse when he spoke, clearly out of his element and overstimulated. “Thank — Thank you.”

This made you smile despite yourself and you dropped a kiss to his thigh. He was full of surprises. Still trying to pull yourself together, you squeezed affectionately at his knee. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“What about you?”

The question came so soft and you blinked a few times before glancing up at him, not understanding. “Me?”

Arthur’s brows were furrowed as he nodded, regarding you sincerely. “Yeah. I don’t — I don’t want this to be all about me.”

Heat rushed through your body like wildfire and you gaped at him, now completely caught off guard. Was he implying that he wanted to —

“I might not be very good at it, but I’d like to try,” Arthur continued, rubbing at the back of his neck. His eyes then grew wide. “Unless that’s against the rules. Or you don’t want me to. I just figured that I —”

“No, it’s — it’s allowed,” you cut him off, pulse quickening at the idea. You ran a hand through your hair and tried to seem nonchalant, knowing you looked anything but. “You can, if you want to.”

In a clumsy blur Arthur was helping you to your feet and watching as you climbed up onto the bed. You squeezed your thighs together again, realizing now that he’d be able to see just how wet you were. The two of you locked eyes, both a little uncertain, but Arthur surprised you by taking the initiative, shyly reaching over to pull out one of the pillows from underneath the comforter and setting it against the headboard of the bed.

Silently inviting you to lay back.

You blew out a shaky breath and smiled at him, charmed despite suddenly feeling like a teenager on prom night. Not wanting to make him feel unsure of himself, you slid to the middle of the mattress and stretched out onto your back as gracefully as you could manage, your chest heaving now that the tables were turned.

Arthur’s eyes trailed over your body for the first time all night and you found yourself melting beneath his stare. He wasn’t ogling you like the men outside did — he looked like he was appreciating every dip and curve and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Take my panties off,” you prompted, shame flying out the window. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this turned on and you’d surely combust if he didn’t touch you in some way.

Nodding quickly, Arthur bashfully tucked himself back into his pants and knelt beside you to do as he was told, warm fingers hooking beneath the hem of your thong and dragging the ruined garment down the long expanse of your legs. It got caught momentarily on your heels, making the two of you chuckle a little, but the nervous smile on Arthur’s face faded into pure lust upon gazing at your pussy for the first time.

You had expected him to pause, ask permission again, maybe procrastinate and stall a little — but Arthur was between your legs in a flash, settled on his stomach now, his tongue already lapping eagerly at you.

“Oh m-my god,” you spluttered, both hands flying up to sink into his hair, seeing stars as you tried to register how somebody so inexperienced could instantly figure out how to do that —

Arthur took your reaction incorrectly, however, his head shooting up, green eyes wildly apologetic. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No, no, no —” You shook your head, your mouth dry now as your hips bucked up. You were planning on saying something reassuring, something coherent, but all that came out was a slutty little whine that made something shift in Arthur.

With a renewed sense of determination, Arthur surged forward once more and went right back into eating your pussy like it was his job, his hands curling around your waist as you all but writhed beneath him.

“Fuck! That’s —” You moaned girlishly, arching your back. His blunt fingernails dug deliciously into your hips as he held you down. You laughed breathlessly, delirious in your pleasure. “Are you sure you haven’t d-done this before?”

Arthur chuckled low against you, a rumbling sensation that sent a shiver rolling up your spine. It was beyond you how the fumbling, timid man from before had the potential to turn into this.

He didn’t let up, learning as he went along, playing close attention to what really made you quiver — and yet somehow, holding back a bit, as if he didn’t want it to end just yet.

Almost on the verge of tears, you lifted your head up from the pillow to catch a glance at what he looked like and noticed that he was absently jutting his hips into the mattress, seemingly turned on all over again.

The words came tumbling out before you could stop them, high-pitched and wanton. “Come up here. Fuck me.”

This was enough to make Arthur pause, lift his chin, lock eyes with you as if making sure he had heard you correctly.

“You did so good, baby,” you told him in a rush, pushing back his hair to really look at him. With your entire body quaking with need, all you could do was whimper out a small, “Please.”

Arthur sprang into action, tugging off his pants — well, stopping a moment to kick off his shoes and then taking off his pants, which made you giggle behind your hand — and climbed back up onto the bed in just his open shirt.

He hesitated above you and you wondered for a moment if he had spotted some sort of flaw, if maybe up close you weren’t as attractive to him as he had thought, but then he nervously murmured, “You said you had condoms?”

Blushing furiously, you broke into a breathless smile and reached over to the bedside table, catching a glimpse of his cock in the process. The sight alone made your pussy throb hard and your hand trembled as it rifled through the top drawer. You felt around, knowing that there was normally at least a dozen condoms kept there. But, nothing.

Cursing under your breath, you sat up a little more and Arthur did the same, the both of you trembling with want and realizing at the same time that the drawer was completely empty.

Rolling back onto the mattress, you caught those green eyes again and worried your bottom lip between your teeth. In any other circumstance, this would have been the end of it, but there had already been so many exceptions tonight, and you were most definitely on birth control —

“Fuck it, just —” You reached out, grabbed ahold of his collar and tugged him forward to break another rule, kissing him hard.

Arthur didn’t respond right away, shocked and well aware of the terms you had set out, but soon kissed you back in earnest, his hands immediately cupping your face with a tenderness that made you sink into the mattress.

Smoothing your hands beneath his shirt, you scratched down along his back and he purred in response, grinding his cock against your inner thigh. Completely out of self-control now, you bit down on his lip and reached down to help guide his length towards your pussy, crying out as it brushed against your clit. He took this as the last bit of permission needed and broke the kiss to look down, and —

“Fuck!”

Arthur didn’t fuck slowly. Once he was inside of you, his pace was rapid right away, hips snapping forward with each unforgiving, bruising thrust.

You buried your face in his neck, bit down at the skin there and sobbed a little, overwhelmed with pleasure. “Arthur, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

This time, Arthur didn’t tiptoe around it. “I’m gonna cum,” he grunted, a throaty kind of whine that made you instantly clench around him.

“You’re — I’m —” You couldn’t fucking speak anymore, because he had tilted his hips up in such a way that made your vision crackle — and then you were cumming, hard, shrieking into his neck.

With your pussy clamped down hard on his cock, Arthur couldn’t have pulled out if he tried. He came inside you with a long, sensual groan that made you wrap your arms around his neck, just wanting to feel him.

The both of you sort of collapsed into each other simultaneously, all heavy breathing and rapid heartbeats and shaky limbs.

“Baby boy,” you eventually breathed out, a sort of sigh of disbelief, your hand returning to his hair.

Clearly exhausted, Arthur pressed a kiss to your temple and you felt his lips turn up into a sleepy smile. “Mm?”

“Your friend can go fuck himself,” you murmured, scratching lazily at his scalp and smiling right back, “Cause you’re coming home with me.”

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird@jesstaggartt@lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader@aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt @mapreza1 @the-jokers-wolf @nicimixerxoxo @catch-a-star-wish-from-afar @umetsa @skaravile @live-love-loki @clowneyrat @darknessisafriend @chaosheartjester @shikoshikomanzuri @myfaceisaturnoffsorry @foofee0924 @tearfuljokers

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message! sorry if i’m missing anybody, lemme know if i did!)

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #arthur fleck #joker #idk how this turned into 6k+ words but i hope you all enjoy it lmao x #drabble

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chameli · 3 years

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I watched Aadmi Khilona Hai (1993) and oh boy, was it a steaming pile of shit.

Read at your own risk.

This film is about two brothers, Sharad (Govinda) and Madan (Jeetendra). Sharad is an orphan who was raised by his older brother, whom he also kind of worships as a God. Madan is married to Ganga (Reena Roy) and they have a daughter, Guddi. Ganga is also pregnant, which we only know because she randomly ends up in the hospital to give birth.

Sharad meets Poonam (Meenakshi Seshadri) at college by - you guessed it - being a complete creep. She blows him off but they keep running into each other. They eventually fall in love. Poonam is poor and lives with her grandfather and sleazy uncle. Some random guy her uncle hangs around (played by Dalip Tahil) is in lust with Poonam and will stop at nothing to get her. The uncle helps this creepy old dude, but Poonam overhears and runs away.

***MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING*** While Poonam is trying to escape these goons, their jeep runs over two homeless old men sleeping in the street. They are then shown screaming in pain while their blankets are soaked in blood. WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU INCLUDE SOMETHING LIKE THIS? JUST WHY?! I know they were just acting, but that broke my heart and was really traumatizing to watch.

Anyway, Sharad magically happens to be there and saves Poonam in time. Dalip Tahil's character is never seen or mentioned again after this. Okay, literally what was the point of him anyway? Sharad and Poonam are quickly married.

Oh, and Ganga also has this really horrible aunt who always comes over for some reason. Bua (Sulabha Deshpande) is trying to get her daughter married to Sharad, but the daughter ends up falling for Sharad’s friend (played by Laxmikant Berde). However, their romantic subplot literally goes NOWHERE. This couple, for some reason, even have a weird song together. Anyway, Bua likes to talk mad shit about Poonam any chance she gets, despite being constantly told off by the entire family. Like...why are you even here, lady? Gtfo.

Poonam soon finds out that she can never have biological children. She goes on a huge spiel about woman who can't bare children are incomplete, how God made her a defective woman who can't even do the one thing she was made to do, blah blah blah. I was rolling my eyes so hard at this point.

Suddenly, Ganga gets this genius idea to GIVE HER SON AWAY WITHOUT EVEN ASKING HER HUSBAND ABOUT IT FIRST. Because who cares about the father, it’s not like it’s his child too or something. Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK? What kind of mother gives her child away to her sister-in-law, just because the SIL is unable to have her own? A child this woman carried, gave birth to, and is the actual mother of. This isn't even about being selfless, it's a very cruel thing to do to a little baby. Madan comes home and Ganga tells him what she's done. And guess what this mf does? He cries tears of joy and thanks God for blessing him with such an amazing partner. BRO THAT'S YOUR SON, WHAT THE HELL? DO YOU NOT EVEN CARE A BIT ABOUT YOUR CHILD?

I can't even at this point. That's like me telling my sister "Hey, I can't have kids so give me your baby!" I'm sure there are many orphaned kids out there Sharad and Poonam could have adopted, buuuut THEY ALL GO ALONG WITH IT BECAUSE BHABHI IS SO PURE AND SELFLESS. Who cares how much trauma and confusion this kid will have when he's older, right?

Five whole ass years later (aka the very next scene), the kid, Suraj aka Munna, grows up into the whitest looking child I’ve ever seen. Sharad and Poonam are visiting the older couple when Suraj shows off his brand new, expensive video game. Ganga chastises Poonam for wasting money. She then asks Sharad to give her about 10-15,000 rupees so she can replace the temple floor with marble. Sharad casually says it's a waste of money and Ganga is FURIOUS. Literally, she takes this soooo personally. Oh, and to make matters worse, Suraj somehow wins the lottery. This makes Ganga lose her shit even more.

That's when Bua starts to emotionally manipulate her by turning her against the family. Ganga starts acting like a huge bitch and even takes Suraj (her own son) away from Poonam and Sharad. Madan finds out and he’s angry. He tells her it's over, rips her mangalsutra off, and leaves with the kids. Ganga freaks out and starts destroying everything in sight. She tells Bua to fuck off, then injures herself and faints.

Madan arrives at Sharad-Poonam's house and tells them he's left his wife. Sharad's all, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? If you severed ties with your wife, then you've also broken our bond! Excuse me? Bros over hoes! They all quickly go back to the house where they find Ganga knocked out. After gaining consciousness, she apologizes to everyone and begs for their forgiveness. Of course, they instantly forgive her. Madan also arrives and takes her back, but I didn't bother to listen to whatever crap he had to say. Then everyone is happy again and the film ends.

THIS ENTIRE FAMILY NEEDS INTENSE THERAPY!!!

Govinda always plays the pure, holy, golden-hearted devar (younger brother/brother-in-law) in every single one of these campy family entertainers. I confess, these type of films are my guilty pleasure but sometimes they're too much. He played the same role in Bhabhi, another dumpster fire.

Meenakshi Seshadri is one of my favorite actresses, but she didn't have much to do except cry and look pretty. Reena Roy's bright green contacts were really distracting and Jeetendra was just there.

It didn't make sense how Ganga, who always told Bua to shut up, was suddenly so easily manipulated by her. And this was only about 30 minutes before the ending, so it made NO sense whatsoever. A more powerful actress like Aruna Irani or Bindu would have made this situation more believable.

The editing was terrible. We literally go from a scene where Suraj is a newborn baby to one where he's about a year old. And in that same scene, Madan comes back from a business trip...bro, how long were you gone? Outfits were repeated constantly. Reena Roy woke up and wore the same outfit/makeup/jewelry that she was sleeping in the night before. Some scenes end abruptly and random things happen which aren't mentioned again.

And now for the pros - the soundtrack was really good. I LOVED Bahot Jatate Ho & Mehndi Lagane Ki Raat. Those are such underrated gems.

If you read all of this, you may be entitled to financial compensation 🤭😂🤣

#bollywood #review

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angstalottle · 5 years

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Why He Cares

@taylortut sorry this birthday fic took so long

Max never really understood why David tried so hard with him, why he spent so long trying to help someone that openly mocked him.

Max always figured it was just David being David and left it at that.

Then the day David’s mother came to visit happened and suddenly everything made sense.

It was a few days after parents day when the car pulled up in the camp.

It was sleek and flashy pulling everyone’s attention instantly even while Gwen and David tried to keep them away.

While the campers all ran over save for Max David let out a long groan of frustration as a woman stepped out.

“Ex girlfriend?” Max snorted, “I never took you for the cougar type but hey props to you for not planning to die alone.

Now normally this kind of comment would be met with a disapproving look or a lecture he would ignore.

Instead all David did was mutter “get the campers inside Gwen.”

“What’s wrong who is that?” Gwen asked noting how his normally relaxed cheerful demeanor was replaced with something much more serious.

“Someone who doesn’t belong here” with that he stormed over, the sea of campers parting in surprise seeing David acting like this.

“Ah David there you are, I was just telling these Erm delightful children that I’m allowed to be here.” She laughed flipping her bleached blond hair.

“Children get away from her. She’s a stranger and dangerous” David was clearly forcing a smile as he stepped between her and his campers.

“Dangerous? Of David really again with your dramatics I would have assumed you’d be over that nonsense already.”

She opened her arms to him in a clear offer of a hug but David simply ignored her and continued to herd the children to Gwen who was making progress getting them all inside the mess hall.

Funny thing about when you see the nice one with that kind of look in his eyes is that no one really wants to know why it’s there.

Well except for Max.

“Jesus David I was kidding about the ex thing but you really are acting like she’s some kind of heartless monster.”

Without missing a beat, she turned her attention to Max “Oh has he been telling stories about me? While I suppose I can’t blame you for missing the resemblance I do look far too young to have a son in his twenties.”

“Holy shit! David is this your mom?!” Max exclaimed already thinking about how he could exploit this knowledge.

“She is yes. Now please go inside Max I would prefer to deal with this alone.” David said calmly but his mom began to laugh taking a cigarette out of her bag and lighting it up.

“Look who finally got a back bone. Then again I guess it’s easy to stand up to a little kid. Or maybe you grew out of being a pussy.” She smirked as she waved her cigarette at him.

Max didn’t miss the way David flinched or stepped further in front of Max.

“Why are you here” David gritted our his eyes not leaving the flowing end.

“What can’t a mother come visit her fuck up of a son to see what he’s up to these days?”

“It’s not like you’ve been bother to be a mother for the last 24 years so yeah I’m curious why you're suddenly Interested now.” David snapped visibly shaking.

She rolled her eyes “Fine you got me. Your dad kicked the bucket and left you the fucking house. I need you to sign it over to me.” She explained as she fished out a stack of papers and waved them in his face.

“Not like you’d even want the place. You slept outside most of the time anyway”

It was a jarring experience for Max to suddenly realise with a cold horror that maybe him and David weren’t so different.

So while David started down at the documents in her hand Max did the only logical thing he could think of.

Pick up a big rock and throw it through the window of her car.

The change in her demeanor was instant.

Gone was the above it all stuck up attitude she had since she arrived, replaced with a screaming bitch.

She grabbed Max by the arm and squeezed so hard he was sure there would be a bruise tomorrow.

“You little shit! Do you know how much this car fucking cost me?!”

“A night with a sleazy guy at a hotel I bet.” David grabbed her wrist twisted t back and then promptly slammed her face through the unbroken window.

Max was dropped to the ground to stare in disbelief as kind sweet gentle David without hesitation or apparent difficulty shoved his own mothers face through glass.

“Let me make one thing clear. I’m not the scared little kid hiding under the bed from your drunken rages anymore. I’m not a violent man, I live every day doing right by these kids like you never did for me. But you fucking touched one of my kids.” He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her out tossing her to the dirty ground.

Her nose was broken and dripping blood onto her white blouse.

“I will never let you hurt any of them like you and dad hurt me.” He stood over her looking much taller than he did when she arrived.

“If I ever see from you again or if you tell anyone about this I’m bringing you down with me. I still have plenty of scars from when you couldn’t find an ashtray.”

He spat picking up the scattered documents and quickly scribbling his name across the line.

“Take the fucking house. I don’t care just never bother me or my kids again”

David dropped the papers in her lap before he turned to Max and offered him his hand.

In a daze Max took it and let him help him up while David’s mom scrambled to her car and drove off into the distance.

“You shouldn’t have done that you know.

She could have really hurt you” David said softly checking over the red area where Max had been held.

“David are you... how did you...”

Max couldn’t bring him to ask, he didn’t even want to think about how this explained so much about David, especially his love for the camp.

It was his escape from... that. His only way out from a life of fear and pain.

Of course he wanted Max to see Camp Camble as his home too... so he could see it as his escape.

“Don’t worry about it Max. Just know that no matter who it is I’ll always keep you safe” he smiled offering him his hand to hold.

Max reaches out to take it before shaking his head “just because you saved me doesn’t mean shit. Your still a dork.”

A soft smile crept across David’s face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Max found himself smiling back as the two headed to meet with the others know they had some explaining to do.

#camp camp #david #max #fanfiction #angst #tw childhood trauma #tw child abuse #december fics #gwen

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zen3to5 · 4 years

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J/H 4-04: Hyde Goes Cruisin’

Okay, time for a page-one rewrite!

Some of you could probably guess that this episode would be on the list for a rewrite project like this. And I actually think it's been changed enough that the original title doesn't fit anymore. So, instead of "Hyde Gets the Girl," you have "Hyde Goes Cruisin'." We assume that 4-03, "Pinciotti vs. Forman," remains the same.

A few scenes here adapt material, not only from scenes cut from other rewritten scripts, but also the characters from the old That '70s Show website. My understanding is that those were treated as semi-official, so I figured they were fair game.

FF.Net AO3

---

SHOW TITLE INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - DAY A slow afternoon. HYDE sits in his chair, ERIC sits on one end of the couch, and FEZ on the other. The boys are watching HOLLYWOOD SQUARES, though only Fez seems invested. FEZ: Elke Sommer to block. Elke Sommer to block. (it doesn’t work) Oh, you stupid son of a bitch! ERIC: (sighs) Donna loved Hollywood Squares. HYDE: Ah, Forman. Come on, man. Give it a rest, huh? So you’re single now. That’s a good thing! Now you’re like me, man. You’re free to be with lots of subpar, somewhat sleazy chicks. It’s Christmas, baby! FEZ: Oh, you disguise your heart, Hyde, but I know you need love. HYDE: Why’s that? FEZ: (beat) ‘Cause I need it. ERIC: (to Hyde) No, he’s right, man. I mean, Donna and I might have broken up, but you liked Jackie and you never even had her. You’re telling me that doesn’t hurt? HYDE: Come on, Forman. You didn’t think that was serious, did you? I was just settin’ up for the biggest burn ever on Kelso. ERIC: You got them back together. HYDE: (shrugs) Know when to fold ‘em, man. (stands) Now, hey – this Friday night, you’re coming out cruisin’ for chicks with me in the El Camino. Of course, if we meet anyone hot, I’m taking her, but I’m sure we can find you a girl just this side of gross. He claps Eric on the shoulder and exits through the basement door. ERIC: (to Fez) No. I don’t care what he says. That unholy little demon crush Hyde had on Jackie, that was real, and it hurts him that she’s back with Kelso. And just once, I wish we could catch him with his guard down about it, so we could make fun of him. We’d be all, “hey, Hyde...” He gestures wildly, looking for the right insult. ERIC (cont’d): “You really liked a girl and you blew it! Yeah, burn! Welcome to Hell!” (beat) Oh, God, I’m in Hell! He throws his head back and moans as Fez turns back to the TV.

MAIN CREDITS BUMPER INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - DAY Early afternoon. Friday has come. KITTY sits at the kitchen table, going through one of many catalogues she has out. They all concern interior design. RED enters from the living room, sees Kitty reading. RED: What’s all this? KITTY: Hmm? Oh, well, I’ve been taking so much work for the church home with me, I’m thinking of turning one of the empty rooms we have into a workspace. RED: (beat) When you say “empty rooms,” are you counting my garage? KITTY: No. RED: Sounds great. I’ll find you a good, cheap contractor. KITTY: Oh, no, no, no, no. This is something I want to handle myself. RED: This is gonna be expensive, isn’t it? KITTY: Maybe. RED: Don’t you like anything cheap? KITTY: I like you. She smiles up at him. Red rolls his eyes and heads to the fridge for a beer. Eric enters from the basement and heads for the patio door. ERIC: Hey. Hyde and I are going tonight. KITTY: Oh, good. I asked Jackie over for some decorating help, so it’ll be nice for Steven to have something to do on a Friday night without his girlfriend. ERIC: Mom, we keep telling you, Jackie is not... He recognizes the opening for a burn, and he takes it. ERIC (cont’d): ... Ever going to pass up a chance to share her knowledge of interior design, and if that means giving up a date night – well then, that’s just a sacrifice Hyde will have to make. Kitty chuckles and smiles at him. He grins back and heads out the patio door. CUT TO: EXT. HUB PARKING LOT – DAY Most of the lot is taken up by a promotional booth and table for WFPP, and a white-and-green Volkswagen Samba. MAX stands by the table with a clipboard in hand. DONNA and her co-worker MELISSA man the booth, its speakers blaring out rock music. KELSO and BOB circle admiringly around the Samba as a few other interested parties place hands on it. KELSO: Oh, man! (to Bob) Oh, I hope I win this van! I really need a place to do it with Jackie. He grins and turns back to the Samba, oblivious to Bob’s discomfort. At the booth, Melissa nudges Donna with her elbow. MELISSA: Check out that idiot’s ‘fro. She points to Bob and chuckles. DONNA: That’s my dad. MELISSA: Oh! Uh... DONNA: No... okay, yeah, you’re right. They laugh as Max crosses over to the crowd around the van. MAX: Okay, listen up, everybody. Welcome to the WFPP Hand 2 Van giveaway. The rules are simple: you place one hand on the van. If you remove your hand for any reason, you’re out. Last person to remove his hand wins the van. Those interested, including Bob and Kelso, place a hand on the Samba. MAX (cont’d): Any questions? One DUPE raises his hand – the hand he had on the van. MAX (cont’d): You’re out. The dupe slinks away. MAX (cont’d): Any other questions? A disreputable-looking character with a bad moustache approaches – DANIEL. DANIEL: Don’t start without me, Max. MAX: Oh, God. Slowly, confidently, Daniel makes his way around the van until he stands across from Kelso and Bob. DANIEL: Hello. My name is Daniel, and I have won every WFPP contest since the Weber Gas Grill Trampoline Bounce of 1972. I am unbeatable. So, the choice is yours: joy or despair... pleasure or pain... He slips a glove onto his right hand and holds it up. DANIEL (cont’d): Life or death. He slaps his hand down on the Samba. DANIEL (cont’d): I am Daniel! And I cannot be beaten. He is determined, Bob is unnerved, and Kelso is giddy and slightly impressed. BUMPER EXT. ROAD – EVENING The El Camino is parked on the street in-between the Forman and Pinciotti homes. Hyde is at the wheel, Eric sits in the passenger’s seat, and Fez is wedged into the space in between. HYDE: Alright, boys, let’s hit the road. He starts up the car. FEZ: Hyde, when we cruise a girl, how long do we have to talk to them before they will french us? HYDE: That depends on what kind of girl you’re cruising for. Which is why I suggest you aim low. Real low. ERIC: Well, I’m already at the bottom of a black pit of despair, so I think I’m about as low as I can get. HYDE: (to Eric) Hey, none of that mopey crap, all right? (to Fez) And you, don’t come on all needy. You gotta be aloof. FEZ: (beat) Did you just call me a loof? Because if so, I will have to kick you in your nads. HYDE: No, man – aloof. Distant. Zen. FEZ: (beat) Well, that’s not what “loof” means in my language. HYDE: Look, I don’t care what you think it means, that’s what it means here. Now, come on – let’s ride. He shifts out of park, Fez turns on the radio, and off they go. CUT TO: MONTAGE, moving from evening to night. Set to “We Gotta Get You A Woman” by Todd Rundgren. Beginning on a side shot of the El Camino pulling up to a light. Hyde, Eric and Fez look out the passenger window, grinning and nodding at what they see. And what they see is, in succession: A) A SHORT-HAIRED BLONDE with pouty lips. BLONDE: I’m on my way to Bible study. You in? B) AN OLDER WOMAN. OLDER WOMAN: You with the curly hair – I think I used to date your dad. Isn’t that a turn-on? C) A LONG-HAIRED PRISSY GIRL. PRISSY: I don’t know... I usually only date guys who aren’t as good-looking as me. Otherwise, I’d never date. D) AN INTENSE GIRL. INTENSE GIRL: My boyfriend’s in jail, so I guess I could fool around. (beat) Wait... I think he just busted out... E) A BIG-TOOTHED REDHEAD. REDHEAD: You know, I’m workin’ the pedals here with just one real leg. Wanna guess which one it is? F) A MOUSY BRUNETTE, too paralyzed with fear to say anything. She giggles nervously and speeds off. END MONTAGE. It’s now dark outside. The El Camino idles in a parking space. Hyde is chill, but Eric and Fez both look disturbed. ERIC: Well, that was all... deeply unsettling. FEZ: (to Hyde) How many women who do not cause nightmares do you get in this way? HYDE: I’d say it averages out to nine chicks a month. Subtract the six who turn out psycho, the two who get too attached, and the one that ditches ya. ERIC: (beat) That comes to zero women. HYDE: (shrugs) Hey, I’ve still got the El Camino. He pats the dashboard as he brings his car into park. ERIC: I don’t know, Hyde. Does a car and nine no-gos a month really fill the void left by a certain tiny cheerleader? One shrill of voice and intolerable for the sane among us, but with a certain naïve charm that some curly-haired rebels just can’t resist? HYDE: Does a Vista Cruiser and a bitchy attitude make up for running off the hottest redhead in Wisconsin? He exits the car, leaving Eric to consider that. Fez leans forward to look out the still-open driver’s door and call after Hyde: FEZ: This is not over, Johnny Cool! (to Eric) Boy, what a loof. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – NIGHT Kitty and her catalogues have moved over to the stovetop. She stands over it with JACKIE at her side. Red sits at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich. KITTY: Thank you for helping me figure out what to do with my new workspace, Jackie. I’m sure you’d rather be out with your boyfriend on a Friday night, but - JACKIE: Oh, please. I needed a reason to get away tonight. I couldn’t take another second of hearing how we’ll be “hittin’ the road with his new wheels.” KITTY: (shakes head) Oh, don’t get me started on men and cars, we will be here all night. She laughs and opens up one of the catalogues. KITTY (cont’d): Now, most of what I do at the church is helping plan events and fundraisers, so I just need a nice little space to set up a desk and hunker down with the paperwork. Jackie nods agreeably. She picks up a catalogue and flips through it. At a certain page, she gasps and holds it up for Kitty to see. JACKIE: What about this? The Le Palais Bulles look. Pierre Cardin built his house like this on the French Riviera. Ocean view, bean bags for furniture, and the whole house is shaped like a bubble. KITTY: (beat) Okay, um... my house is shaped like a... like a house. A bean bag is not a desk. And we don’t have an ocean view. We don’t even have a Lake Michigan view. (laughs) Jackie considers this, turns back to the catalogue. JACKIE: Ooh, you could model your workspace after Priscilla Presley’s home. She’s got this giant gold chess set that shows off that she’s rich, but she’s also got those crochet patterns old ladies like. That’d be perfect for you, Mrs. Forman! She beams and bobs on her feet. Kitty gives her a fixed smile, glances around her to Red. He grins back. RED: How’s doing it yourself working out? He takes a big bite of her sandwich as Jackie calls Kitty’s attention to another design. BUMPER EXT. HUB PARKING LOT - NIGHT The Hand 2 Van contest goes on. A few have dropped out, but Bob, Kelso, and Daniel remain. Donna crosses to Bob and passes a tin and a pick to his free hand. DONNA: Here, Dad. Some mints and your Afro pick. BOB: Oh, thank God, Donna. My hair was starting to look silly. Donna smiles, gives Kelso a friendly jab on the shoulder, and heads back to the booth. Daniel follows her with his eyes the whole way. DANIEL: Hey, check out the redhead. BOB: That redhead is my baby girl, Donna. I’m her dad. DANIEL: I want Donna to call me “daddy.” Kelso’s jaw drops as Bob trembles with rage. Finally, he can’t take it anymore – he takes his hand off the van and advances on Daniel. BOB: That’s it! Max hurries over from the table. MAX: Ah, Bob! You took your hand off the van – you lose! Max shakes his head and walks away. Bob glares at Daniel. BOB: This isn’t over. DANIEL: It is for you. Now, get out of here. He nods his head toward the street. Bob stares him down for a moment, then slinks off to Max’s table. Daniel slides along the van to get right up in a grinning Kelso’s face. DANIEL (cont’d): And so begins the battle of wits. KELSO: Oh, man. I’ve never been good at wits. DANIEL: (flat) Really? BUMPER MUSIC NOTE: “Rockaway Beach by the Ramones. INT. HUB - NIGHT Between it being Friday night and the giveaway going on outside, the Hub is happening – lots of teens, and lots of them girls. “Rockaway Beach” plays on the jukebox. Donna and Melissa chat near the window, and a tall, stout, badly-dressed and poorly groomed girl with glasses struts the floor – at last, we meet BIG RHONDA. Hyde, Eric, and Fez enter. Donna crosses to them. DONNA: Hey, guys. What’s going on? HYDE: Quick pit stop. DONNA: Cool. There’s a keg behind the radio booth and the guy watching it isn’t checking I.D.s. The boys all nod and mosey on into the Hub. Hyde and Eric stop to talk to a DARK-HAIRED GIRL and her friends, but Fez’s eye lands on Big Rhonda, near the pinball machine. He crosses over to her. FEZ: So, you are the notorious Big Rhonda? RHONDA: Yep. That’s my name. You must be that little foreign cocoa puff. Fez nods, looks Rhonda over. She gives him a friendly slug on the shoulder. RHONDA (cont’d): Hey, wanna join me in hittin’ that keg outside? First one to down five cups buys me a hot dog. Fez raises his eyebrows, intrigued. He allows Rhonda to lead him outside. Near the bathroom door, Hyde and Eric chat up the dark-haired girl, who leans against the wall. DARK-HAIRED GIRL: It’s not like head cheerleader’s always the most talented, but in my case, it’s true. Neither of the boys has an answer to that. The girl leaves them to re-join her friends. ERIC: (to Hyde) God, would you look at her? Small, dark, and shallow. Hey, just your type, Hyde. HYDE: Looks like your type’s being picked up. He points over Eric’s shoulder. Eric looks, sees Donna chatting with a good-looking guy. Deflated, Eric sighs, wanders over to a round table and leans against it. He doesn’t even notice the cute girl, KATIE, sitting there. She looks up at him and smiles. KATIE: Hey. Eric doesn’t respond. KATIE (cont’d): So... that Hand 2 Van contest, huh? ERIC: Yuh-huh. KATIE: And the words kind of sound alike, so that’s always fun. ERIC: Look – no offense, but I’m really not in the mood for talking. I just broke up with my girlfriend, so… KATIE: Aww... you poor thing. She puts a hand on his arm. KATIE (cont’d): You know, you have these sad lips that are just so hot. ERIC: (beat) Really? He pulls up a chair and sits across from Katie. FADE TO BLACK COMMERCIAL BUMPER INT. HUB – NIGHT Picking up right where we left off. “Come On, Come On” by Cheap Trick now plays on the jukebox. Hyde chats with Melissa near the counter. Eric is still at the table with Katie. Fez and Rhonda have come back in from the keg and stand near the pinball machine. RHONDA: This summer, I’m going to visit my aunt in Mississippi. FEZ: Oh, you’re going away? That is sad. RHONDA: Hey, you should come with me, chocolate milk! She slaps him on the chest and downs what’s left of the beer in her cup. At their table, Katie pulls her seat in closer to Eric, so that they’re right next to each other. KATIE: When I looked up and saw you, I saw a guy who was wounded. The guy who sits in the dark, waiting for the light to find him again. At that moment, Donna comes in from the contest. She sees Eric and Katie, and Eric sees her. ERIC: (to Katie) If only I could find this light you speak of, then maybe – just maybe – my pain might go away. KATIE: Would it help if I held you? ERIC: I doubt it. (beat) But let’s try, Katie. They hug. ERIC (cont’d): Yeah, lower – yeah. Donna remains by the door, fuming. Hyde takes a sip from his red cup and looks Melissa over. HYDE: So, what do you do for fun? MELISSA: We’re in Wisconsin. So, nothing. HYDE: So you wouldn’t want to do something some time? MELISSA: Sorry. I did something last night, and I already made plans for some time. She moves around him, brushing his shoulder with hers as she walks, and heads outside. Fez and Rhonda have taken over an empty table. Fez stands on it and raises his red beer cup high. He’s not exactly steady on his feet. FEZ: A toast: to all my good friends. I will miss you when I blow out of this burg with the beautiful Big Rhonda. He actually picks up some applause. FEZ (cont’d): Now, it’s off to Mississiphylis! He downs the rest of his beer. He slips off the table and is caught bridal-style by Rhonda. CUT TO: EXT. HUB PARKING LOT – NIGHT On goes the contest. Kelso and Daniel are all that’s left. Bob comes around the van with a coffee cup, hands it to Kelso. BOB: Here, Kelso. Thought you might need some coffee to keep you going. He exits, shooting Daniel a dirty look as he does so. Kelso quickly downs his coffee. DANIEL: (to Kelso) Hey, you know what would be fun? Seeing which one of us could drink the most coffee, huh? Kelso laughs and nods. DANIEL (cont’d): Oh, no. You’ll just lose. KELSO: No, I would not. I could so beat you! DANIEL: Well, I doubt that. KELSO: Oh, you’re goin’ down! TIME LAPSE Moments later. Kelso drains a cup of coffee and throws it down in triumph. KELSO: That’s my six to your one! DANIEL: Yeah, you really whipped me. Kelso, you ever been to Niagara Falls? KELSO: Uh-uh. DANIEL: Don’t you like the soothing sound of water? KELSO: Yeah, I guess. DANIEL: You ever sat beside a babbling brook, listening to the beautiful, steady stream of water? KELSO: Well, I – okay, I don’t know if you realize this, but all this talk about water’s really making me have to go pee. DANIEL: Oh, yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. Yeah, I can see that “urine” a lot of pain. KELSO: Yeah, well, you better shut up, ‘cause you’re gonna have to go too. DANIEL: That’s where you’re wrong: I am going. He pulls up his pant leg, revealing a thermos strapped to his ankle with a tube stretching up into his pants. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - NIGHT The decorating continues, and not well. Red is still at the kitchen table, now reading a newspaper. Kitty leans on the stovetop, trying to keep calm. Jackie is the only one still upbeat as she keeps flipping through catalogues. JACKIE: Ooh, what about this one, Mrs. Forman? (shows Kitty) Barbara Streisand has a big desk next to the antique armchair. And just look at that chandelier. KITTY: (beat) A chandelier? What am I going to do with a chandelier? There are two rooms in this house that I could use as a workspace, and neither one is even tall enough for a chandelier! JACKIE: Okay, I’m sensing you’re not in love with the chandelier. (flips through catalogue) Oh, but Lee Raziwill has this gorgeous - Kitty takes the catalogue from Jackie and shuts it. KITTY: Okay, okay – I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll just bring in a contractor to set up my workspace. RED: And there it is. He folds up his newspaper and checks his watch. RED (cont’d): And hey, it didn’t even take as long as I thought. He grins at a pouting Kitty, stands, and exits into the living room. KITTY: Oh, well. Thank you anyway, Jackie, for all the help you were... you were trying to give. Tell you what – the night’s still young. Why don’t you go see if you can catch up with your boyfriend? JACKIE: Yeah, I should probably check on Michael, see how that radio giveaway’s going. KITTY: (beat) Michael? Honey, you mean Steven. JACKIE: No, I mean Michael. KITTY: But I thought you were going to check on your boyfriend. JACKIE: Yeah... Michael is my boyfriend. We got back together weeks ago. Steven’s the one who made sure we made things up. Kitty jaw goes slack as she stares at Jackie. KITTY: You’re back together with Michael? All the time you kids spend in my house, and no one tells me anything! She shakes her head and throws up her hands. CUT TO: INT. HUB - NIGHT The jukebox now plays “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” by the Electric Light Orchestra. While Eric and Katie continue to chat (and Donna continues to fume), Hyde leads Fez by the shoulder toward the door, just of out earshot of Rhonda, who is scarfing down hot dogs at a table near the pinball. FEZ: I know I just met her, Hyde, but I love her. She is sturdy. I want to climb her. HYDE: Man, you are desperate to give it away. FEZ: Yes. Yes I am. HYDE: Okay, Fez, time for a little advice. First: if a chick outweighs you by thirty pounds, you’re in for trouble. FEZ: Oh, I’ll put on weight. I’ll bridge the gap. HYDE: And that brings me to my second point: when used separately, chicks and booze are a lot of fun. But mix ‘em up, and you end spending your summer ass-deep in a swamp down south in Dixie. Fez looks down in thought as Hyde pats him on the back. Eric and Katie have moved into the booth seat. Eric briefly glances at Donna as Katie rubs his back. ERIC: (to Katie) If you really think that putting my head on your lap will make me feel better... I mean, I guess I should try. He adjusts himself so that he can lie down in the booth seat with his head in Katie’s lap. DONNA: All right, that’s it. (to Katie) Excuse me? Hi. I have some information - Eric shoots upright. ERIC: (to Katie) No, don’t listen to what she’s... I’m... she’s the one who hurt me! DONNA: Uh-huh. Yeah. He dumped me. KATIE: (gasps) You dumped her? ERIC: Well, I had to. She wouldn’t... she wouldn’t take my ring. KATIE: (to Donna) You wouldn’t take his ring? DONNA: This is none of your business! (to Eric) And you are a sad little man. Katie looks at Eric with much less sympathy, and he squirms uncomfortably in his seat. CUT TO: EXT. HUB PARKING LOT - NIGHT A short time later. The contest is still ongoing between Kelso and Daniel. Max and Bob still man the table, while Donna and Melissa watch from the booth. But there’s a new presence in the lot: Jackie is at Kelso’s side, talking. JACKIE: Michael, this is so much nicer than your old van. I mean, this pea-soup green is – ugh – but with a little paint job - KELSO: You mean, like a mural, or like the Mystery Machine? Either way, I’m there! JACKIE: (nods) Yeah, you could have an eagle, soaring majestically over the clouds, or a wild stallion charging through the desert. KELSO: I bet ya Fez would like that one! But it might give him some ideas... He and Jackie both wince at what kind of “ideas” he’s talking about. KELSO (cont’d): Oh, what about one of those wizards surrounded by fire? Daniel leans his head against the van. The conversation’s getting to him. JACKIE: No, wait Michael, I’ve got it. The mural should be about – me! DANIEL: Oh, my God. KELSO: (to Jackie) Yeah, I could totally see you airbrushed on the side of the new Shaggin’ Wagon! Would you wanna be in your black dress or your new bikini? JACKIE: Why are those my only choices? I have so many mural-worthy outfits to choose from. KELSO: I guess that’s true. Like your lavender top with the dark gold scarf for winter. JACKIE: Or my bottleneck paired with my red beret. KELSO: Or your cheerleading uniform. JACKIE: Or my - DANIEL: Oh, my God! He turns to face them. DANIEL (cont’d): I can’t take it anymore! (mocking) “What should we paint the van? Shouldn’t it be me? What should I wear?” He lets go of the van with both hands to grab Jackie and cover her mouth. DANIEL (cont’d): SHUT UP! But that’s Max’s cue. With a portable transmitter and microphone on him, he jumps up and crosses to the van. MAX: And we finally have a winner! Daniel, in shock, releases Jackie, while Kelso hops up and down, still not letting go of the van. Donna and Melissa cross to Bob, and they all applaud. KELSO: I did it! Oh, my God, I won! (to Daniel) Who’s the best? I’m the best! Loser! DANIEL: I’m not a loser, okay? I win everything. I don’t lose, I win! Because I’m a winner! He slowly slinks away, calling back as he exits: DANIEL (cont’d): I’m a winner! With him gone, Max adjusts the transmitter and crosses to Kelso and Jackie. MAX: So, Michael Kelso, tell Wisconsin how it feels to be WFPP’s new Hand 2 Van winner. He holds out the microphone for Kelso, who leans in. KELSO: Well, I guess I have to say it like this, Max: if this van’s a-rockin’, we’re in there doing it. JACKIE: Michael! KELSO: Oh, I’m sorry. I’m doing it with Jackie Burkhart! Max, Bob, Donna, and Melissa all shake their heads as Jackie slaps Kelso in the chest. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – NIGHT A short time later. Kitty is still up, back at the kitchen table with her catalogues. A portable radio, shut off, is on the table too. Eric and Hyde enter through the patio door. KITTY: Hello, boys. Eric keeps walking, all the way to the basement, but Hyde stops at the kitchen table. HYDE: Hey, Mrs. Forman. What are you doing up so late? KITTY: Oh, just getting a few things together to show the contractor. (taps the catalogue page) You know, I do like this wallpaper Lee Radziwill used here. Guess Jackie had the right idea after all. (laughs) HYDE: You had Jackie over? KITTY: Uh-huh. HYDE: (looks left and right) She still around? KITTY: No, she went to go check on Michael. (taps radio) He just won the van giveaway. They cut the broadcast when Jackie started yelling at him for... well, for saying what they’d be doing in the van. HYDE: Huh. He leans on the back of a chair as he looks off into space. Kitty looks up at him in sympathy, pats his hand. KITTY: That was a very selfless thing you did, getting them back together. I can only imagine how hard that was for you. Hyde stirs; he realizes his guard’s down. KITTY (cont’d): It didn’t really sink in until now, did it? HYDE: What? No! Come on, man, that’s – pfft! Like I care. He shrugs, jabs at the air. Kitty sees through the display. She stands, brings Hyde’s head down for a kiss on the cheek, and pats him on the shoulder before exiting into the living room. Once she’s gone, Hyde takes his sunglasses off. He runs a hand down his face and stares off again. Eric comes running back in from the basement. ERIC: Oh, YES! Burn, baby, burn! He points and snickers as Hyde scowls. FADE TO BLACK CREDITS INT. HUB – NIGHT The crowd has finally thinned out. It’s now just Rhonda, Fez, and Donna at a round table. FEZ: (to Rhonda) Rhonda, I cannot go to Mississippi. RHONDA: (tearing up) So, you’re not coming? FEZ: I’m sorry. But maybe we can go to the movies sometime. RHONDA: And make out in the theater? Yeah! Call me. She kisses Fez on the cheek and struts out the door. DONNA: (to Fez) Good God, sober up, man. FEZ: Oh, screw it, Donna. Fez likes them big, Fez likes them small, Fez likes them all. Donna laughs and claps him on the arm. END.

#z's fics #that 70s show #zenmasters #jackie x hyde #zen3to5 #fan fiction #fan script

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chiseler · 5 years

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Rip Torn: A Retrospective

Rip Torn died on July 9th at age 88. That he lived that long is nothing short of miraculous.

In the summer of 1969, Rip Torn was drunkenly screaming through New York’s West Village on his motorcycle when he slammed it into a police cruiser. Torn broke his leg in the accident, but didn’t notice. The next morning he got up, got on a plane, and flew to Paris where he was set to star in Joseph Strick’s film version of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer. He shot the entire film all hopped up on painkillers on an untreated busted leg,. And you know what? He still gives a remarkable performance. It wasn’t the only time he worked with broken bones, either.

For over 60 years, Torn carried on in the proud tradition of John Barrymore, Errol Flynn, Robert Mitchum, Frank Sinatra, and Lawrence Tierney as the last of the great Hollywood hellions. In between insane drunken escapades, he was nominated for Emmys and Tonys and Oscars, he established himself as one of America’s most respected character actors, a man with a knack for making even a small role a pivotal one, and he was in Every Movie and TV Show Ever Made. Next time you watch something take a close look at the credits and you’ll see.

Torn’s given name was Elmore Rual Torn, Jr., but was nicknamed Rip as a boy, as was tradition among all the Torn men. He was born and raised and educated in Texas, studying animal husbandry in college before turning to acting.

The motivation behind the decision was different than most. He hitchhiked to California to break into the movies not because he wanted to be a big star, but because he thought it would be an easy way to raise enough money to buy himself a ranch. Things didn’t work out quite so zip bang as he’d planned, though he did earn small roles on TV and made his feature debut in an uncredited role as a dentist in Elia Kazan’s great and scandalous 1956 film Baby Doll. Kazan hired him again the following year to play another uncredited but extremely important role in the equally great Face in the Crowd.

Although he wasn’t making the kind of money he needed to buy that ranch, he was getting enough acting jobs along the way to start taking the whole enterprise a bit more seriously. He moved to New York to study at the Actor’s studio, worked in theater both on and off Broadway, and from the mid-’50s to the mid-60s established himself on TV in everything from Playhouse 90 to Thriller to Route 66 to The Untouchables. After that things took off. There was just something sinister about Torn, those wicked eyes of his, that crooked-toothed leer, the whole rat-like demeanor, that suited him for villainous roles of all kinds. Plus he was a chameleon who could shift his whole look and stature with the simplest change of accent. He would go on to play Judas in King of Kings, countless presidents, doctors, senators, military officers and judges. He played rednecks and gangsters, cowboys and spies and executives. He played Walt Whitman twice, was in a whole bunch of Tennessee William’s plays (on Broadway, TV and film). Yeah, like I said, between the mid-’50s and the present, he was in every damn thing ever made. Trying to summarize his career is pretty much impossible, but there was a stretch there from the mid-60s to the late 70s when he was top billed when he was turning small supporting roles into leads, when he was moving easily between TV, experimental films, and big budget Hollywood jobs, and when he was starting to earn himself a reputation as a wild man.

Looking back on it now, it’s hard to imagine the kind of talent, both in front of and behind the camera, that came together on the 1965 period gambling picture The Cincinnati Kid. It was originally a Sam Peckinpah film with a script by Ring Lardner. Then Peckinpah was fired (surprise!) and Norman Jewison was brought in to direct. He thought the script was too self important and talky, so he brought in Terry Southern. He also gave Hal Ashby his first big break, bringing him in as editor and assistant director. Steve McQueen stars as a hotshot young poker player in ‘30s-era New Orleans. Karl Malden is a former hotshot on the skids. Jack weston is the loud whiny guy. Ann-Margaret is the bad girl, Tuesday Weld is the good girl, and Edward G. Robinson is the old man, the undisputed champ, the stud poker king feared by everyone.

Ah, then there’s Rip Torn. His name’s deep in the credits but the whole film turns around him. He plays the slick and sleazy Southern Gentleman who will stop at nothing to see the Robinson character toppled. See, Robinson beat him at poker once, and for a Southern Gentleman of his stature there’s nothing in the world worse than losing. There’s one scene in particular, Torn’s showpiece here, in which he tries to blackmail the dealer (Malden) into cheating, and though it doesn’t sound like much nobody can muster up the cool menace like Torn. Oooohhh, he’s such a rotten son of a bitch.

Four years later he starred in Moses Ginsberg’s first film, Coming Apart, an experimental number that’s been called “More a Happening than an actual movie,.” Filmed with a single static camera to recreate the feel of a documentary, Torn stars as an unbalanced psychiatrist who torments and confuses his female patients, eventually going completely batty himself. It all takes place in one small room shot by that one unmoving camera. It’s at turns compelling and unbelievably tedious, and if it weren’t for Torn (thank god for that Actor’s Studio improv training) it would be unwatchable.

Around this same time Dennis Hopper cast Torn to be in Easy Rider. Then at what was either a production meeting or a cocktail party in New York (depending on who’s telling the story), Hopper and Torn got into a bit of a ruckus over whether or not all Texans were rednecks out to kill hippies. A knife was pulled (though Peter Fonda would later claim it was a butter knife, or maybe a fork, or maybe both). Next thing you know, Torn was thrown off the picture, and Hopper cast Jack Nicholson in his place.

About a year later Torn joined the cast of Norman Mailer’s improvisational experiment, Maidstone. Essentially it was a raucous, drunken three-day party out at Grove Press founder Barney Rossett’s Long Island estate around which Mailer tried to film himself as a director trying to shoot a movie. As the story goes, before shooting started each actor was given a card briefly describing his or her character, and that was as close as anyone got to a script. One character, however, was given a card at random informing the holder that his character was in fact a CIA assassin whose job it was to kill Mailer. The card’s recipient was supposed to be kept a secret from everyone in the cast, including Mailer.

Well, according to Rossett there was a little confusion there. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe the card simply wasn’t worded clearly. In any case Torn (naturally) got the card, but instead of thinking his character was supposed to kill Mailer, he somehow got the idea that HE was supposed to kill Mailer. Lucky for Mailer, too, as the confusion resulted in the only scene in the film anyone remembers.

After the shoot was over and most everyone had gone home, Mailer and his family are walking back toward the house when they’re stopped by a grinning and quite mad Torn, who is also clutching a small hatchet. The cameras are rolling and you can tell this was something Mailer was not prepared for. Nor was he prepared when Torn goes after his skull with the hatchet. The two wrestle each other to the ground, Mailer bites Torn’s ear, Torn leaves a deep gash in Mailer’s scalp, and Mailer’s wife and children scream in horror until a couple crew members pull Torn off him.

And that, my friends, is entertainment!

(The next morning Rossett found a drunken midget floating in his swimming pool, but that’s another story.)

Then came the motorcycle accident and shooting Tropic of Cancer on a broken leg. As it happens there were two films based on Henry Miller novels filming simultaneously two blocks apart in Paris. Jens Jorgen Thorsen’s Quiet Days in Clichy starred Paul Valjean, an American dancer who looked an awful lot like Miller, but neither sounded nor acted like him. Torn, meanwhile, looked absolutely nothing like Miller, but somehow by adopting just the slightest hint of a Brooklyn accent (and on all those painkillers) was somehow able to embody him completely. It’s a gritty, funny, poetic film and Torn is great, though to be fair it should be noted that Clichy was dirtier.

Also in 1970, Torn spoke out against the war in Vietnam on a TV show, and a few nights later someone fired a bullet through his window. It was a hell of a year for him.

In ‘73s Darryl Duke film, Payday, Torn gives what he himself would later refer to as his best performance. Or maybe his favorite. In any case he’s really something as Maury Dann, a womanizing, hard-drinking, bastard son of a bitch of a second-rate country singer. Dann and his band are on tour through the South as Dann screws and screws over everyone around him, from band members to family, to pretty much every woman he meets. He never quite hit the top, but insists on acting and being treated like he has. Toward the end he even talks his chauffer into taking a murder rap for him, since he has to get to a show. It’s an extremely dark, cynical, and painfully accurate portrait of the country music business of the early ‘70s, and Torn does all his own singing. It makes for a nice counterpoint to Robert Duvall’s quiet, soft-spoken, and sensitive country singer in Tender Mercies from a decade later.

Although again his name is buried deep in the credits of Larry Cohen’s 1977 biopic The Secret Files of J. Edgar Hoover the entire film revolves around him. He narrates, after all, and gives another memorable performance as a young man who decides to join the Bureau after his father (another agent) is gunned down by a two-bit hood on the street. After seeing what’s going on in the FBI, though, and after being punished himself for a minor indiscretion, he tries to bring Hoover down a notch or two. In what could have been a hamfisted cartoon, both Cohen and Torn (and star Broderick Crawford near the end of his career) manage a shockingly human portrait.

As a flipside to Torn’s tendency to turn minor supporting roles into leads, there was 1978’s Coma, the medical conspiracy thriller directed by Michael Chrichton based on the Robin Cook novel. Torn was fourth-billed behind Genevieve Bujold, MIchael Douglas, and Richard Widmark. And sure, Torn’s character, Dr. George, is the film’s central villain, the man behind a Boston hospital’s fiendish conspiracy to harvest human organs and sell them on the black market, but he only appears in one scene, and speaks roughly four lines. It’s unclear whether this was the plan from the start, an attempt to turn his character into another Harry Lime or Mabuse, or if maybe all his other scenes were cut after Torn went after Crichton with a hatchet (we can only hope). In any case he was missed. He might have livened up what was otherwise a pretty godawful picture.

As Torn grew older and a little larger and his hair started getting thinner, two things happened. He began playing more authority figures, which only makes sense I guess. He had that look and sound about him. He also started doing more comedies and genre films. Sometimes he even combined the two, playing Ronald Reagan in ‘82s Airplane II: The Sequel.

In ‘91 he was Bob Diamond, the charming, sleazy, and utterly ineffective lawyer trying to give Albert Brooks a boost out of Purgatory in Defending Your Life. He was the sinister CEO in the otherwise dreadful Robocop 3. He even began lending his voice to animated features and video games (usually playing a god of some kind).

Then in 1999 Dennis Hopper was a guest on Leno and told a few old Easy Rider stories, including the one about how Torn had pulled a knife on him at a party. Well, Torn, remembering things a bit differently, sued him for defamation.

It’s pretty hilarious if you think about it; these two guys who were both completely out of their heads in the late ‘60s going to court to determine which one of them was behaving badly. I mean, they both had reputations to maintain.

Well, most of the witnesses agreed with Torn that it was Hopper who pulled the knife (except for Peter Fonda, who remembered all kinds of different utensils), and the court ordered Hopper to pay Torn nearly half a million in damages. It was all kind of silly. I mean, it’s not like the story cost him any work. Hell, trying to literally kill Norman Mailer on camera didn’t even cost him any work. But I guess pride’s a funny thing.

After that he continued to work regularly, as Agent Zed in the Men in Black films, in sit-coms, in made-for-TV films, christ, anything that came along. Every director I’ve ever heard talk about Torn can’t praise him highly enough for his talent and professionalism (except maybe Mailer), though given his admitted temper, it’s also possible they’re just scared of him. He was nominated for six Emmys for his role on the Larry Sanders Show, and came to be recognized by a whole new generation as the executive Alec Baldwin worships but wants to replace on 30 Rock.

Along the way he set himself the task of repairing any damage his reputation as a hellraiser might have suffered as a result of that Hopper lawsuit. The DUIs started adding up. Or at least getting noticed, in part thanks to the actor’s tendency to swing on the arresting officers. Along with being the president of the Extreme Dodgeball League (who knew it even existed?) it seems he was also an extreme regular at a bar near his Connecticut home. Every once in awhile the bartender himself would tip off the cops after Torn headed for his car. I’m not sure if that bartender’s still there, but even after being fingered like that Torn remained a regular, though he didn’t always drive. And that in itself might have caused some problems.

After returning home from the bar one night in 2010, Torn found his keys didn’t work in the lock. Seeing no alternative, the 79-year-old was forced to break into his own house. He was probably surprised a few minutes later, just as he got his shoes off and was making himself comfortable, when the cops arrived and informed him that he wasn’t in his house at all, but had broken into a nearby bank. And the cops were probably surprised to find Torn was carrying a loaded handgun. Yeah, he’s not the only one who’s been there, as I think many of us can attest.

Once it was clarified that it was not Torn’s intention to rob the bank, he was given a two and a half year suspended sentence and three years probation.

The arrest prompted the tightassed, no fun creators of Thirty Rock to kill off his character, but he remained as busy as ever, including an uncredited role as an alien in Men in Black Three.

He once proudly noted that he’s never missed a performance. He’s worked with broken legs, broken arms and ankles, and once while doing a play he passed a kidney stone on opening night. He was a rare, tough old bird, a vanishing breed, and one of my heroes. We won’t see his like again.

by Jim Knipfel

#Jim Kinipfel #The Chiseler #Rip Torn

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writeawayjake · 5 years

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Robin Hood AU

CH. 2

Sherwood

Marian stood at the base of Sherwood Security, a massive glass edifice in the heart of Manhattan. She wasn’t sure if it was genuine awe or jet lag but she couldn’t help being a little impressed at the hundred story dick John King built. Probably wanted to outdo Trump tower, She thought.

She let out a sigh, her breath hanging in the chilly, early morning air. Putting her head down she marched into the lobby through the large revolving doors. A checkered black and white marble floor led to an absolutely ridiculous fountain filled with little marble statues of cherubs or whatever the hell they’re called. Looking around she could see half a dozen crew cuts in cheap suits all sitting on black leather couches practicing their interview answers.

On her three o'clock sat the receptionist, a mousy little brunette, probably a summer intern. With a nervous sigh she reserved herself to this and marched over to the long black desk.

“Excuse me. I have an appointment with Mr. Nottingham.”

“Okay, uhm name - name please?” She stumbled nervously.

“Maid, Marian.” Don't fucking say it. She prayed.

“Oooooh, just like from Robin Hood!”

Uuuuugh. Letting out a sigh, she replied, “Yeees.”

Realizing she had irritated Mari the receptionists demeanor quickly went back to being frightened,

“Uhm - just take that elevator. Thirty uh - thirty third floor.”

“Thank you.” Mari replied, clenching her jaw and pursing her lips.

She tucked the folder holding her file under her arm and continued marching to the elevator. Feeling like a sellout she tried to shake it off as nerves.

Pressing the silver thirty three she began her slow ascent into the hell that is job interviews. She was sure this Nottingham would be some pale pudgy businessman, probably loved Excel spreadsheets and hard candy.

Straightening her jacket and fussing with her cuffs she fidgeted all the way up.

Thirty one. Thirty two. Thirty three. The doors opened smoothly after the familiar bing. A towering figure in a tailored black suit stood outside of them. She couldn't even see their head until exiting the elevator.

A pointed black beard jutted out from a square jaw. Dark brown eyes glowered down at her from under a heavy furrowed brow.

“Lieutenant,” the towering figure growled. “Come with me.”

“Uh yessir.” She replied instinctually, quickly falling into line behind the glaring sasquatch.

Under his suit jacket she could see the shape of a sidearm holster. Not surprising, every guy in the lobby had a piece. You couldn't even apply without an open and concealed carry permit. But unlike all the crewcuts downstairs this one wasn't some carbon fiber semi automatic number. The lines were too organic, the shape was all wrong.

Son of a bitch is carrying a six shooter? And a pretty large caliber by the looks of it. At least a .357.

While she was noticing all of this, they'd been walking down a long hall of fine marble flooring and gaudy gold light fixtures. Really seemed like this guy was trying to out-douche the Trump family.

Every five or so feet of wall hung a God awful portrait of a different old white guy, looking more and more spoiled and weak, until they finally came to the double doors. On the wall next to them was a portrait twice the size of the rest, but the guy in it wasn't even half the age of the others. A chinless face without even any peach fuzz, a crooked smile and overpriced haircut. Under the painting and on the door read the same inscription.

John King, CEO, CFO, Genius.

Oh sweet Jesus… she thought.

"Through here." Growled her escort as he opened the door for her.

"Thank you." She replied instinctually.

Stepping forward she entered an office that was nearly the size of the building's lobby. Floor to ceiling windows gave a spectacular view of the city skyline, and that was about the only redeeming quality the room had. Everywhere else the douche had been turned up to eleven. Tacky gold fixtures and white marble made it look like the lobby to Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas.

Black leather couches that would no doubt sparkle under a blacklight formed semi circles in each corner of the room.

By the door itself, set into the wall was the largest liquor cabinet she had ever seen.

A massive desk that had to be made of some kind of endangered species of tree from the Amazon or some shit sitting smack in the middle of this eyesore. On either side of it were small, obviously fake, palm ficus trees. The desk itself was covered with stupid nicnaks from all over the world or at least it was trying to look like.

Sitting at the massive desk was the one who had invited her. The famous John King in all his underwhelming and douchey glory. He was comically small compared to the desk and his giant assistant.

"Thank you Nottingham," The CEO said, steepling his fingers as if he needed to come off any creepier.

"Please, Lieutenant, sit." He continued, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Tell me, what do you know about Sherwood?"

Oh god this interview question, really? She wondered before putting on her darkest smile and replying, "From what I understand Sherwood Security offers high end personal protection for VIP's and their assets."

"Ah! I see someone read the quote on the company website," he retorted, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Yes those are the more public side of our operations but aside from security we are also the world's best contractors."

Contractors, that word sent a shiver up her spine. It was short for Private Military Contractors, a fancy way of saying mercenaries. All the way out in the high mountains in places like Shah-I-Kot she thankfully hadn't run into many contractors. Among her more meatheaded troops they held a reputation as amazingly effective operators but anyone with half a brainstem knew that war without the red tape had a tendency to devolve into little more than murder. Running with mercs didn't sit well with her but the money grubbing goblin in the back of her head wouldn't let her turn up the potential payday just yet.

"We operate very heavily in the hindu kush these days but our operations are quite widespread. I'm told you have an intimate familiarity with that area yes?" Flipping through a file on his desk he continued, reading aloud, "Kabul, Shah-I-Kot, Korengal, you must know those mountains like the back of your hand by now lieutenant." A sleazy smile cracked his face in half in an attempt to look friendly.

Feeling dirty all over she quickly replied, "Yes sir." Putting on a tight smile she clenched her jaw.

#robin hood #au #writing #my writing #fiction #modern #military #Maid Marian #King John #Sheriff of Nottingham #WriteAwayJake

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illegiblewords · 5 years

Text

The Drawing Continues...

Meanwhile though, very small general FFXIV post.

- I have seen small indications that there are Emet-Selch/WoL shippers who, for want of a romantic antagonist, miiiight be taking a “LAHABREA IS A SLEAZY MONSTER” route. I hope this isn’t true because 1) Clearly Lahabrea is a simple workaholic loser explosion enthusiast don’t do him dirty that way :’< 2) LBR if any of the convocation or just Ascians in general were gonna be sleazy it’s fuckin’ Nabriales lmao. I have some affection for him too after writing the guy but honestly he is a little bitch just let him follow his sleazy little bitch dreams and achieve the credit he deserves.

- I am still fic outlining a bit for my misadventure in Emet-Selch/WoL shipping and I have discovered the price of a happy ending might involve a grown man making a child cry lmao. Also, kind of want to do an AU short based on the story of Tam Lin but I have too many plates spinning right now.

- I’m so happy that people are jumping on the AU train lol, but it made me pause and ask myself wtf my AU would be. High school is so cliche/classic that it would probably be fun to think about but I would take so many notes from the lunch table cliques post that was circulating a while back. So probably what I would propose would be more like company AU.

Amaurot Inc. was a very successful business that was run by a board of fourteen and owned by Zodiark, who kept them from going under during a period of financial termoil that sent a ton of competitors out of business. It hit a point where they were worried the entire industry would collapse, and the only reason that was avoided came through a horrifying number of layoffs. The Fourteenth board member quit early on in the crisis and later shows up with Sunder Corp as Zodiark and the heads of Amaurot struggle to create a new work model. The work model would involve hiring a lot of new employees, training them to excellence so that the company could thrive again, then downsizing massively to rehire the fewer but more skilled workers who had previously been let go. Hydaelyn is head of Sunder Corp. and consider this practice highly unethical, decide to buy out Amaurot Inc. and just replace staff with a bunch of new hires so there can be a fresh start without this weird revolving door policy. Only three board members escape the purge while the rest languish in unemployment.

The Warrior of Light inherits the position at Sunder-Amaurot Corp. and was trained by the Fourteenth board member, but is basically fresh to the position. The remaining three board members from Amaurot Inc. have collaborators who were trained by their now-sacked former colleagues, but they feel that this entire situation is a huge step down from what they originally envisioned. They all feel like sellouts after pouring their hearts and souls into this company, and would rather find a way to overthrow current management and downsize after all to have what they consider higher quality work... even if it means lower production and tons of employees are fired in the process. WoL and the Scions, who are the highest ranking employees at Sunder-Amaurot Corp., are aware of this sentiment but can’t easily fire the remaining Amaurot Inc. employees/sympathizers themselves. Emet-Selch’s involvement with the Scions comes from basically him getting pissed off and challenging the Scions/WoL to prove that the new company actually cares and produces comparably high quality work to the original Amaurot Inc. Lahabrea works in PR with Elidibus but gets switched to a more backseat role and eventually fired because he lives on caffeine and fumes, which eventually results in a massive scandal. He ends up at some Ishgardian restaurant as a waiter after that, getting ripped apart by the owner Thordan on a regular basis. Nabriales toes the line of being considered guilty of sexual harassment in the workplace and gets successfully sacked by the WoL after a complaint is lodged by both Moenbryda and Minfilia. Unfortunately, Moenbryda decided to quit around the same time—much to the dismay of her colleagues, particularly Urianger.

I could probably go into more detailed headcanons for like, wtf happened with Alphinaud and the Crystal Braves, Tataru being the real power behind the throne despite her position technically being secretary, Gaius being some kind of inspector who prides himself on rooting out shady business practices and firing those responsible... Zenos is prob the son of a rival company owner who doesn’t give a shit about the service at all but loves corporate bullshit and is literally just in this business to wreak havoc. People think he’s in it to expand wealth for his family or at least because he doesn’t understand what being broke is like, but the reality is he could live in a shack and be fine with it. He literally just likes fucking with people and this is a job where he gets paid to do that. Technically Emet-Selch is responsible for this rival company and still has a lot of influence there but the owner Varis thinks that is total bullshit and just wants to fuck over everything at Sunder-Amaurot Corp. to run things his way.

Meanwhile stupid office drama. Thancred and Emet-Selch are equally likely to steal each other’s lunch out of the fridge on a given day. Emet-Selch started it and Thancred decided to mirror the behavior as revenge. Unfortunately for Thancred Emet-Selch likes dangerously spicy food so there is something hollow in his victories. Y’shtola (among other things) runs the intern program with affection and a scathing sense of humor. They all love her but after her chat with Magnai no one tries to mess around. Intern Runar has a massive crush on her. Alisaie was reluctant to join because she felt like she’d turn into a suit, but after a night of drinking and partying with the WoL coupled with probably-drunk conversations about being a company for the little guy, she decided to give it a go. After all, if she knows what to watch out for and had a position of influence she can keep things ethical from within. Urianger works IT and no one knows what he’s even saying like 80% of the time. Rumor has it he started dumping technical jargon to impress fellow-nerd Moenbryda but he never stopped after she left.

And so on lol. Just FFXIV but The Office.

#final fantasy xiv

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lukes-writing · 5 years

Text

Prologue: The Last Mission

Project introduction | Next chapter

Word count: 6800 Warnings: Violence, gun violence, head damage, mild language Note: The prologue is longer than an average chapter of this story, so please don’t get discouraged :) The other chapters have a standard length of 3-4K on average.

September 12th, 9:41 PM, the Trinity Gate inhuman enclave

“Holy Hell,” Vlade mutters as he grabs the greasy, sleazy handle of rusty metal door. The damaged, flickering solar-powered lamps illuminate the letters written in black paint - INHUMANS ONLY. The smaller letters below them, sprayed there using a red spray paint, elaborate the message: Pinks will be eaten alive, or some other nasty shit.

An old neon sign, as faulty as the lamps, shines above the door: HERRING’S inhuman pub. Vlade would never voluntarily visit such place. However, now he has an important task to complete and it requires him to enter this nasty place. Vlade started to reconsider his job choice for the hundredth time this week.

He takes a deep breath and steps inside. He is immediately struck by loud trance music and hot, stuffy air. The smell is impossible to describe. Besides alcohol and greasy junk food, there are smells of various unconventional foods and drinks favored by different inhuman races.

Vlade closes the door. The interior is similar to any underground club found at every corner of the human part of the city - gloom interrupted by psychedelic flashing lights from the dance floor, wooden tables of various sizes, a large bar, several casino games and gambling machines.

It is the dwellers of this club that are making Vlade uncomfortable. There are inhumans of all shapes and sizes. About half of them look like humans, maybe except for several oddities. But then, there are straightforward monsters. Vlade passes by some kind of burly creature with gray skin loudly slurping on something which looks and smells like a still full animal stomach.

Just go and never look anyone in the eyes. Vlade carefully seeks the man he’s looking for, avoiding any eye contact. He is scared, even though he is usually the one who invokes respect. He is about two meters tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular figure. His leather jacket, heavy boots, long hair, and stubble completes the image of a guy not worth to be messed with.

Finally, after a nervous walk through the pub, Vlade notices his contact. He is already sitting by the table with a shot of clear liquid in front of him. He is tall and burly just like Vlade, but his head is shaven and the right side of his face is covered by a complex dark tattoo.

Vlade takes a deep breath and gives the man a firm gaze of his dark eyes. “Jaromir?” he asks.

The tattooed man nods and Vlade sits on the chair across from him. “And you must be Vladislav,” he says with a rasping, breathy voice. Vlade also confirms it with a nod.

At that moment, Jaromir reaches under his chair and pulls out an old, sawn-off shotgun. Without hesitation, he points both barrels at Vlade’s face at point-blank range and pulls the trigger.

A loud gunshot echoes through the pub. Several guests apathetically look in the sound’s direction, but they immediately return to their business. They are either too drunk, drugged or careful to poke their nose into someone else’s business. Besides that, violence isn’t an uncommon sight in inhuman enclaves.

“Man, was that really necessary?” Vlade utters, wiping the pellets and soot off his face.

Jaromir grins. “I just had to make sure you’re not a Pink, y’know.”

Vlade raises his eyebrows. “What if I was a human?”

“Then, the Slurpers over there would probably get a free meal,” he gestures towards a group of three naked inhumans hunched up on the floor. They have roughly humanoid shape, pallid skin, gaunt figure and long, scraggy limbs with long fingers on both hands and feet.

They are already looking at the duo with their tiny, dull eyes in their wrinkly, oblong faces. At the end of the muzzle, they have tiny circular mouths lined by needle-like teeth. A thin, flexible tongue keeps emerging from the mouth, making a loud, slurping sound.

As soon as the savage inhumans realize the gunshot killed nobody, they continue sticking their tongues into wide jugs containing animal blood.

Jaromir continues in a different tone. “Sorry about it, but it was the quickest way to make sure you’re really a Fext. I know most of the local Fexti and this is the first time I’ve seen you around.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Vlade replies. “You know, I’m something like a nomad. I’m on the run from The Society, so I have to move often. This is the first time I’ve been at the Trinity Gate enclave.”

Jaromir laughs. “What did you do to deserve the attention of these sons of bitches?”

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” Vlade says. “They call themselves Supernatural law enforcement, but it seems they’re not used to prosecuting Fexti as they tend to be mostly peaceful.” He pulls out his phone and browses it for a moment. Then, he shows Jaromir a page containing his photo:

The Society is looking for VLADISLAV KOVAR

Race: Inhuman / Fext

Prosecuted for: Manslaughter / Heist / Rioting

Eyes: Dark brown / Height: 203 cm / Hair: Light brown / Figure: Slim, muscular

Jaromir smiles and nods in satisfaction. “So it seems you’re a brother who understood what it means to be a Fext. Damn. We have bulletproof skins, great strength, we are almost invulnerable, and yet most of the Fexti choose to sit on their asses or even… cooperate with these suckers.”

“Unbelievable,” Vlade utters. “An inhuman who cooperates with The Society is the worst kind of scum.”

“You tell me,” Jaromir finishes the glass in front of him and waves at the waitress who looks like a human girl in a black cropped top and skirt - Vlade doesn’t know what kind of inhuman she is as many races, including the Fexti, look and act exactly like humans.

“Anything to drink?” the tattooed man asks.

“Just a glass of water,” Vlade replies.

Jaromir raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. The inhuman girl soon brings the water for Vlade and another shot of clear liquid for his companion. For a moment, the two Fexti just enjoy their drinks and listen to the omnipresent numbing music.

Then, Vlade finally makes the first move. “Okay, now about the ‘friendly talk’ you promised me.”

Jaromir leans towards Vlade in a conspiratorial gesture. “So, I see you are a Fext outlaw. One of these not afraid to use our powers. But how do I know I can trust you?”

Vlade laughs. “Man, do you think I am some kind of Society’s snooper? I’ve already shown you that The Society wants me dead or alive… or anything in between. My family disowned me. I can’t stay in one place for longer than two weeks. I think I no longer want to be alone. I need… guidance.”

“Then guidance is what you can get,” Jaromir smiles.

“So as I understand it, you are a leader of some kind of Fext gang?”

“It can be said like that. We take advantage of the fact we look like humans, so we can freely move, even outside the enclave, unlike our brothers there,” he looks at the hungry Slurpers nearby; the blood in the jug has run out, so the creatures have started to fight each other. “The cops aren’t equipped for robbers with bulletproof skin. And they’re far from discovering the Fexti’s weakness,” Jaromir chuckles.

“Sounds good,” Vlade returns him the smirk. “I’m already kind of tired of endless roaming. I guess you have some sort of hideout, don’t you?”

“You bet we do. I’ll take you there if you want.”

“That means we can seal the deal?”

“Of course. If we gather enough promising Fexti, we can take control over Trinity Gate in no time. With humans and their laughable politics… we, the inhumans, would have taken over the world if that goddamn Society didn’t constantly try to stop us.”

Vlade takes a sip of the water, listening to Jaromir’s words. The older Fext nods in satisfaction as he sees his younger companion holding onto every word he says.

“You know, humans are ridiculous. We, the inhumans, usually don’t have any quarrel with each other even though we come in all shapes and sizes. Look at that fella over there. He is a half fish, yet I just let him live his life. Actually, the Gillscalys are great business partners. Even Herring, this pub’s owner, is a Gillscaly. And humans? They can hate each other to death because of different skin color. Skin color. Do you understand it? And we are the ones who must live in ghettos.”

“You have a point,” Vlade nods.

“We can just wait until the humans destroy themselves,” Jaromir continues. “Or… we can speed it up a little. The humans are defenseless against Fexti. They are so cute and squishy. Actually… if you aren’t scared, we can take it as your initiation. But once you go… you’re in this with us. Understood?”

“Of course. I didn’t expect anything else.”

“Very well, Vladislav. Now listen closely. You probably know about the three territories the United States split into after the second civil war, right? I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

“The three territories,” Vlade nods. “The Central Confederation, the Republic of Northeast and the Commonwealth of Great Moors. The territories, which perfectly complement each other, are still plagued by skirmishes, riots and sabotages without any hope for uniting any time soon. It’s like the civil war never ended. Do you want to… do something about it?”

“Of course I do,” Jaromir’s eyes flash with zealous malevolence. “If we just assassinate the leaders of all three territories at once, with a bit of luck, we would be able to appoint a Fext in their place. That way, we would basically take control of the former United States… to the favor of inhumans.”

Vlade can hardly contain his excitement. Not because he’s so excited about Jaromir’s plan, but because his mission is successful. Thanks to a tiny microphone hidden in his clothes, The Society already knows about the malicious plans of the rogue Fexti.

Now let’s finally leave this place…

“You look scared, Vladislav. Is something wrong?” Jaromir smiles. “Is it too much for you? You don’t need to take part if you don’t want to, but I would honestly be disappointed. I’d expect something more from a Fext who has a file in The Society’s database.”

“Of course I’m in.”

Jaromir offers Vlade a handshake. However, before their hands can touch, they’re approached by another Fext. “Jaro, before you start planning stuff with this guy, maybe you should know that he works for The Society. Thanks to him, I spent two years in detention.”

Jaromir yanks his hand back and gives Vlade a hateful look. “Is that true?” he barks. “Are you a filthy snitch of The Society? Damn, I knew I should examine new recruits more closely. Your file in The Society’s database… they arranged it for you, right? You sneaky son of a bitch.”

Vlade doesn’t even try to deny it. The Fext who revealed his identity was Karel, a rogue inhuman he arrested two years ago for rioting. Wiccan made a mistake here. The team should’ve made sure there are none of their past cases present in the pub. Now, the Fext convict ruined everything.

“Hey!” Karel shouts with a high-pitched voice. “This long-haired Fext over here is an undercover Enforcer! GET HIM BEFORE HE ESCAPES!”

The members of The Society, or Enforcers, have a mixed reputation among the inhumans. Those who live according to the law are glad the secret association of humans and inhumans with special talent watches over them, ready to punish all offenders. On the other hand, the underground inhuman communities like this usually aren’t fond of having Enforcers this close.

While most inhumans don’t find the presence of an Enforcer worth interrupting their business, a few of them actually stand up and attack him. Vlade turns tail and runs towards the door, but is stopped by a tenacious-looking humanlike inhuman.

Vlade punches him, hoping it’s not a Volatile, an inhuman with acidic body fluids. Luckily, he collapses to the ground with a gasp - a Fext punch is one of the most feared things among those familiar with inhumans. However, this short delay is enough for Jaromir to catch up and attack Vlade from the back.

The Fext Enforcer stumbles forward, but doesn’t fall. He turns around and catches Jaromir’s incoming fist. Vlade strikes back, punching the outlaw in the face; the Fext punch is so powerful it even nullifies the hardness of another Fext’s skin. In other words, two Fexti can get into a fist fight just like humans.

Jaromir curses and spits out blood.

Even though Vlade is a well-trained, skilled Enforcer, he still gulps as he sees two figures appearing behind Jaromir. Two other Fexti. Tall, muscular and good-looking - three main appearance traits of all members of this inhuman race. A man even larger than Jaromir with a butch cut and aggressive, weather-beaten face and a lean, fair-haired woman whose cropped top reveals her stone-hard midriff.

“Oh, geez,” Vlade utters and evaluates his possibilities.

He sees Herring, the pub’s owner, just a few steps away from him. As Jaromir mentioned, Herring is a Gillscaly, a fish-like inhuman with a humanoid figure, shiny scales all over his body, webbed hands, gills on his neck and bulging eyes.

Vlade makes a long step towards the Gillscaly, grabs him and holds him in a chokehold; he smells a faint fishy smell typical for all the Gillscalys. Jaromir and his henchmen step back. Right now, eliminating Vlade is more important for them than Herring’s life, but they also knew that if Herring died, they would have to face the ire of the local habitués. After all, Herring was the one who built this place and established this small community of inhuman outcasts.

“Let me go…!” Herring, dressed in a black shirt, pants and apron with the pub’s logo, gasps with a croaky voice typical for Gillscalys. “Goddamn Enforcers!”

“I don’t want to hurt ya,” Vlade hisses. “Just keep calm and play along.”

Jaromir stops moving, his shotgun aimed at Vlade and his hostage. His henchmen also stay back. The other inhumans stay out of Vlade’s way as they don’t want Herring to get hurt.

That way, Vlade makes his way to the door. He opens it, using his elbow to press the handle. The cold outside air touches him, providing a nice relief from the atmosphere inside the pub. Then, he pushes Herring forward into the pub, turns tail and runs on the street.

“Wiccan! WICCAN!” he shouts. “We have a problem!”

The things got out of hand and now, Vlade will need his team’s support. The original plan was to peacefully gather the intel, then disappear and foil the Fexti’s scheme. But, thanks to Karel, the plan changed. However, Vlade’s team was ready for every eventuality.

“Vlade, right here!” the Fext hears from behind one of the large dustbins. A second later, the leader of Team Menhir shows himself in the electric lighting.

Wiccan Salisbury is not very tall, wiry man in his middle forties with the first signs of wrinkles appearing on his face. However, that’s the only sign of his age. He wears long dreadlocks, a black polo shirt, jeans and a denim jacket. His youth also reflects in tenacious blue eyes and tomboyish smile.

“We have a problem,” Vlade repeats.

“Fexti?” Wiccan asks.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, everyone!” Wiccan shouts. “Start the battleplan ‘To Kill a Fext’. We have been exposed.”

After hearing this call, the remaining human members of the team appear on the street.

First, Vlade notices Ophelia Salisbury, Wiccan’s wife. She is a tall, lean woman with light brown skin. She has hypnotic black eyes, prominent swan neck and long hair tied into a top bun. Her attire consists of a blouse in the color of galaxy purple and a long, hippie-style skirt accompanied by excessive jewelry on her neck, wrists and ears.

Both partners are armed - Wiccan with a carbine rifle with laser sights, Ophelia with a 10mm semi-automatic pistol. Both of these are capable of stopping almost any inhuman, but the Fexti require a different strategy.

Finally, Gerard Skellinger shows up. Slim, average height, in his late twenties, dressed like a cowboy including the hat, long, wavy hair, good-looking face, reckless personality. Gerard enjoys two things - the presence of pretty girls and a good fight with the inhumans. Fortunately for him, he has plenty of both. First because of his looks, second thanks to his job.

They all knew the fifth member of the team, second inhuman besides Vlade, is somewhere around them.

“I hoped Vlade would screw up!” Gerard smirks. “Who we fighting?”

At that moment, Jaromir bursts out through the pub’s door, accompanied by his two Fext henchmen and several other inhumans brave enough to oppose the whole team of Enforcers. The tattooed Fext pauses upon seeing four combat-ready figures, but then just smirks and fires his shotgun. The blast is aimed at Wiccan, but Vlade jumps in front of him like a living shield, pellets ricocheting from his Fext skin.

The Society members take cover behind anything possible - a low wall, a large dustbin, over the corner of a building across from the pub. The armed inhumans open fire and Wiccan and Ophelia return it. Vlade doesn’t have to care about the bullets, so he can just smash them with his powerful fists.

Gerard doesn’t use any firearm. However, he has his faithful set of Artifacts.

During the time spent in South America, Gerard discovered the so-called Mind stones which can resonate with powerful minds and move, even levitate, at its will. Gerard just stole six of them from the local shaman and ran away. At home, he attached various technologies, gadgets and weapons to the stones and started to use them as his “Artifacts”, one for every situation.

Gerard reaches into one of the six pockets on his vest and deploys an Artifact marked with a red diode. He feels the Mind stone inside it connecting with his brain, levitating in the air like a drone. He sends the Artifact towards the group of inhumans, then activates the weapon attached to it - a small, yet powerful laser rifle.

The red beam hits one of the hostile Gillscalys, immediately piercing through the inhuman’s shoulders. The fishman screeches in pain, drops his gun and stumbles back inside the pub. Then, Gerard notices a human-like inhuman with a revolver aiming towards Wiccan’s cover. The beam goes through his head, killing the inhuman on the spot. Moreover, his acidic blood ignites and sets his head ablaze, revealing the inhuman was a Volatile.

Vlade tries hard to fight off the two Fext thugs. The woman is agile, the man is strong. However, Vlade has better training and technique. Jaromir watches it all with his shotgun ready.

“You don’t stand a chance, Enforcer scum,” Jaromir taunts him.

Together, the Team Menhir members manage to reduce the numbers of aggressive inhumans to an acceptable minimum. “Okay, it’s time to deal with these Fexti,” Wiccan utters.

Vlade rushes forward and tackles down the female Fext. Then, he rains several punches on her face. The amount of damage would incapacitate any other being, but the Fexti are far more durable. She just endures Vlade’s attack while trying to fight back.

However, Vlade is a skilled melee combatant and already knows all the dirty tricks. And also how to counter them. He doesn’t let the woman stand up, allowing the others to deal with the male Fext thug.

“Kirlian! Now!” Wiccan commands.

“I’m on it!” a voice sounds, coming seemingly from the neon sign above the door. Then, the sign, attached using two rusty chains, starts to tremble and jump up and down. Shortly, one of the chains breaks. The sign swings like a pendulum and hits the male Fext straight in the face.

The sign shatters and a loud crack of electricity follows. The Fext groans and stumbles backwards. An uneducated person would think this is only a minor, barely appreciable injury, but in fact, the electric crack sealed the Fext’s fate.

“Ouch, that hurt,” the voice still coming from the broken sign says. “Gerard, your turn!”

Gerard leaves his cover and runs towards the Fext, dazed by the attack. Several remaining armed inhumans open fire on him, but Gerard has his own line of defense - an Artifact marked with a yellow light with a gadget which allows it to create force fields. The parapsychological drone hovers around Gerard and deflects incoming bullets using a hi-tech shield which looks like flickering air above a hot highway.

The man draws his weapon - a long two-handed sword with a thin, double-edged blade. With a battle cry, he swings the sword at the Fext who has no hope of deflecting the attack. The blade slices through his skin, muscles, tendons and bone, just like it would do if used at a regular human.

“Sayonara, my friend,” Gerard smirks and steps back.

The Fext’s head disconnects from his shoulders and hits the ground with a tubby thump. The decapitated body makes a few steps towards Gerard, but it soon stumbles and collapses, bleeding from the stump of its neck. The head’s glazed eyes stare at the night sky with an empty expression.

There aren’t many ways how to kill a Fext, but using electricity is one of them. The electric shock burns the layer of flexible, yet stone-hard substance similar to the insects’ chitin exoskeleton growing under their epidermis and on the surface of their bones, responsible for their apparent invincibility. Their body immediately starts to regenerate the layer, but in the meantime, the Fext is vulnerable to physical injuries.

“Good job,” Wiccan says. “One down.”

As soon as the first Fext falls, Jaromir turns tail and runs away. Vlade, still brawling with the Fext woman, notices it. At that moment, he knocks his opponent down with a powerful punch, stands up and starts to pursue the Fext gang leader. “Hey, stay right here!” Vlade shouts. “In the name of The Society!”

Jaromir ignores him and continues running through the narrow backstreet.

The Fext woman recovers from Vlade’s beating and joins the chase.

“Kirlian! Stop her!” Ophelia shouts.

This time, the voice comes from the nearby dustbin: “Understood.” As soon as it starts to talk and move, two nearby Slurpers feasting on some kind of half-rotten carcass run away with startled, throaty sounds. The dustbin falls down and starts to roll toward the running female Fext.

Unaware of the danger, she trips over the dustbin and falls on the ground. She starts to get up, but Gerard already deployed another one of his Artifacts. This time, a sound similar to a dentist drill breaks the silence. The Artifact marked with a black brand has a small buzzsaw attached to the Mind stone.

However, instead of attacking the Fext directly, Gerard guides the Artifact to the rusty lamp illuminating the woman’s laying body. With a loud screech, the saw starts to cut through the pole the lamp is attached to. The blade is small, yet powerful. The job is done within seconds.

The lamp collapses on the Fext’s head like a cut-down tree. Another crack of electricity sounds through the night as the solar-powered lamp shatters on her head, knocking her down again. The Fext woman shoves the fallen lamppost away and makes another attempt to stand up.

However, she is immediately stopped by three gunshots coming from Ophelia’s firearm. The bullets end up in her forehead and the Fext woman collapses again, this time with no chance of recovering.

After hearing the gunshots, Vlade, while still running, turns over his shoulder to see the Fext woman with three holes in her forehead falling on the ground. Good, his team is watching his back. That means he can focus on pursuing Jaromir, running a few meters ahead of him.

The two Fexti run through the inhuman enclave, watching the filthy backstreets slowly change into more decent parts of the inhuman part of the city. The inhuman bystanders observe the chase, preferring to step out of their way. They run through a neat park, the marketplace and a trade district.

The chase is long; the Fexti can run for a long time without getting tired thanks to their massive amounts of stamina. However, Vlade is faster and younger. On a small town square, Jaromir slowly starts to lose his lead. Then, Vlade jumps forward and tackles Jaromir down, chaining into a powerful punch into the outlaw’s face.

The Fexti face each other and circle around like boxers. Jaromir is the one who attacks first and the two end up in a furious fistfight. Vlade is quicker and has better technique, but Jaromir is stronger. Every hit that successfully connects with Vlade’s face blurs the Enforcer’s vision and causes him to stagger.

Vlade responds with quicker jabs and precise strikes from various martial arts. As the fight continues, Vlade starts to get the upper hand. An inhuman in the ranks of The Society is always more than welcome, but Fexti are especially valued for their strength, endurance and stamina. They are intensely trained in martial arts and survival tactics which basically turn them into walking tanks.

Vlade, with a trickle of blood emerging from the corner of his mouth and numerous bruises on his face, finally strikes Jaromir down with a precise hook punch. The outlaw’s right eye can barely open because of the swelling around it. The left eye stares at Vlade with hatred.

“I think it’s a good time to surrender, don’t you think?” Vlade says. “The members of your gang are dead and my teammates will be here in a minute. It’s over.”

Jaromir responds with a condescending smile. “An inhuman… working for The Society. Supporting human supremacy. You can do more than this, kid. If you just let me go now, I’ll forget about you. I’ll move to a different city and I won’t bother you and your team anymore.”

Vlade hesitates. “No,” he says in the end. “My teammates are counting on me.”

“So your allegiance to Pinks is stronger than allegiance to your own kind?”

“I just want both humans and inhumans to live in peace.”

“Locked up in filthy ghettos.”

Vlade lets his guard down - exactly as Jaromir predicted. The outlaw lashes out, thrusting his knee into Vlade’s stomach. Vlade gasps and doubles over. He tries to counterattack, but Jaromir disorients him with a powerful punch before he firmly grabs his shoulders and shoves him away. The younger Fext staggers backward, falling into a shop window of a small general store. The sound of shattering glass wakes up the sleeping residents of the small district. Jaromir lets out a grin as Vlade breaks the strip lights illuminating the window and the sparks land on him.

The Fext skin is, unfortunately for them, a great electricity conductor. Vlade groans in pain as the sparks change into a current engulfing his whole body. He has been struck by electricity several times before and, like always, he feels a strange, empty feeling on his whole body as the skin layer which makes him invincible briefly disappears. He feels weak. So… human.

“Do you adore Pinks so much? Now you are one,” Jaromir smirks. He takes his time as he slowly approaches dazed Vlade. The young Fext just keeps his eyes on his enemy, aware he’s at his mercy now. However, he doesn’t start to beg for mercy. He will keep his Fext dignity until the end.

Vlade hears hasty footsteps on the concrete accompanied by voices. His teammates.

But it seems this is exactly what was Jaromir waiting for.

He raises his shotgun and points it at Vlade’s head with a grin. “This time, it should work better,” he says as he pulls the trigger just as the rest of Team Menhir arrives to witness it.

“VLADE!” Gerard shouts.

“OH NO!” Ophelia screams.

“Shit…” Wiccan utters.

Vlade’s head literally exploded. His blood, brain tissue and bone fragments splatter all over the store - its owner, a Gillscaly, falls on his knees and wails loudly.

The Enforcer’s body collapses, blood gushing from the frayed stump of his neck. Jaromir observes it with a smile, then gives a look to the remaining Enforcers standing nearby, shocked and unable to move. “See? It’s not that hard to get rid of The Society’s scum,” he cackles. “Are you gonna miss your Fext friend? Don’t worry. I’ll send you to him in a minute or two.”

Wiccan and Ophelia are shaken by their teammate and friend’s death, but they don’t lose their temper. Just as their training says. They have been members of The Society for about twenty years already and they have witnessed their teammates dying. It was just a part of their job from time to time.

However, the same can’t be said about Gerard who joined Team Menhir seven years ago after a member of the team was KIA - killed in action. Since then, the team successfully avoided tragedies and the composition of the team stayed at Wiccan, Ophelia, Gerard, Vlade and Kirlian for quite some time.

“You son… son of a bitch!” Gerard screams and rushes towards Jaromir, not minding the warnings of his older teammates. The Fext raises his shotgun again and fires, but Gerard’s shield Artifact is already there to block the pellets. However, Gerard alone can’t stand a chance against a powerful Fext.

At least that’s what Jaromir thought.

Gerard faces Jaromir, who is at least thirty centimeters taller than him, with his sword. The Fext doesn’t need any weapons even though he still has his shotgun. He takes a swing at Gerard with his fist, but the Artifact blocks it, absorbing the energy of the impact. It wobbles in the air, but protects Gerard from Jaromir’s wrath.

Suddenly, Jaromir’s eyes open wide. “What the…?” he whispers.

Gerard smiles. His plan came together.

The man rapidly swings his sword from above, giving all his strength into the strike. The blade splits Jaromir’s head in two and continues until it stops somewhere at the collarbone area. Gerard then pulls out his blood-drenched sword and removes the red fluid from the blade using an elegant swing.

Unlike Vlade, Jaromir doesn’t die immediately - the Fext endurance is still present. He tries to take a few steps forward, but since his brain has been split in two, his legs can’t coordinate their movements and the Fext falls on the ground soon.

Gerard stands above the wriggling body. Instead of showing mercy by finishing off the Fext quickly, he just watches Jaromir’s struggle. His eyes move in opposite directions, both halves of his mouth try to speak - each half seemingly tries to say different words. Blood is pouring from the crevice in Jaromir’s head, but not fast enough to make him bleed to death quickly.

Another Artifact hovers close to the body, marked with blue diode. There are two spikes on the front side of the device, small lightnings flashing between its tips. Gerard guided the electric Artifact to sneak towards Jaromir from behind and electrocute him, making him vulnerable.

“Gerard! Oh God, what have you done?” Wiccan shouts at his teammate with an angry expression in his face. “Did I give you a command to kill him? Damn you! We needed to know if there are more members of his Fext gang hiding somewhere. Now, the chance is gone.”

“He killed Vlade,” Gerard mutters.

Wiccan controls his temper; he remembers Gerard and Vlade became close friends, almost like brothers, and Gerard had to lose control over himself when he saw his friend fall. “I know. But in this job, people die, Gerard. Vlade is the third teammate I lost. I know it’s hard, but such reckless things… you just can’t.”

“Please, Wiccan, you can scold me as much as you want, but do it later,” Gerard says with an emotionless voice. “Now… let’s just leave this place. I guess our job is done here anyway.”

October 14th, 2:23 PM, The Society headquarters at Trinity Gate

The remaining members of Team Menhir gather around the urn containing Vlade’s ashes. The room, called “Hall of Heroes”, holds approximately fifty urns. Fifty Enforcers of The Society who died while serving in Trinity Gate. Every headquarters has its own Hall and some of them hold much more urns since Trinity Gate is one of the newer territories.

The Hall of Heroes is a bright room with marble walls holding numerous shelves made of stone. The urns are placed on the shelves. A big part of the room is still unused, indicating that The Society has still a lot of things ahead - both pleasant and unpleasant.

Vlade’s urn is placed next to the urns of two other Enforcers who served in Team Menhir. Wiccan, Ophelia and Kirlian are the founding members, Gerard and Vlade joined later, after they needed new blood. The first deceased member was a human girl named Tara with pyrokinetic powers who, ironically, died in a fire she started and couldn’t control. After she died, Vlade took her place.

Gerard joined the team after the death of Kazuki who was a Tengu, Asian inhuman resembling a humanoid crow with large wings. Tengus are related to Shriekers, much more common (and more troublesome) feathered inhumans who lost their wings throughout their evolution. Actually, the Shriekers were responsible for Kazuki’s death as one of them used a stolen rocket launcher with heat-seeking missiles to bring the Tengu out of sky.

The team mourns in silence. There seems to be nothing left to say.

“I miss him,” Ophelia finally says while wiping off a tear. “He truly was proof to that cheesy saying that ‘the Fexti have impenetrable skin, but soft heart’. He was… such a great friend.”

“You tell me,” Gerard sighs. “He was like a brother to me.”

“It doesn’t feel good, being the only inhuman in the team,” Kirlian’s voice sounds seemingly from nowhere. “He understood me. Don’t get me wrong, but now I feel… alone.”

“Vlade’s death was a tragedy,” Wiccan speaks. “Both for our team and The Society. He was one of the Fexti who refused to be passive. After I got to know Vlade, I’d personally slap anyone who’d say Fexti are cowards. Vlade was braver than all of us combined.”

“And also, he had the best sense of humor,” Ophelia says. “Remember how we used to sing…”

“Vladislav, baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more,” Gerard sings.

For Ophelia, this silly song parody was the last straw. She bursts into tears, hugging Wiccan tightly.

The man lets his wife calm down. There is one more thing to be discussed and Wiccan needed to weaken the influence of emotions at least as much as possible. “Alright, guys,” he speaks. “Now, when Vlade is gone, we need to discuss the future of Team Menhir.”

The team picked its name after a large monolith located in the Great Moors district of the city. Wiccan, Ophelia, Kirlian, Tara and Kazuki used to meet there, even though it was sometimes hard to keep the Tengu out of everyone’s sight. After Vlade and Gerard joined, they jokingly talked about renaming to “Team Hair” as all of them had long hair, but the name based on their favorite place was just too hard-wired to be changed.

“I doubt we have anything to discuss,” Kirlian says. “We just have to get a new member. That’s how The Society works, like it or not.”

“Members,” Gerard corrects him.

Wiccan raises his eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“I quit,” Gerard says. “You can call me weak, oversensitive, whatever you want, but I just… can’t do it any longer. I’ve always had a feeling that working for The Society is too much for me and now, when I lost my best friend, I’m certain about it. I’m sorry.”

“Gerard… are you sure about this?” Ophelia asks.

The man nods. “The Society changed me for the better. Remember? I started as one of the convicts you were after, but instead of imprisoning me, you decided to make me a part of your team after Kazuki died. I know, I work here for only seven years and I don’t even qualify for the retirement benefits, but I just need to quit.”

“You’ll need to give up your Artifacts. Are you ready for it?” Wiccan says.

“Yeah, whatever. Peace is all I need now.”

Wiccan, Ophelia and Kirlian look at Gerard in silence. They remember when they saw him for the first time. Almost twenty at that time, robbing anything in his sight using his Artifacts. He didn’t give up easily and it was his persistence that impressed the team.

It happens more often that one would think - some of the convicts captured by The Society have a chance to redeem themselves by joining the law enforcement unit. And Gerard had all the requirements to become an Enforcer. Life in The Society changed his life. First for better, now for worse.

Wiccan nods. “Of course. We can’t force you to stay here if you really want to go. You just have to contact the Capital Branch which will officially release you and tell you the conditions. You know, never tell anyone about what you saw and stuff.”

“We’ll miss you, Gerard,” Ophelia hugs him. The man had become something like her son. She was the one who persuaded him to give up the petty criminal life and join The Society. She’d secretly hoped Gerard would lead the team once she and Wiccan retire. But now…

“Should I say it, or…?” Wiccan says.

“Go on,” Ophelia replies. She already knows what her husband is about to say.

Wiccan sighs. “Ophelia, Kirlian, I think we’re in this for too long now. Twenty years while ten is enough to retire officially. I think Team Menhir should be disbanded. Vlade’s death and Gerard’s departure confirmed it for me. The new blood should receive a chance. Trinity Gate needs a new team.”

“I agree,” Ophelia nods. “It’s sad to just… throw away everything we’ve been through. But I also see no point in dragging it out. Initiating the new team will be the last thing we’ll do as The Society members. And then… we’ll finally have some time for ourselves.”

“What about you, Kirlian?” Wiccan asks.

“I can’t say I’m happy about it,” Kirlian’s disembodied voice says, “but it seems I’ve been outvoted.”

“So… okay,” Wiccan doesn’t seem to know what to say. “I officially disband the Team Menhir here and now. We have to announce it to the Capital Branch as soon as possible, before another case breaks loose. ELIPSA will then find and initiate new Enforcers.”

ELIPSA is an agency which belongs to The Society. The acronym means Entries and Locations of Individuals Possessing Special Abilities. This agency keeps track of people with special talents or supernatural abilities and the inhumans who are suitable for the Enforcer career.

Ophelia takes Wiccan’s hand. “I have mixed feelings about this,” she says. “Finally being able to live peacefully… but without the thrill.”

“We deserve it, darling. After twenty years of risking our lives.”

During the following days, Team Menhir is officially disbanded and the remaining members receive the veteran status. Gerard was allowed to leave freely after he handed over his Artifacts to Wiccan. ELIPSA immediately started to seek new Society members near Trinity Gate.

The Society members are carefully chosen by ELIPSA members, veterans with a lot of experience who seek people displaying abilities other people would find unnatural or genius knowledge of a useful subject such as technology or science. The team also has to be balanced, a fair amount of muscles, brains and special abilities. Piecing together a new team isn’t an easy job.

However, after a few days, ELIPSA finally came with the first results.

“Looks promising,” Wiccan says after he took a look at the files of the possible new team members at home. He picked one of them personally and ELIPSA approved his choice.

“Such nostalgia,” Ophelia smiles. “Remember when we were new recruits?”

“Yeah,” Wiccan returns the smile. “Now let’s go to sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll have to deliver this to the Capital Branch.” He points at the wooden casket containing Gerard’s Artifacts. He opens the casket and looks at the devices connected to Mind stones, small parapsychological drones.

Red, blue, yellow, black, purple and green. Each one with different usage.

But then…

“Hold on a second,” Wiccan barks. He closely examines one of the drones, then another. Then he curses so loudly Ophelia shrinks back. “These are fake!” Wiccan announces. “Damn. I was wondering why is Gerard handing them to me without any sorrow!”

“What does that mean?” Ophelia asks.

“Gerard still has the real ones.”

Author’s Note

So that was the first part of the story I’m working on. Sorry if it looked too much like some splatter, the rest of the story is more sophisticated... a little ;) Don’t hesitate to let me know what you did and didn’t like, just hit the Comment button or send me a message. If you want to stay updated, follow @lukes-writing and if you have friends who you think might like this story, let them know!

Thank you for reading!

@notquitenovelist

#writeblr #writers #my writing #urban fantasy #original fiction #TeamDreamcatcher

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youmeansammy · 6 years

Text

You Bring Trouble: Chapter 3.

-Trigger warnings: Cursing, drinking, violence, hint of drugs, hint of sexual assault (Dallas arrives before anything serious happens so no worries).

You climbed over the chain link fence. It was just as Dallas had shown you two years ago, that was the first time he had invited you to the Drive-In. You had known each other longer than two years, but Dal never took much notice of you until that point. It wasn't something you had taken personally since Dallas had come from the hard streets of New York.

Who could trust anyone after dealing with the crimes and gangs of a big city?

You didn't feel anything for Dal at that point. The only information you had learned about him was Ponyboy saying he was more trouble than any guy in Tulsa, which was a bold claim to make. Now that you know Dallas, you can't say confidently Ponyboy that was wrong.

Although, that night you sure felt alive around Dallas. He talked more than you had heard in the years of you visiting the Curtis family, and boy, it was thrilling. He was interested in your life before Tulsa, although he didn't ask at first because as he said “You don't go digging in somebody's business that they don't want you in,” but thankfully Johnny was there and brought up an opening of the conversation.

It was asked some, but you didn't say a lot about your family that night, all you could bear to mention was your mom left after a month of having you and pops was locked up. After that, you told stories about people you use to hang out with and places around your (state/country) that you liked.

The vibe of the night was something else. It felt as you had no worries. Tonight, you wanted to feel that again, no worries. It reminds you of greasers you know regularly telling you to get buzzed to take the edge off, but you tend to think how much that helped uncle Jerry. Though you’d never speak of it out loud to anybody, it's just something you laugh off and move on.

It's not that you haven't had a drink before, you had your moments of stupidly stumbling your way home after a night at places like Bucks. The fun of it ran cold after a few months of it all. Well, that and the fact it almost got you killed by a pair of socs.

You were staggering home after a night of drinking at this bar named Cherry's Knot. The place was sure trashy just like the name, but hey, that's why they let underage kids drink there. You happened to be a few blocks down from your street when a car pulled up behind you, that's when two guys started to harass you. You slurred a hell of a lot of curses and insults, but they laughed it up since you were too drunk to walk at a decent pace. There was a point where they were dragging you into the car. It was like you gave up because, at that point, you weren't putting up a struggle for the two creeps. They could've taken you if it wasn't for Darry Curtis saving the day like he was some Superman. His truck came flooring down the road once he turned the corner and saw the view in front of him, you jolted back to reality when you heard the truck screech as the brakes slammed hard.

He came out of the truck with the look of someone that could kill. It could raise the hair on anyone's neck. It was all very foggy for you, but you swore he broke one of their noses that night. You don't remember much of it, but you do remember waking up on the Curtis couch for the first time. That was also the first time Darry lectured you, but you weren't mad about it. You just needed someone to care at the time. It sure showed when Darry was fuming about the stupid choices you made that night, which was weird because that was the first time Darry had any heartfelt talk with you in general. He had heys and how are yous, simple stuff, but he was a busy man since the Curtis parents had just passed. Once Darry got quiet after his rambling, you did something that you two both needed at that moment. You just hugged him and it was a silent moment for you both. You never talked about any of this with anyone.

Now that you had arrived at the Nightly Double Drive-In, you didn't care to watch a movie. It was more of just hoping you saw someone familiar enough to have a conversation with, catch up with some of the greasers who hang around here.

You walked into the movie snack shack and followed the line to grab a coke.

“Well, why don't I buy that for you?” The boy in front of you said with a sleazy look on his face.

“Because you can't buy my time like a hooker on the corner, now get lost.” You said coolly before taking a sip of your coke.

“Whatever tramp,” You watched as he threw change at the employee behind the cash register before storming his way off.

“I admire a woman that can deal with these hoods,” The boy behind you spoke. He had black hair slicked back with a simple white muscle shirt making his natural dark hair color pop.

“Well, don't admire too long, I have a thirty-second policy.” You showed off a prideful smile before handing over the change for the Coke.

“What happens after the thirty-seconds?” He followed you outside the snack shack, his voice oozing with amusement.

“I don't know, but I can say you don't see any guys around to tell you either,” You jokingly warned.

“You're something else babe, what's your name?”

“(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N),”

“Nice name, I'm Ronny,”

You mumbled thanks towards him before sipping your Coke; you couldn't help but notice him tagging along beside you. This kind of encounter was common for places like this. You always had to keep in mind that most of these men wanted to get in your pants, you couldn't lie, you enjoyed the attention as long as it didn't go too far.

“How does this sound, you come to join me and my friends behind the sheds?”

It was not a surprising offer, Ronny was a hood after all. There were three sheds for storage at the Drive-In near the far side of the fence. It wasn't a place to watch the movie, but it became more of a hangout for rowdy hoods. It got to the point that management put old picnic tables out there just to produce more business from the poor suckers of the wrong side of town.

Nonetheless, you followed Ronny towards the shed and found his group of friends. There was a couple essentially swallowing each other's face on one side of the bench, and the rest of the three were a bunch of guys bickering about some woman named Stacy.

“Hey, idiots, shut up for a second why dontcha.”

“Who's the broad?” A blonde one with too long of hair spoke with his eyebrows scrunched.

“(Y/N), I met her in the shack. She's cool guys, no sweat,”

“I'm Gary, here have a seat,” You looked him over for a moment. He had green eyes, a chiseled jawline, brown hair, and overall good looks. He looked less sleazy than Ronny, which made you feel more at ease about sitting next to him, so you did.

“You from around here?” He said before taking a sip of some cheap beer bottle.

You shook your head before saying the name of your (state/country).

“You don't say, must be a big change from Tulsa.”

You had sat with the boys for a while now, the five of you talking about different pointless things like cars, schools, socs, and people you knew. The couple from earlier had left after fifteen minutes of you joining the table. It was clear they had other concerns in mind.

“I'm telling you, she's using me for the free fries,” The blonde one muttered before throwing his bottle cap across the grass attempting to hit a tree.

You didn't have time to say anything before you felt a rough hand slide up your skirt. It all felt as if it was happening so slowly, yet, it was happening all too fast. You screamed out and shoved Gary away from you hard, quickly getting up from the picnic table.

The three greasers looked slightly confused between you and Gary, although not entirely as surprised as you were.

“Is there a problem?” Gary asked before standing up and stalking his way over towards you, causing you to back up in response.

“Yeah, yeah there is a fucking problem. You tried to feel me up with your dirty hood hands, that's the problem.”

“Come on broad you know you liked it,”

“What the hell gave you that idea? I don't like anything about you because there's nothing to like.” You snapped back.

You felt yourself bump into the wooden shed and a rush of dread went through your body. You looked at him before deciding to make a run for it, but maybe he wasn't as stupid as he looks because he slammed his hand on the shed blocking you in between him.

“Get away from me,” You pushed him hard, but he was built like a rock. Well, he was drunk, so he seemed like a rock.

“Let's go to my car, come on sweetheart,” He was smug in his words, his two arms blocking you against the shed being close enough for you to feel his breath against your face. It reeked of beer.

“I said get off of me, you stupid fucker,” The other day had taught you a valuable lesson, never forget your knife. You gulped hard and without much thought from the pure rush of fear; you pulled out the blade from your jacket and stabbed him once good in the stomach.

He stared at you, and his eyes had grown large. He groaned out in pain before grabbing you by the neck and throwing you to the ground. You shrieked before scrambling to get up, your feet finally cooperating with you.

You rushed past the shed building before a man knocked you to the ground, this time it was Ronny. He grasped the blade from your hand and threw it as far as he could.

"Get the fuck off of me! Get the fuck off of me!" Your fist connecting with the side of his head, you struggled to fight his hands that tried stopping you from continuing to strike the side of his face.

“Will you calm the fuck down.” He barked out aggressively.

“Son of a bitch,” A familiar voice called out full of anger. You felt someone pull Ronny off of you and it felt as you could breathe again. You didn't realize that you had been crying throughout this whole event, but your face was covered in dirt and tears. It wasn't your most attractive moment in life. You watched in horror as Dallas beat the hell out of Ronny. It wasn't the fact that he was striking Ronny, it was how angry Dallas looked in this second. That was the real horror.

"Kid, we need to get outta here," Dal spoke before grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. The world appeared somewhat blurry after you saw blood on Dally's hands. You had watched Dallas fight plenty of times, to the point you lost count, but this wasn't just roughing someone up. This time it was intense, it had spoken a message.

“Dally, is he alive?" You stuttered out the words to the point you hardly could get them out.

“What's it matter,” his voice was cold as he pulled you along with him towards the chain-link fence to bail the scene.

“Dally,” your voice broke as you started sobbing.

“Yes, he's alive. I didn't kill him, I should've though.”

He rushed you over the fence before pulling himself over. The two of you heading in the opposite direction of the town and toward the nearby neighborhoods. It made you recognize that Dallas Winston has bailed more crime scenes in his life than the local Tulsa police have arrived at in their careers. He stirred up trouble because he loved the trouble.

The world around you was shattering. It was a feeling that had passed overwhelmed, it was indescribable.

“Dallas, I'm going to go to jail, I stabbed one of them!” You grabbed him by his arm to stop him from stepping any further. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts, breathe, and face everything that was happening.

“Alright, calm down kid, you're not looking too good.” He cleared his throat as he took in your surroundings. The two of you reached a solid way off from the Drive-In, but it wasn't enough to make each of you comfortable.

“Do you think you killed him?” Dallas said without much emotion. The question and response took you off guard. You knew that Dallas had seen and done a lot in his life, but how could he remain so calm? Did Dallas deal with this before or was Dal just this fearless of a guy?

“I don't know... It was only a single strike to the stomach. He seemed more pissed than anything,”

“Who was it anyway?”

“Some hood, Gary Davis.”

“I wouldn't stress it, that guy is always coked up or selling it. If he lives, he won't report you for that reason alone.” He replied before removing a cig from his pocket and handing it over.

“Dal, I don't smoke, you know that.”

“Sure looks like you should start tonight,”

You rolled your eyes before stuffing the cancer stick in your jacket pocket. Dallas had lighted his own as he started walking down the street again, this was your hint that time was up.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you followed close behind him, he looked attractive smoking his cigarette after a fight. You always kind of liked watching him de-stress after getting into it with somebody. He was rough, tough, and mean. It made you admire him.

“I'm taking you home,” He replied as smoke escaped from his lips as he spoke. You could catch it in the street lights. Dallas Winston was quite the sight when you least expected it.

“No!” You said quick. You just dealt with someone trying to attack you, if you went home now after leaving Jerry full of anger, you wouldn't be able to win that fight. “I don't want to go home,”

“Well, where do you wanna go man?” He stopped and studied you over. It made you feel uneasy knowing he was taking a good look at you, what if he didn't like what he saw. Hell, you realized how much a mess you must've looked after rolling around in the dirt with Ronny.

“I-,” You raised the sleeves of your jacket in an attempt to clean off your face, hoping it did you at least some justice. You felt two hands cup around your wrists lowering them before you watched Dallas raise his own hands to your face.

“Here,” He gently rubbed the palms of his hands against your skin rubbing away the dirt from your face. The two of you stared in each other's eyes for a moment. Neither of you said a word. You could only wonder if his heartbeat was pounding as hard as yours in this second. He didn't look so mean at this moment. He looked lovable. How many thought about Dally that way? It sure didn't seem like many.

“Wherever you go, Dal. That is if you don't mind it,”

"I don't mind it doll,"

Authors note: I know this chapter was kind of intense. I want to include some intense chapters throughout this series because I feel it resembles the story of The Outsiders to some level. Not everyone is a bad person at heart, but not everyone is a good one either. It also resembles that sometimes shit hits the fan in life. I hope you guys won’t mind. Plus what’s a story without some drama?

Anyway, send me feedback lovelies.

Taglist: @smilexcaptainx @dxloverpunk @r-e-d--m-i-s-t--m-o-n-s-t-e-r-s @parkerspicedlatte

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samcro-saint99 · 6 years

Text

Rescue Me

Hey, Dolls! I know it has been a very long time since I have posted, and I am so sorry about that. I just got so lost and confused and it became very difficult to do a lot of things, including writing. I felt that anything I wrote wasn’t good enough for you all. But I am back! I know this one is a little bit rough, but I hope you can still enjoy it! To everyone waiting on requests, I am sorry but they are coming! I love you all so much and thank you for the support!

All my Love,

Saint xxx

P.S - As always a massive thank you to the extraordinarily adorable @thirstygirlclub (Love ya boo x) for proofreading this, and motivating me to push through this slump! Go show her some love while shes drunk on this fine Tuesday night x

Life was never boring when you were involved with SAMCRO. This morning you invited on a "charity run” with the Sons, normally not an event that would permit women, but the church decided that as Tig’s old lady you might help them avoid suspicion - after all, they’d never take you on something dangerous or illegal….unless you insisted.

All had been going well until Bobbies Fatboy had an episode, crashing into Tig and sending you and him flying off the road. While you had been lucky enough just to take a tumble down the hill, Tig’s leg was cut open. Despite his injury, he was still more worried about you than himself, even after arriving at the hospital.

But thanks to good old reliable American healthcare, Tig was being transferred to another hospital.

“Wait, did someone get the insurance card?” Bobby asked as you all stood outside, awaiting transfer.

“I’ll go get it” you volunteered, dashing back inside.

You walked back through the sliding doors of the hospital reception, Tig’s insurance card back in hand. When you saw Half-Sack and Bobby looking shell-shocked beside an empty wheelchair, fear shot through your entire body.

“Bobby! What happened? Where is he?!” You asked failing to hide the panic in your voice as you rushed over to them.

“Bounty Hunters grabbed him”

“Jesus FUCKING Christ! And you just let them take him?! What the fuck is wrong with you two fucking idiots?!”

“No time to answer that let's go!” He stated leaving no room for argument, grabbing your arm and dragging you to his bike, half-sack following quickly behind.

——————————————————————————————————

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration, while Clay and Jax were arguing, they were getting further and further away with Tig. As always, it looked like you would have to take this into your own hands.

Jogging over to the truck, Piney looked at you and knew instantly what you were thinking. You climbed on the back, standing up to attract the others.

“We could’ve got him by now! Come on, shit heads!” You called, excitement brimming as everyone but Clay and Ope jumped up with you.

——————————————————————————————————

Piney stopped the truck on the side of the road, behind a couple of hedges that bordered the hotel half-sack had tracked them to. Rain poured from the sky but you were all to focused to even notice.

“So what's the plan?” Jax asked, crouched down low, gun in hand.

“Shit’ll get messy if you guys go storming in. Leave it to me.” You stated plainly.

They all went to argue but the look on your face stopped them in your tracks. They knew how fiercely protective you were of all of them, particularly your old man.

Climbing down from the truck you snuck down out of sight and hid behind a wall near the empty reception office, contemplating your next move.

Peering around the corner, you checked to ensure there was no one hanging around outside the motel. Messing up your hair, you jogged to the door of room 3, frantically banging on the door.

“Hello?! Please! I need help! Please! Open the door!” You called in feigned panic.

A burly man, who you guessed might once have been a football player opened the door part of the way, his hand behind his back.

“Please, you have to help me. These men are chasing me. I think I’ve lost them but I was wondering if I could use your phone or just wait here for a while?” You explained, panicked and out of breath.

He must have taken note of your pitiful appearance, soaked to the bone, mascara running down your face, and obviously frightened because he opened the door and let you inside.

“Come on in, Sweetheart,” he said with a sleazy smile.

“Thank you. I’m s-sorry to be a b-bother” you shivered, adding just a bit extra to the performance, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Glancing around the room you observed the three large men, and the weapons laid around them, before your eyes settled on Tig, who was tied to a chair in the corner of the room, visibly confused and beaten, his face questioning your actions.

You paused for a moment, catching the attention of all the men as you walked towards Tig.

“Wait…I know you….” You muttered, staring at Tig, a look of concentration on your face as though you were actually considering it. You gasped faking surprise before reaching out and striking him hard across the face, which caught even him off guard.

“You’re the freak that flashed me and my friends in Stockton last month!” You yelled as the men pulled you back.

“Easy there, Sweetheart, he’s going to get what he deserves - the sick bastard.” One of them said, sneering towards Tig.

Tig chuckled looking up at you. You knew that look, that mischievous look meant he was probably about to get his ass kicked.

“Aww yeah, I remember you….you looked real pretty that night,” he said in the sleaziest voice he could muster. This earned him a backhand across the face from one of the hunters, but it didn’t take the cheeky look off his face.

“Gag the bastard.” The football player instructed as he pulled you away from Tig when he noticed your tears.

“Hey, you’re okay, he can’t hurt you. Come here” he whispered, pulling you into an embrace.

While the other two were distracted by Tig, and this one was distracted with his hand on your ass, you wrapped your arms around him, and before any of them had time to understand what was happening, you had the man on his knees, gun to his head.

“Okay boys, listen very carefully and this’ll all be done. All weapons thrown into the back corner, one at a time very slowly.” You instructed sweetly, the picture of sweetness and innocence.

They did as instructed begrudgingly, looking more than a little-pissed off that they had been overthrown by a girl.

“Good lads, would one of you be so kind as to untie this prick,” you said, motioning towards Tig. Once was released, Tig hobbled over behind you

“Face down, on the floor. Hands behind your heads. Count to 100.”

They looked to the man in front of you, before slowly lying getting down, looking at you with disgust. As soon as they were face down, Tig opened the door and you grabbed your hostage by his collar, dragging him out with you while he struggled.

Dragging him up the driveway, Tig leaned against you for support until you stopped just before the hedges that bordered the property. You leaned down close to the ear of the bounty hunter to ensure you were carefully heard.

“Sorry about all this buddy, but some people want this guy more than you. And trust me, he isn’t worth all this trouble.” You said with a kiss to his cheek.

“You stupid bitch” he grunted.

Tig’s eyes widened, knowing full well what was going to happen, nobody got to speak to you like that. You let out a small chuckle before cracking him in the back of the head with the butt of the gun.

“I am so hard right now” Tig muttered in awe, staring lustfully at you.

“Oh not now! Come on!” you scolded, slapping his shoulder before putting his arm around your neck, you helped him hobble around the hedges to the flatbed.

“Took your time” Jax chided as pulled you up onto the truck, a big smile stretched across his face.

“Oh shut and help me” you laughed.

You helped support Tig to keep him from falling off the truck as Piney sped away from the motel. Noticing him staring up at you, you raised an eyebrow, looking for an explanation.

“My hero!” He said, pulling your face down to kiss your cheek.

#Tig Trager #SAMCRO #Sons of Anarchy #fancfiction #one shot #netflix #imagine

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