#so mike was justified in his concern pass it on)

[justanotherwriter140]

Kung Fu Panda 4 - Edited

A really, really long discussion post.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve expressed an explicit opinion on anything, hasn’t it? Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever done a hot-take post. I guess now is as good a time as any to write my first one, given our current situation...

So, the elephant (panda?) in the room: CinemaCon.

While we’ve hardly even had twenty-four hours to process this new information, I know that there are already a lot of strong opinions out there, and many of which are displeased. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone who’s necessarily happy about the news we received yesterday, and while everyone has differing reasons as to why they’re not thrilled, I think there are a lot of common factors among the skeptics. IMO, all of the concerns I’ve heard since the announcements have been understandable. Here’s a list of the most significant concerns:

Chen/Fox Warrior

A replacement for the Dragon Warrior

A villain whose “power” is (potentially) resurrecting past villains from the dead

The Furious Five and their relevancy

Director Mike Mitchell

Many fans are finding themselves confused with this alleged plot, mainly because (to put things bluntly) it doesn’t make any sense. I have a plethora of questions in regards to the second bullet alone, imagine how many I have in total!

You won’t have to imagine, actually, because I’m doing you all the favor of writing down my every thought. Strap in, folks!

First of all, who is Chen (?) and why is she relevant? While these are things that will, without question, need to be answered in the upcoming film, I’m still feeling apprehensive. Why would Po choose her as the next Dragon Warrior, a title that for three consecutive movies has been regarded as the highest possible title that any living being in this universe can achieve? What makes Chen the next Dragon Warrior, what makes her eligible? The Dragon Warrior is essentially OP at their full potential, and if we’re assuming that this title can in fact be passed on, why would Po give this power and influence to someone he meets in the same movie in which he makes the life-altering decision to seek out an heir? Why wouldn’t he at least choose someone he knows closely, rather than someone he initially doesn’t get along with (as stated in the plot description) and likely doesn’t trust? In my mind, the movie could only justify that choice with some sort of “message from the universe” making itself known to Po and telling him to choose Chen as his successor, but if that’s the road the writers end up going down, then I’d have to reiterate: why?

Backtracking for a second. We have never had any reason to believe that “another” Dragon Warrior existing is even a possibility, forget the concept of them co-existing with the current and original Dragon Warrior. Didn’t the initial significance and nuance of the title come from the fact that there is only one person who can be the Dragon Warrior, because the concept of the “Dragon Warrior” isn’t so much a title as it is Po himself? The universe (Oogway) must choose the Dragon Warrior because they are a singular being of legend. It is one person, and that person is Po. Wasn’t the point of the first film that the title ultimately doesn’t really matter because there is no “secret ingredient,” so to speak? The title doesn’t actually give Po anything. “It’s just you,” Po says, and that was the resolution.

Let’s set all of that aside for a moment, because I have a follow-up question: why in the world would Po be finding a replacement so soon? Yes, the alleged plot states that he’s been given a promotion and therefore wants someone else to fill in for him as the Dragon Warrior, but that doesn’t make sense to me. Why would Po’s new status (as something along the lines of the “Spiritual Leader/Master” of the Valley of Peace) hold him back from being the Dragon Warrior? If there’s something else behind him wanting to leave the role behind, I’m listening, but right now it feels very unbelievable. Why is he doing this so early in his life? He’s been the Dragon Warrior for four or five years at most, why is he throwing in the towel so soon? He’s young and has so much ahead of him, especially after all that he’s done. He’s built prestige and respect over the years and he’s so proud of his role as the Dragon Warrior. I’m confused!

One could make the argument that Po wants to settle down, which I’ve seen a few times on different social sites as a suggestion. However, he has shown no interest in such things in the past. He’s always excited to travel and see new things, so to see such a sudden change in attitude and priorities would likely have to be the result of a drastic occurrence. Po is not giving up his title as the Dragon Warrior, at least not with the way things are now. I’m not necessarily adverse to bold decisions being made in sequels, but this is probably too sharp of a turn for me to be okay with it. 

Is it even possible for Po to no longer hold the title? If we reference what I stated earlier, about the title being not so much a title but rather just Po himself, could we even consider that Po can just spontaneously decide to not be the Dragon Warrior anymore? He was chosen by the universe; can he UNO reverse card the universe? 

So many paragraphs, and I haven’t even gotten around to discussing the villain or the Furious Five. Let’s see how long I can write before my passion-induced rant starts to fizzle out!

In regards to the villain, I’m conflicted. 

On the bright side, I’ve been rooting for a female villain for as long as I’ve been in the fanbase. A female villain could add something really new and fresh to the series, giving fans a new perspective and experience altogether. The only canonical female villains in the KFP universe as of right now are the Wu Sisters, who are some of my personal favorite villains to ever come out of the franchise.

Additionally, rumors suggest that the chameleon can shape-shift. The idea of a shapeshifting villain (who potentially possesses dark magic, or something similar) is admittedly really cool. In an unreleased (unfinished) discussion post, I go into detail regarding the advantages of a manipulative villain. If the chameleon is as manipulative as her shape-shifting powers suggest, she could actually be pretty interesting to watch. Of course, being me, I’d prefer emotional manipulation over anything else, but that’s still a possibility!

In the plot description, it’s stated that the chameleon has the ability to “summon” villains from Po’s past. While it’s been assumed that this is in reference to full on resurrection, there’s still some wiggle room for speculative variation. There are disagreements and conflicting information on whether or not the chameleon can actually revive Po’s former adversaries, as some claim that she has the ability to resurrect the dead (perhaps via dark magic), while others state that she simply takes on their form to mess with Po.

Let’s assume that the chameleon is legitimately able to bring back villains that Po has done away with in previous movies. Isn’t that an incredibly easy way to make it seem like Po is going to experience difficulty in defeating this movie’s opposing force? While I’ll admit that coming up with someone/something that will make Po falter and struggle was never going to be an easy task, especially at this stage, I can’t help but feel as though there’s a bit lacking in the creative department. It’s also a bit insulting, to be honest, because if this new villain has to rely on the reputations and powers of previous villains to put up a fight, then is this a villain worth paying any real mind to? Does she pose any kind of true threat?

Personally, I hope that the whole resurrection theory is false. I don’t think it would be in the best interest of anyone if the past villains were to come back in any way that’s not a flashback (even then, I’m not sure I’d see the point). In all honesty, I thought that the whole point of the villains was that they died and stayed dead. They were defeated by Po once and for all as a testament to the idea of establishing Po's character growth and journey as a person through the bad things he’s able to overcome. It’d be highly contradictory to the messages of the other films if these villains were to suddenly come back.

For a while, there were theories floating around that suggested that Kung Fu Panda 4′s villain would have some significance to Tigress. The thought process behind this follows a “villain formula” of sorts; each movie villain so far has been connected to a main character through that respective character’s past. Tai Lung was Shifu’s failed prodigy; a fallen angel archetype. Shen killed Po’s mother and led a genocide on his people in a feeble and desperate attempt to save himself from his own fate. Kai was Oogway’s former fellow warlord and brother-in-arms, seeking revenge for the betrayal he felt had been enacted upon him.

I am a full-fledged supporter of the next villain having a connection to Tigress. Unfortunately, though, it doesn’t seem likely given the information we currently have. This chameleon, from what we know at this point in time, has absolutely no connection to Po or anyone in the main cast. I’d even go as far as to say that there’s more of a reason to believe the chameleon will have a connection to Chen; mainly because I think that if Chen needs to be integrated into the main cast, that’s the way the writers are going to go. The problem with this, however, is that it doesn’t make that much sense given how significant of a character Tigress has become in the franchise.

Take everything I say with a grain of salt, though, because in truth, we really don’t know that much about our new villain. This chameleon could very well have a connection to Tigress! We won’t know until the time is right, I suppose.

I’ll use Tigress as a segue to talk about the Furious Five, because unlike in the third film and god-forsaken TV shows, they’re actually relevant here! Personally, I think that the Furious Five still have a bit to offer as characters, for found family feels and to act as nostalgic plot devices if for nothing else. I love the five, and while I can understand if the upcoming film's story doesn't call for their involvement as frequently as in KFP 1 and 2, I would still very much appreciate their presence throughout the movie instead of being totally cast aside like in the third movie.

That said, though, I have a different opinion regarding Tigress. She has always stood out as the most significant member of the Furious Five (to both the audience and Po) and has been very impactful to Po and his journey; she was especially important in Kung Fu Panda 2, during which she was shown coming out of her shell and showing something akin to affection towards Po. Their interactions were later described by Guillermo del Toro (who I believe worked on the movie as a creative consultant) as possessing “the hint of a romance.” Whether or not the fourth movie will decide to capitalize on this idea is fully up in the air. It’s been stated by former directors that the theme of romance in KFP would only ever be applied in a comical fashion, but those directors may no longer be involved at all. I’m a Po and Tigress enjoyer, but I’d much rather KFP 4 be a good, solid movie than it being weak and trying to hold itself up with a shallow romantic subplot with Po and Tigress. I would also hate (with the fury of a thousand suns) to see Tigress’s character reduced to that of a love interest; she’s strong, capable, independent, and totally awesome. If she has a larger role in the fourth movie, I’d watch her being a cold-hearted badass a thousand times over before I sit through two hours of her being overtly out-of-character for the sake of a “classic romance” with Po. A relationship between them could work, and I’ll be supportive of it if it’s done well, but it doesn’t and shouldn’t have to happen for the movie to be emotional and impactful and mean something.

I have an unfortunate yet strong suspicion that the Furious Five will be tossed to the curb in this movie, and I really hope I’m wrong, because they’re fun characters that help encapsulate the original feel of the franchise. They’re a key part of what gave Po his beginnings in the world of martial arts, and they’re also the people he desperately wanted to be like throughout his childhood (and young adult years). They’re his best friends, and while I want Po to have adventures of his own, I don’t want his origins to be forgotten in favor of new characters. I want the nostalgia, alright? Is that wrong? No, and if it were, I wouldn’t want to be right. Speaking of long-time characters, what about Shifu? I can’t help but wonder what he’ll be up to during this whole debacle. Meditating, perhaps? I hope nobody in the writers’ room decides it’s Shifu’s time to go, which has been a growing concern of mine since learning of Po’s ambiguous “promotion.”

The movie’s director, Mike Mitchell, has been involved with KFP before, but not to the extent of previous directors. While I know little information about him, I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and I’ll maintain that sentiment until the movie releases. A potential (confirmed?) co-director is Stephanie Stine, the director of Raya and the Last Dragon.

Final thoughts, summarized:

The plot is kinda off and contradicts both Po’s character arc and the other movies

A female chameleon is the villain, which is maybe the only aspect of the movie I can get behind

The Furious Five and Shifu may be completely ignored (again)

The whole “passing of the torch” storyline does not work given Po’s situation

Chen’s character doesn’t make sense

I’m not familiar with the director(s) 

If you took the time to read this post, kudos to you. I hope I was able to help you arrange your thoughts regarding this news, because I’m still a bit scatter-brained myself (which is a feeling that I think we can all relate to at the moment). I’ll likely add more to this post over time, whether it be via re-blogs or simple edits. I think of something new to add to this post every few minutes, which I’ve been doing for a few hours now...

Let’s end on a positive note, because I know I was a bit of a downer here:

The title looks pretty cool, I’m not gonna lie. I like the scale texture!

[doloresdraws]

| time-lapse of the painting on my youtube |

❤ I wrote these for Twitter, but decided to post them here as well ❤

Werner Adler, Nosferatu residing in San Francisco, Embraced in 1970 in his mid 30s.

1. Werner is pretty chill most of the time, more than angry he gets frustrated from not being satisfied with his writing or when he says something that makes complete sense, yet the other person still fails to acknowledge it, especially when it is about something important.

2. I think he never believed in soulmates, until he met Leslie. Now when she is gone, a part of him is gone too.

3. His pet peeves: When people call themselves stupid or speak about themselves in a degrading way, especially women and children. Also when he sees grammar mistakes like they're/their, etc.

4. Unfortunately, what used to be his happy place now brings him a lot of pain, so he rarely allows his thoughts to venture there. When Leslie was still alive and he thought she was living a happy, fulfilled life somewhere, he often thought about their life together.

5. He has suffered from depression since his teens, but his happiest time was when Leslie said yes to his clumsy proposal, they got married and were planning their future together. Despite his coming and going depression and some bad days, she made him very happy.

6. His least happy time: Finding out that Leslie was dead, running to the hospital morgue and seeing and holding her lifeless body in his arms.

7. I think he is neither. He would sit at the bar minding his own business.

8. As a mortal, he never had any serious physical injuries (mainly because he was at home most of the time) As a vampire he got his wrist broken by the Gangrel who had found him after the Embrace, Werner didn't understand anything and wanted to just run away.

9. He doesn't really remember his Embrace as he was passed out sleeping, so the Embrace itself isn't a traumatic experience for him. There is a lot he would rather forget during his Kindred existence, but nothing tops his desperate attempt of Embracing Leslie's dead body.

10. His childhood wasn't exactly filled with many good memories. His parents argued a lot and it ended up in divorce that left him living with his quite overprotective mother. His fav memory would probably be time he spent hanging out with his best friend, a neighbor kid Mike.

11. Honestly, no, he doesn't have a type. He was seriously in love only with Leslie. They had a connection right away as she as an artist understood his need to be sometimes left alone with his writing and at the same time possessed quite a different, more positive outlook in life.

12. A pen that he bought from his first salary. Lucky for him, he was able to keep it even after his Embrace. Also his and Leslie's wedding rings and her journal that he stole after sneaking into her husband's hotel room and going through her things.

13. +14. No tattoos or piercings, even if he wasn't a Kindred/Nosferatu he wouldn't even consider it. He is quite old school, he doesn't really like them.

15. He had his dream house already. Not long before he got Embraced, he and Leslie had bought a house in a small town in Maine. It wasn't much, but they had so many plans for the garden and for the kid's rooms.

16. I think others, especially Kindred of other clans wouldn't probably expect him to be so well-mannered, gentle and well-spoken considering his dishevelled, unclean looks. He just sees no point in showering or caring for his look when he isn't really socializing with anyone anyway.

17. He is very thoughtful when it comes to gifts. He is that kind of person that would give you a present out of the blue, just because he would see something that he thinks you would enjoy.

18. He has a love-hate relationship with his writing. Some days he thinks he is really good at capturing the right mood with his words, other days he is questioning his writing skills and if he should even continue. He isn't proud of anything that he does, unfortunately.

19. A stranger would probably describe him as a sad man who desperately needs a bath and new clothes.

20. A close friend (Kayley) would describe him as kind & caring, but broken man who is trying his best and tries to do the right things.

21. He actually isn't concerned about his looks at all, he didn't care much about his looks even when he looked normal. His biggest insecurity is fear that somehow deep inside he is a bad person and that he somehow deserves what happened.

22. Physical: dexterity, non-physical: Intelligence.

23. If he knew that the lie was for his own good, he would actually appreciate the thought. If it was a lie to spare him from fear (I am looking at you Kayley) he would get upset at the sheer irresponsibility and the harm that could have happened and you would be in for a lecture.

24. He doesn't care much for the weather when he's spending most of his nights alone in his sewer haven, but he finds rainy nights inspiring and accurate to his own feelings of despair. He sometimes goes to the cemetery when it pours, stands in the rain and allows himself to cry.

25. He has no problems saying I love you to the people that he cares about when it feels right and appropriate to the situation. Though he usually never says it first, but more as a response :)

26. He doesn't like to talk about his worries - like when he was a mortal he really didn't like to talk about his fear of not having enough skill to make it as a writer, as he felt like he was failing Leslie to not make enough money for them to be able to raise a family.

27. He murdered a man that was a threat to Kayley and Jane. He really thought that there wasn't another way, but he sent the children away while he did it, so they didn't have to see. He was on the verge of frenzy and part of him could justify the murder as the man was a scumbag.

28. He isn't ticklish, but he would probably try to stop you tickling him anyway.

29. As a mortal, he had pretty low pain tolerance, but as a Nosferatu and after Leslie's death he realized that any amount of physical pain was nothing compared to the crippling pain and guilt that he feels inside everytime his mind slips and he thinks about what happened.

30. He wishes he had the courage to walk up to Kyle (Leslie's then husband) and tell him that he was sorry, that he was weak, selfish and negligent and that it was his fault that Kyle lost his wife and his unborn child. But of course, he never did it, and now Kyle is an old man.

31. Messy: feeding is a very stressful ordeal for him, he only feeds on the homeless men from his herd and he gives them money for it. It's always a terrible time for him, it takes him a while to actually bite down and then he wants to be done with it as soon as possible.

32. When 14 yo Kayley made him bite her after she found out the truth about what he was and she wanted a proof that it didn’t hurt when he fed on people, despite him reassuring her it didn’t. He was deeply hurt by this request, but he forgave her, he realized she was just a curious child, she didn't know how much pain this was causing him.

33. When Leslie found him and despite seeing how he changed, she still told him she loved him and was willing to stay with him. And maybe even more when they had met a few years later and despite the time, he could still see love for him in her eyes like nothing had changed…

34. Hard choice between vision & touch. Both would hinder his ability to write and that is that is the only thing that keeps him somehow sane. Well, together with caring for Kayley, but as she is growing older it is better she sees less of him and has a normal life.

35. He can hold on small talks pretty well,it's actually the only kind of talk he is willing to have with other Kindred after Leslie's death. Mirabelle especially noticed the change in his behavior, but she understands that they weren't really friends and she has no right to pry.

36. He would ask Leslie if she can forgive him for what happened to her and her unborn child. But the truth also is that he is absolutely terrified at the idea as he fears that the truth is that wherever she is, she hates him.

37. The past-so he would have never traveled to San Francisco, or at least he would have traveled to the night when Leslie came to him and this time he would be stronger and pushed her away, not letting her touch him... The future is pointless, there is nothing left there for him.

38. Positive - Leslie made him feel understood, Kayley - gave him some will to live back, Jane - made him feel like he made a difference in her life by persuading her to own her mistakes.

Negative - His Sire who made him question why he deserved this fate for his kindness.

39. He was used to live alone, then he met Leslie and then he was alone again. He was always a solitary person, so the solitude and isolation actually didn't even bother him after the Embrace.

40. The worst had already happened to him, so for a time there wasn't really anything that would make him terrified. But then he met Kayley and of course he fears for her safety as he feels responsible for her. He's afraid that her compassion will one day cost her her life.

Werner © me/doloresdraws

[soulwillower]

heather • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

[based off the song heather by conan gray]

requested:   OMG I HAVE AN IDEA IDK IF ITS GOOD AND IDK WHY IM TYPING IN ALL CAPS BUT CAN U DO A FIC WHERE LIKE ITS BASED OF YHE SONG HEATHER BY CONAN GRAY WHERE THE READER AND RICH HAVE BEEN BEST FRIENDS FOR SO MANY YEARS AND HAVE FEELINGS FOR EACHOTHER BUT THERE BOTH SO OBLIVIOUS- SO WHEN RICHIE LIKE GETS A GF ONE DAY THE READER JUST WHSKWHDIWHWIW IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT LIKE AT THE END THEY REALIZE THEYRE IN LOVE. SORRY IF ITS TOK SPECIFIC. LOVE U. IM RUNNING OUTTA CHARACTERS 

warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, themes of cheating but no actual cheating, angst, fluff at the end, unedited.

thank u guys so much for being so patient with this fic <3 love u all so much!

[losers + reader are  18+ in this.]

4.4k words

(also, this fic starts with a flashback and idk if i like this style, but lmk if it works) 

♡

the persistent beat thudding in your ears seems to do nothing more than dim your already low mood as you sip on lemonade by yourself in someone's basement bar, sitting on an uncomfortable metal barstool and leaning your head heavy against your chin.

these days, it seemed as though the world was painted in gray.

you look around almost lazily; bev and ben went outside in the snow a couple minutes ago, stan just took a girl upstairs - you're left alone now, because mike and eddie had to study for their exam and bill was feeling under the weather. and richie, as usual, was late.

there's almost twenty other people in the room right now, but you have no desire to speak to any of them. you've been trying to have fun tonight, but you're just having a hard time, feeling distracted and unable to stop thinking about wire framed glasses and a certain bright smile.

your wandering eyes halt your thoughts as a girl in your class - heather perez -  catches your eye from across the room, her hair falling in natural curls that makes you sigh in envy. she smiles and waves at you warmly, gesturing for you to come and sit with her. you swallow and look down into your cup of dreary, graying lemonade as you try not to think about how you look in comparison. she's so fucking pretty. you look back up and shake your head with a friendly smile, faker than a plastic flower, and nod to the bathroom. she shrugs and smiles, turning back around.

she was too sweet, it hurt.

her naturally dark hair, long and wavy, her smooth dark skin, her laugh.... but suddenly, your head snaps back up after recognizing a familiar sight on heather's figure.

-is that richie's sweater?

your heart thumps and churns in the most unsavory way as all the breath leaves your lungs in one swift exhale. you feel sick to your stomach and your hand falls to hit the counter to stabilize yourself, the lemonade sloshing out of the cup slightly. but you pay no mind. heather's wearing richie's sweater...

you know that sweater really well. it's definitely his, and for some reason that makes you want to cry.

you blink and force yourself to suck air into your lungs as you look around quickly, anywhere but at heather perez wearing richie tozier's sweater, with all the stripes and patterns and the rough polyester material. you're not sure why you're so caught off-guard, you knew that heather perez was maybe-kinda-sorta seeing your trashmouth. he'd mentioned it in passing a few times and you've not been able to keep it off your mind as bev and bill whisper to richie about it in the halls or during hangouts when you were laying in stan's lap pretending not to hear it.

it hurts, though. holy hell, does it hurt when richie turns the corner and the typical, 'hey, richie!' choruses through most of the people in the basement - and yet his eyes are just set on her.

it hurts even worse when you make eye contact with him and he smiles at you, nodding in greeting and calling a "hey there, toots!" over the thumping of the noise before turning back towards heather.

your heart thumps erradically as you eye him sliding an arm around her shoulders easily, pulling her into his tall lanky frame,  crushing your chest and deflating your trembling heart. heather's head falls onto richie's shoulder and you shiver, feeling colder than you've felt in so long. the lemonade you force to your lips tasting like stale water as the sight of richie pinching heather's shoulder and thumbing his own sweater on her frame make you feel empty.

even now, weeks later, you remember how it felt. you sip on the boiling tea and immediately burn your tongue, making you swear as you stare out your window, the snow falling around your house in the dark making you feel an odd, empty kind of peace. that fucking sweater.

you haven't talked to richie in almost a week and a half - he got in trouble the night after the party and his parents took his phone away - at eighteen years old, his parents took his phone - so that he could 'spend time with family' (a task that made you chuckle to yourself when bill had explained it to you about twelve days ago).

it's winter break, though, and you've been missing the last piece of your eight-person puzzle the last few times you've hung out with your friends. it feels empty without richie's boisterous shenanigans, snarky looks and goofy comebacks... you feel really embarrassed for missing him so deeply.

tears well up in your eyes as you think again about his damn sweater, the one that heather was wearing, the same one he'd given you not even three weeks prior.

"well look at you." richie says with amusement trickling through his voice like melting icewater through a calm creek.  you spin towards him with a grin eclipsing your face as you shrug around his sweater, pretending not to smell his strong scent and pretending not to feel the immediate comfort it gives you.

"you know, for as dumb as it looks, i kind of like it." you tease, brushing some hair back from your eyes as the sweater sleeves fall back down past your hands. he laughs, eyes not leaving you for a second.

"shit, doll. keep it." he says, sounding serious. it makes you pull a face at him, starting to lift it slightly over your head to return it to its rightful owner.

but he shakes his head, hands gently gripping your arms and halting your motions, subsequently setting your heart on fire. his lips are set in a gentle grin as he shakes his head again. "it looks so much better on you."

it's spoken simply, in such honestly that it makes you blush nearly immediately. in fact, you're so flustered that all you can do is shove him a bit, stuttering out a quiet, "shut up, richie, you- i - okay, whatever."

it makes him chuckle as he takes the soft blow of your hands against his shoulders, deftly running his hands through his curly locks as he shakes his head. "you're adorable, kid."

you're lucky he'd turned around to gripe around on his messy bed for his laptop, because the stupid grin you're sure is painting your face is enough to make you dig your own grave and then hand him the shovel. if only he knew how much you liked him.

you didn't keep the sweater after that night, though. at the time, you'd told him it was because it was putrid; that the colors and patterns were a sin to man and that you'd never be caught dead wearing it out. he laughed the whole time because you had literally worn it to the store with him it with him that same day. but now, you'd give anything for richie to give you that sweater again, to feel that polyester inseam fall against your stomach and your arms and chest, like a huge richie hug (without all the bones and the cologne and the caffeine-pulsing heartbeat - so not a real richie hug, but as close as you could get to the real thing without actually just having it).

god, you like him too much. you rub your face with your palm, the moisture from the tears that had accidentally escaped your eyes smudging against your face. you're tired, almost - it's like an empty, heartbroken exhaustion that sags your shoulders and chokes your throat and makes you zone out for minutes at a time. one thought overwhelms you right now, so as you see a car's headlights shine out your window through the falling snow, you don't even notice it.

you just wish you were heather.

you've tried to hate her. really, you have - you figured maybe, just maybe, if you were able to rant to bev or eddie about how much of a bitch heather is, how she's terrible to richie and how boring she was, maybe you could justify the heartbreak in your chest.

but god, she's so perfect. heather, with her shiny hair, bright smile, her flawless mind and caring heart. she's, as far as you're concerned, an angel. of course richie would choose heather, who wouldn't?

the other day at that party, you'd tried your hardest to ignore your intrusive thoughts, but you can't help feeling like it would all be better if heather didn't exist. and even that thought alone hurts your heart, because you remember the smile on richie's face when he looked at her, swathed in his sweater and floating around the room like a beacon of light.

and you could never, ever in good conscience take that from richie.

you almost laugh at how absurd it is - now you're talking to yourself while you stare out the window, half asleep, dreaming of freckles placed just like constellations and crooked noses, of jawlines that jut out and long, lanky fingers; of loud, chipping laughter and beat up high-tops with cuffed corduroy pants.

"y/n?" a voice behind your door makes you jump a bit, unsettling your already disconcerted bones. you’re imagining him, now? you laugh into your scalding mug for a second, but after a double-take at the doorway you find the angel himself to be standing there with a perplexed look.

"richie, what're you doing here?" you ask, rubbing your eye to make sure no tears are left. he looks troubled. "i knocked, but nobody answered. so..." he says with a shrug, and you ned, tucking a leg under yourself and nodding.

"what are you doing, toots?" he asks, backlit by the hallway light. and then you finally can see what he's wearing, and you almost laugh at your own misery.

but you don’t laugh, your brain short-circuiting as you feel the knife twist further into your abdomen. the stupid fucking sweater.

“-um, nothing. y- did you get that back from heather?” you try to deliver the line as smoothly as possible, but by the look on his face, you did a real shit job at that.

“what?” he asks in an exhale as he shakes snowflakes from his hair and shoulders, closing your door as he walks towards you and falls to sit next to you on your windowsill seat.

“i thought you gave her that sweater.” you say and he raises a brow, “yeah, like two weeks ago.” he says slowly, eyeing you. he adds, “she obviously didn’t need it after that.”

you frown, “did she need it then?” you didnt try to sound bitter at all, but your voice comes with more of a sting than you’d anticipated.

as always, richie meets fire with fire. “it was twenty fuckin’ degrees out, she was wearing a tank top.”

you don’t know what to say so you just stare out the window with a quick huff, crossing your arms. "why does it matter? it's a sweatshirt." he mutters. "i was just being nice to her."

you nod, pain twisting around in your stomach. he's right, it's just a sweater. but he gave it to her, because he likes heather better.

“what’s up with you, kid?” he asks, gentler this time.

“don’t call me kid, richie.” you say sharply, not meeting his eyes. “and there’s nothing up with me.” you know you’re being difficult, but you really don't have the energy to argue with him right now.

it’s quiet again, and the silence is even more awkward. you take another scalding sip of your tea. 

“um, y/n... is this because of heather?” he says after a bit. you feel the tension that the acknowledgment brings as it hits you in the thick, cold air. richie’s tapping a rhythm on his thigh, so you can tell he feels it too.

"richie." you say weakly, your voice coming out too quiet, too obviously broken and exhausted. "i cannot do this. please don't do this right now"

he blinks at you, eyebrows furrowed. "sugar, i'm so lost right now."

you decide to change the subject. "-why'd you come over?" you ask, actually looking at him then immediately regretting it. he looks hurt and confused, like a lost puppy.

"oh. um, i just need to tell you something.it's about heather, too." he sounds anxious, and you roll your eyes, looking down at the tree outside your room as wind blows powdery white mounds off its branches.

“can this just wait until tomorrow?” you whisper. doesn't he get it?

it's quiet and for a moment you believe that he's going to leave it, to not bring up the obvious jealousy brewing in your chest. but he breaks the silence too soon.

"i tried to kiss her." he says and you immediately look towards the door, the most immediate escape possible. 

your breathing gets heavy; if you have to hear this, you know you'll admit your feeling to richie, and you don't want to do that to him. but you have a suspicion that he already knows.

"richie, i'm so, so glad to see you. and that you like heather. really, i am. but- it's not a good time. i'm not- i'm not okay." you say, voice thick as tears well behind your eyes.

richie’s eyes widen almost comically as you make eye contact and his hands immediately find purchase on your arms, his thumbs rubbing in the way that he has done ever since that one foggy summer you spent in the sewers. "y/n/n, what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks, watching sadly as a tear slips from your cheek. it breaks your heart when he calls you sweetheart, and you shake your head.

you can't tell him the truth - that you love him, so instead, you mumble, "i've missed you. there's a lot going on, and i just really need you."

he looks guilty as he pulls you into a warm hug, one that takes you off guard but that you return gratefully. "you've been too busy spending time with heather and with your parents, and i understand that, i just - you know, i miss you." you say, voice muffled as your cheek is squished into his shoulder. he sighs shakily, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “i know i’ve been with her a lot, i’m sorry sugar.” he mutters. 

it feels like you’re both holding something back from the other. 

"i wish i were heather." you say against his shoulder, knowing richie’s completely unaware of the depth of your statement. but he pulls back and stares at you, an unknown look on his face. you open your mouth to say something, but you're cut off before you can get anything out.

and his lips fall against yours lightly, almost as if they’re ghosts against yours. his presence feels fleeting. 

you barely close your eyes and press closer to him before you snap out of it, jerking backwards with wide eyes.

richie’s eyes fall open too as he looks at you questioningly. your heart is thumping heavy as you shake your head, more shocked than you thought ever possible. “what?” he asks, as if he’s surprised you’re not kissing back.

you give him a sad, broken look. you think you’ll cry as you mutter, "why would you ever kiss me? i'm not - i'm not nearly as pretty as her, i'm just-"richie suddenly looks like he might get sick, his face paler than usual as the steam from your tea dwindles idly between you. he cuts you off. "-why are you - why are you saying all these things y/n/n-”

“heather. you like heather.” you say frantically, trying to remind him so you dont have to live through this fresh faced heartbreak twice as painful if he kisses you again. 

but richie shakes his head, and your confusion skyrockets just as much as your heartbeat."no. a-amy asked her out." he says breathlessly. "-she said yes."

you blink, pulling even further away as it dawns on you. "wait. so... so you only want to see me after the girl you wanted finds someone else?" you ask, watching as the smile gets smacked off of richie's face so quickly you think it may give him whiplash. "wait, no-" he starts, but you shake your head.

“richie, do you understand how hurtful that is?” you say, voice heavy as you try not to let tears fall.

he shakes his head, eyes glossing with tears as he gapes at you, “n-no, y/n-“

“fuck, richie. i know you know about my feelings for you. how could you do this? i’m not heather, i’m reminded that every time i’m in the same room as the two of you. she’s had you completely mesmerized for the last month, you can’t just use me to distract yourself.” you say, your tea completely forgotten as a tear escapes your eye.

he shakes his head, looking at you with an emotion you don’t have the energy to decipher. “leave, richie.” your voice is broken and it shakes as you look away from him.

you’re not sure what you were expecting, but when richie stands up silently you dont even look away from the window. you see him wipe his cheek in your peripheral before he sighs quietly and walks out of your room, shutting the door quietly.

you cry openly as you hear your door shut downstairs, your hands shaking as you cover your face, your shoulders shaking with sobs. you make it under your covers just as you hear a car engine sputter outside, your heart empty and lips still tingling as the feeling of richie’s lips linger on yours. you groan into your pillow and let out another sob, your eyes squeezing in agony as your heart feels like it’s ripping in two.

because even if they’re not together, richie still likes her.

why couldn’t you be heather?

you cry until you’re asleep, your now cold mug of tea resting on the windowsill as your phone charges next to you and snow swirls in the dark sky.

when you wake up the next morning, your headache is nearly blinding. you feel like crying more as you remember last night. you roll over and rub your eyes, unlocking your phone groggily.  

but you check your notifications and your heart immediately stops as you see a missed call from richie at 3:49 in the morning last night, and a voicemail left a minute later.

well, you guess he got his phone back.

your fingers tremble as they hover above the play button, feeling like you may vomit from anxiety - the message he left is two minutes long.

closing your eyes, ready for even more heartbreak, you press play and hold the speaker to your ear.

“um, y/n.” the voicemail starts off, and you’re already tearing up because richie’s voice is full to the brim with anxiety and he’s not using his usual nicknames for you. 

“uh... okay, i- i know it’s four in the morning, and you’re probably asleep - god, i hope you are, and that you’re not ignoring me. not that i dont deserve it, but i just want you to get good rest. uh, a-anyways. fuck,” there’s an awkward pause and you’re holding your breath.

“you know i’m not good with phone calls or voicemails-“ his rambling just adds to your anxious feeling, but you think if you don’t listen to this, your anxiety would eat you alive.

“- fuck, i don’t know how to say this. kind of ironic, i guess, since i’ve been thinking about saying it like every day for probably more than a year- okay, i’m... god, spit it out, trashmouth.” his voice gets thicker and you can hear the emotion as he takes a shallow breath.

“y/n/n, you make my hands shake. i swear, my heart feels like it’s going to backfire and explode when we touch... and it scares me so fucking bad.” you feel your heart halt in your chest, the air leaving your lungs.

you keep the phone pressed tightly to your ear as richie’s recorded voice goes on.

“-fuck, y/n. i’m terrified. sometimes i think.... like, whoever created me... they designed me just to be yours. and... it’s not in the same way i feel about bev, or bill, or eddie-“ his voice breaks as he sniffs on the other end and it dawns on you that he’s crying. “-you’re you. you’re y/n. i tried to like heather as more than just a friend. but...” it’s silent for a second.

“i just kept comparing her to you. i do that with everybody. i think i’m broken. i love you so much that it hurts.” he’s crying enough by now that it’s leaking into his speech; he’s hiccuping, stuttering slightly, his inflection changing as you can almost picture the tears rolling off his thick eyelashes and onto his rosy cheeks.

“-and i can’t sleep right now knowing that i hurt you like this. i can’t believe that i let you think of yourself as lesser than heather in any way-“ he sobs quietly in the recording and takes a stuttering breath. "i can’t believe i put myself before you. i’m such a shitty friend. i should’ve been giving you my stupid fucking sweaters the whole time.” 

tears are pouring out of your eyes as you sit up, ripping the comforter off your legs. you’re pulling on socks and your shoes as you continue to listen to richie’s voicemail.

“i’m sorry that i kissed you, and i’m sorry that i dragged you into this m-mess, that i used heather as an excuse to ignore my feelings for you. i-i love you so fucking much, and i’m just so scared of hurting you. i’m so sorry that i hurt you, y/n.”

you have to see him.

“-and, um, i’m sorry i left this voice message. this is probably the worst way to find this out but i figured that it would be easier for us to ignore if it wasn’t in person- y’know, because you don’t have to respond. just- now you know. that i’m sorry, and that i don’t expect you to forgive me or want to speak to me for a while. i just- i need you to know that you’re so loved, y/n. and that you deserve so much better than me.

“so, um, okay. i’ll let you sleep now. b-bye.” he whispers the end and then the line cuts dead.

you’re left with shaking breath and tears in your eyes as his voice rings in your head. you try to take in what he’s just said, but you think you’re about to pass out.

how can richie love you back?

you brush your teeth almost aggressively as your heart beats erratically in your chest and then you’re suddenly flying down the snowy road towards the tozier’s house.

you realize too late that you look completely awry, hair unbrushed, eyes puffy and swollen, shoes untied as you knock on the front door of richie's house.

went opens the door, richie’s younger sister sat on his hip as he smiles at you, "y/n! long time no see. richie's upstairs in his room."

you smile at him in thanks, too rushed to say anything to him or munch. then you’re all but sprinting up the stairs, only feeling the anxiety as you throw open the door to his bedroom. 

you're relieved that he's laying in his bed, surrounded by pillows and fluffy comforters as he jumps from the noise of your arrival.

when he sits up, neither of you say anything. his eyes are red and rimmed with tears, a heartbreaking sight as his lower lip trembles slightly. you're sure you look the same as you take a step towards his bed, your eyes not leaving each other's for a second.

he looks incredible, still. 

"y/n..." he whispers finally, his eyes wide. "did you get my message?" he says, lips tilting in a stupid, forced smile. his voice holds no humor in it's sad thickness, though, and you sigh as you look down to the carpet.

you shake your head, "can you not joke for a minute, rich?"

he laughs wetly, standing up fully and although he towers at 6'0, he looks so small. "i can try, doll, but then i'll start to cry a lot, and that's just not what anybody wants-"

"richie." you say, effectively ceasing his rambling. it's cold in his room, bright white from the snow outside, and silent. he looks at you with huge eyes and a red nose.

but you don't know what to say. you’ve spent so long wanting to be heather, but now you've found out that richie's loved you this whole time. it hurts, but you can't wait another second being away from richie. 

you launch yourself towards him, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to your mouth.

this time, the kiss is warm, unexpected again but much more loving. it's a kiss that tastes like tears and love and trust, and all you can feel is richie as his hands find purchase on your cheek and back, pulling you so close to him that you can feel is rapid heartbeat.

he pulls back to mumble against your lips, "i'm so sorry." you shake your head, pressing another kiss to his and loving the feeling of richie against you finally. "i love you." you say, feeling his grin against your mouth.

"i love you so much." he says, pulling you lightly to fall onto his bed with him and tickling your sides.

you laugh lightly, swatting at his prodding fingers. "please stop crying." he whispers, laying above you with a small smile. you roll your eyes, "you stop crying rich." you retort, and he shakes his head, one of his tears falling onto your cheek. you jump from the feeling and wipe it away, sniffling a gasp and pulling him into a tight hug, his legs tangling with yours.

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles. you cup his cheeks so his lips pucker out and you smile at him, whispering, “i forgive you, rich. i love you.” and then you place a soft kiss to his lips and he kisses you back enthusiastically.  he pulls back and hugs you again, burrowing himself in your neck. 

"i didn't think i'd ever get you." he says, muffled by his face in your shoulder. "thank you for trusting me. i love you so much." he kisses your collarbone lightly and your fingers play through his curls lightly as you smile, eyes closing. you're so tired.

"i love you more, richie."

you fall asleep with richie curled up beside you, his breath light on your chest and arms clutching you against him. you fall asleep with richie’s lips on your neck, his legs entangled with yours. 

you fall asleep contently, knowing that you no longer have to wish you were heather.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings​ @stenbrozier​ @simplesammyx​   @brxken-heartsclub​ @clownsloveyou​ @moon-shine-baby​ @daughter-of-the-stars11  @trashedfortozier​ @oceandog13​ @finnskindofwoman  @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters  <33

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

The Part-Time Puppeteer - Chapter 09

<= Chapter 8

Summary : Lukas gets to have a conversation with a friend.

Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828971/chapters/81432325

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Heehooo, new chapter ! I hope you'll like it !

Thank you again for all your comments, likes and reblogs. You're always making my day !

I get to see them when I wake up and let me tell you, this is the best thing I could get before going to work. Thank you so much.

This fanfic also makes me realize I'm not as bad at writing slice of life stuff as I first thought- Huh, good to know.

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Chapter 8 - “Was… Was he always like this?”

It was such a strange feeling for Lukas… Having won that duel when he had been so convinced he had no chance to begin with. He had been prepared so much to be downgraded to being a stagehand again that he had never truly considered what he’d do if he ever beat MJ.

So… He was an actor, now? The realization seemed surreal, like he was just imagining things… And yet, here he was, sitting in the staff break room, staring into space. His body was there, but his mind was somewhere else, lost in thoughts and unable to focus on the current situation. Even when other stagehands had come to congratulate him, telling him they were happy he put the diva in his place… He replied, saying thanks and every variant of it, without really being there at all.

In hindsight, the fact he had won wasn’t the reason he was feeling like this- it was that it had been so easy. Just like DJ Grooves had said, it was… A switch to flip. Sure, it required him to put his anxiety aside- but on this particular occasion, the anger he had felt towards MJ had been a way to temporarily shift his… Priorities, in some ways.

What the investor had said regarding the show had created quite the mess in the crew. While the Conductor and DJ Grooves had joined him for a private meeting regarding the scenario, most of the stagehands seemed lost. Lukas couldn’t blame them- with how the project had been questioned, it was hard to know whether to continue their job or wait for new instructions. A lot of them were exchanging thoughts about the whole thing: how they had been lucky most of the search of actors hadn’t officially started, how they were worried about a lot of their work going to waste… It was all understandable.

To think he might have been with them, perplexed about the same things… Apparently, fate had decided something else for him.

His attention was caught by the sound of a door opening, and he lifted his head. He didn’t know how much time had passed since the directors had started their meeting or how long he had been sitting in there… But he was pretty sure it had been at least a good hour. And so, when the student recognized Mike through the door frame, a feeling of confusion settled over him. Wait, didn’t he go to comfort his asshole of a twin…?

When the two young men’s eyes met, the puppet maker’s expression lightened up slightly. It didn’t take long for Lukas to understand his friend had been looking for him. Thus, he wasn’t surprised when he saw the other approaching him, before sitting next to him at the table.

-“Hey,” Mike greeted him, his voice clearly showing things hadn’t gone so well with MJ.

-“Hey,” he answered back, his expression turning concerned: “You alright?” he asked. He didn’t want to ask about the actor unless his friend actually wanted to talk about it- contrary to some people, he had been raised with manners and tact.

Said friend put his elbows on the table, leaning in as he rubbed his face:

-“I wish I could say yes, but I’m not,” he replied honestly. His mismatched eyes glanced at him, a sigh leaving his lips: “It’s not because of you,” he assured, probably not wanting Lukas to feel guilty. Well, too bad, he kinda did, with how upset Mike seemed to be.

-“Do you… Want to talk about it?” he offered, wanting nothing but to help his friend to feel better.

At his question, the puppet-maker remained silent, as if he were hesitating. Lukas waited patiently- he knew that if Mike needed to open his heart, then he would, but if he didn’t want to, then… It simply meant he wasn’t ready to, which was fine. The law student wasn’t going to force him. Eventually, though, Mike sighed again, moving his hands back to the table as he answered:

-“Morg- MJ, I mean, he’s not… He’s not a bad person,” his voice was faltering and he had to rub his eyes to hold back his tears: “I know he’s not easy to deal with, but… But he’s a nice person once you get to know him.”

“How much do you need to dig to find that ”nice person“, deep down?” Lukas thought to himself with sarcasm, but he did everything he could to keep those words to himself. Mike being related to that diva, the former most likely wasn’t objective- hell, Lukas’ relatives certainly weren’t perfect, but he still loved them nonetheless.

-“I’m sure he is,” he lied, his tone kind and comforting. With how Mike was dealing with everything, it wasn’t hard to guess some things had been said between the twins, and that it probably wasn’t the first time nor the last. Sure, Lukas couldn’t stand that guy, and the current situation wasn’t improving that, but he had no right to judge Mike for loving his brother. Still, what a great relationship… Not.

The puppet-maker sniffed and looked away. His eyes were getting red, just like his nose.

-“Sorry for… What he said to you,” Mike added after a minute: “And for… Him trying to punch you.”

-“It’s… It’s fine,” the student assured him, even if it wasn’t. Still, his friend didn’t need to hear that right now. Apparently, the other instantly noticed Lukas had just lied, as a weak scoff left his mouth, an insincere smile taking place onto his lips.

-“It’s not, you can say it,” he admitted with a shrug: “You wouldn’t be the first one to tell me that, anyway.”

Lukas turned his head, caught red-handed. Well, at least he had tried, he supposed… It was obvious Mike had gone through unpleasant conversations about his brother’s behavior- lying about everything being fine most likely wasn’t a good thing to do in those circumstances. The puppet-maker wasn’t stupid, after all.

-“Was… Was he always like this?” the young man dared to ask, slowly turning back to his friend, hoping this wouldn’t offend him. But it didn’t- on the contrary, Mike imitated him, facing him again. His expression showed sadness, pain, but also… Inner conflict.

-“… No, he wasn’t,” he shook his head, taking a deep breath as he tried to repress other, new tears: “A lot of stuff happened when we were kids, and… That left a mark. He’s never been the same since then.”

-“Do you… wanna talk about that?” the student asked, hinting at whatever trauma MJ had gone through. However, his friend frowned:

-“No. No, I don’t- I can’t,” he breathed out, leaning back against his chair: “Look, I’m… Not supposed to talk about that. It’s very… Personal, and I guess it just… Slipped out,” his eyes glanced to Lukas apologetically: “Sorry. I promised not to talk about it again, and he… Really wouldn’t like the fact I told you.”

Lukas tilted his head to the side with a wince- yeah, that was understandable. Still, he couldn’t help but be curious about what Mike was so secretive about. What kind of trauma could justify acting like an asshole to everyone? Sure, one could have gone through a lot of stuff, but that didn’t allow them to be a bitch to their friends and especially not their family! With how hard Mike was trying, it was frustrating to see the diva just… Hurting his own twin because he was frustrated or angry.

-“No, it’s fine- I get it,” he agreed, deciding not to push the topic any further: “You don’t have to tell me. Is he still around?”

-“No,” Mike shook his head, his breathing finally calming down through efforts: “He’s gone back home. I always tell him to when he needs to… Calm down.”

-“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Lukas asked out of politeness. To be completely honest, he couldn’t care less about MJ’s tantrum, but it was obvious his friend needed to speak about it. Comfort was the minimum he could offer for that.

-“I don’t… I don’t know,” the other confessed, rubbing his face again while his eyes stared into space: “It has never been that badbefore. I’m not gonna lie, this kind of thing happens… A lot. But this time, he just… Refused to talk to me. Usually, I can get him to speak his heart a little, you know? Today, he ignored me and drove back home- he didn’t even look at me.”

“What a jerk, what a jerk, what a fucking jerk,” Lukas did his best to keep that thought to himself again. Seriously, how could one act like an entitled brat that much?

-“Why… Uh,” he paused, joining his hands together as he struggled to find the right words to convey what he wanted to say: “Okay, this is going to sound bad no matter what I say, but… If he’s acting like that to you, his own brother, why would you… Keep trying?” At his sentence, Mike looked up, frowning at him- of fuck, he had been too direct, he should have kept his mouth shut: “I-I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand why! But… You seem really upset, and you said it kept happening, so, you know…”

The student was now rambling, trying really hard to make up for his lack of tact, but eventually, Mike’s frown turned into a weak, genuine smile:

-“Because I love him,” he answered as if it were blatantly obvious: “And I guess… Because I feel guilty too,” he then admitted, looking away with an ashamed expression. Well… That was new. Him, feeling guilty? But what for? After all, Mike was perhaps one of the nicest person he had met! Apparently, his confusion must have been quite visible as the puppet-maker sighed.

-“Listen, I really can’t talk about this, it’s… Like I said, it’s something very personal for MJ. Still, well… MJ and I went through a lot when we were kids, but he had it much worse than I did. Compared to him, my childhood was easy. So… I kinda feel like I owe him my help, now that it’s over, because I couldn’t be there for him years ago. That’s all I can tell you.”

The law student fell silent- yeah, he could get what the other was saying. Still… He couldn’t help but feel like Mike was putting his own feelings to the side, prioritizing MJ’s first. It wasn’t healthy. A simple look at the puppet-maker was enough to see how upset he was!

-“Does he… Know you feel that way?” Lukas dared to ask, a bit hesitant after his previous question.

A soft and sad scoff left Mike’s lips:

-“No. I haven’t told him- but trust me, it’s fine, I’mfine,” he replied, his expression showing more determination: “I want to help him the best I can. I know he doesn’t actually want to hurt me, and that’s all I need.”

It took Lukas a lot of willpower not to retort anything about that, and so he simply nodded. Oh, he wanted to tell Mike he didn’t have to play the role of a punching bag, that he didn’t have to feel guilty about something that had happened when he was literally a child… But it was clear that Mike wasn’t going to change his mind. Plus, it wasn’t like he could have a say in this, he was just a stranger. He had no idea what had happened during the twins’ childhood and… Well, even if he didn’t think any of that would justify MJ’s actions… He still had to give both of them the benefit of the doubt.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but feel like this was really unfair.

-“Thanks,” the other added, visibly glad Lukas hadn’t insisted. He let out a sigh before glancing at his watch, his eyes widening as he quickly stood up: “Crap, my break’s over,” he mumbled, and then spoke louder: “I need to repair some costumes. I’ll, uh, see you soon.”

-“Oh, yeah,” the student nodded awkwardly: “Good luck.”

-“I’ll definitely need some of that…” the puppet-maker sighed again and quickly left the break room, barely looking back. His face had looked so stressed, but Lukas couldn’t blame him: with what had happened with his twin and the fact that his work had gone to waste… Yeah, that seemed to be a lot. Furthermore, Lukas guessed Mike had to postpone the work on the new puppet, considering he had to wait for the new script to be validated. Poor guy wasn’t going to design a new character when no one even knew said character’s personality yet.

The young man let out a sigh, his eyes glancing around: what was he supposed to do, now? He had been promoted, sure, but what could he do if he had to wait for his role to be remade from scratch? Even the other stagehands didn’t know what to do! It sure was a weird situation to be in. Maybe he could lend a hand to whoever needed it? There had to be someone out there needing assistance or something…

After taking a deep breath, Lukas stood up and left the break room. His legs led him through the different part of the studio, hoping to find something to do. At some point, he passed in front of a door, where loud voices could be heard through it- the Conductor’s, Grooves’ and the investor’s. Well, seemed like it was the meeting room, which was probably the last place Lukas wanted to be right now. It didn’t sound like they were arguing, no, it sounded more like an intense discussion. He couldn’t understand anything, as the voices were muffled, though it was enough for him to quicken his pace.

He then found a group of stagehands ready to put the props and backgrounds for the Moonjumper’s home back in a closet, never to be seen again. There were a lot of stuff and so, naturally, the young man decided to help them. The stagehands he joined were touched by the attention and thanked him for it. Once they were done, they offered Lukas to tag along for other tasks, and he happily accepted. Not like he had anything else to do anyway and, well, it was always a good thing to be close to the crew.

Hah, helping the stagehands… Not something MJ would do, huh?

In any case, the hours passed and most of the work was done by the evening, when it was time to leave. After saying goodbye to his co-workers and making a quick stop to Mike’s workshop for the same reason, the young man took the last bus of the day and headed home. What a day this had been… Lukas’ mind was unable to think anymore- how could he, after everything that had happened in only a few hours? His shift had been… Wild, to say the least.

Once he got home, the first thing he did was to let himself fall on his couch. Were all of his shifts going to be so exhausting…? He sighed in one of the cushions, already feeling tired enough to fall asleep- nope, he still needed to eat and do his homework. Doing the latter after such a day of work sounded terrible, though he didn’t have a lot of choice, as he didn’t want to procrastinate. Plus, thankfully, law was something he was interested in, so at least it wasn’t boring, just… Time-consuming.

After the previous night, he really, reallyneeded to sleep a good amount of hours. With that new, motivating goal in mind, the young man hurried up to put a quick meal in the microwave. As he ate, he started his homework in the meantime, his tired brain doing his best to produce a good essay. Thankfully, it was a short one, allowing him to go to sleep earlier than what he had first thought. And so… He went to bed, his head full of memories from today. He wondered what the next day would have in store for him…

It actually took two weeks for the studio to get a new, validated version of the script. In the meantime, Lukas kept helping the other stagehands the best he could. He visited Mike in his workshop during his breaks, trying to see if his friend was feeling better. It took a few days but soon enough, they were back at talking about various topics. Visiting Mike also let him have a look at the new character designs the other was preparing, various versions he was planning to show the directors, so they could pick a particular design. All of them were really different from one another.

Lukas didn’t get the opportunity to read the script yet, as the Conductor and DJ Grooves wanted to be sure it was perfect before showing it to the team this time. However, Mike had gotten some information on the new characters and changes, as he had to design them and couldn’t do so without knowing their personality. Thus, the other shared him the secret info he had been given- and so, apparently, the new character was going to be a ghost ruling over a forest or something like that… Mike wasn’t given too much information on the setting itself, but the student still got to learn that this character was going to be charismatic, sadistic, and mischievous. From what the puppet-maker had learned, he told Lukas the directors were most likely inspired by his performance to write this new character.

This was… Really flattering. For days, he had thought they had disliked his improvisation, but it seemed like he was wrong. Learning that made his day- his week, even!

Eventually, the script was finally ready and finished, with the investor’s approval. Lukas received a copy and was told to read his parts for the day after, so he could get familiarized with this new character. He was… Strangely excited to do so, knowing this character was based on him. In the meantime, the crew made another audition announcement, this time featuring all the new characters and removing the ones that were cut.

Lukas didn’t think he would be one of those people but… He actually couldn’t wait to go back to his job!

… Too bad this passion was going to be stained in the near future.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Oh boy I love ending my chapter ominously huh

=> Chapter 10

[disappointingyet]

The Last Seduction

Director John Dahl Stars Linda Fiorentino, Peter Berg, Bill Pullman, JT Walsh, Bill Nunn UK/USA 1994 Language English 1hr 50mins Colour

Gloriously nasty 1990s noir

[Spoilers about the events of the first 10 minutes or so of the movie]

Is the greatness of The Last Seduction a marvelous accident? (You may, of course, not agree that it’s a a great movie). Why an accident? Because although this was the writer’s first movie, he only has two further credits. Because although John Dahl was a promising director making his third movie, in the quarter century since he’s only made five more. And, most of all, I guess, because Linda Fiorentino gives such an indelible performance, yet by the end of the decade her career was effectively over and in 2009 she officially called it quits. 

I think that summary is unfair to Dahl, at least: he’s one of several directors who made good low-budget movies in the 1990s who have gone on to have long, steady careers in the waves of great TV that followed – he’s done episodes of Billions, Justified, The Americans and Dexter, to give just a small sample. As for Fiorentino, I can’t presume to know whether her failure to become a big star was down to bad luck, Hollywood’s misogyny, her own character or some combination of the above. 

After watching the film again, though, what I can say is I still think she’s extraordinary here.* She plays Bridget Gregory, who wants the kind of Manhattan apartment that her job as a manager at a telemarketing firm and her husband’s income as hospital resident won’t pay for. So Clay Gregory (Bill Pullman) does a drug deal – which, presumably, is Bridget’s idea – and then she double-crosses him, drives off with the cash and ends up laying low in Beston, a characterless town in upstate New York.

In Beston, she has what’s meant to be a one-off screw with none-too-bright local Mike (Peter Berg), which sort of becomes an ongoing thing. 

In a way, the tension of the story comes from a situation where Bridget’s been advised by her lawyer Frank (JT Walsh) to sit patiently until her divorce comes through, but she’s not prepared to be passive. She’s spotting opportunities and using them to build a scheme to protect the fruits of her first crime. 

The great JT

What occurs to me is that although the femme fatale drives the events in, say, Double Indemnity (which The Last Seduction references) and Basic Instinct (a huge recent hit when this came out), we don’t see the story from her point of view. The perspective in those movies, and in most others in the tradition I can think of, is of the manipulated man.** But The Last Seduction is emphatically Bridget’s story. 

And, doubling-down on that, Bridget has little vulnerability and no warmth or empathy.  Mike says to her: ‘I'm trying to figure out whether you're a total fucking bitch or not.’ and Bridget replies: 

‘I am a total fucking bitch’.

The closest thing she has to a friend and confident is Frank, and while she clearly enjoys his amorality and the fact that he trades insults with her, she’s also relying on attorney-client privilege. Walsh – one of the great character actors – and Fiorentino seem to have a terrific energy together but since all their conversations happen over the phone, who knows if they were actually even acting together?

Bill Nunn!

So it’s up to Fiorentino to carry the movie and she does. She makes Bridget a compelling and convincing sociopath rather than a cartoonish character. She finds a way to make the spirit of Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity work in a post-innuendo age. And Dahl keeps the film lean and efficient around her. Along with Walsh, there’s able support from Pullman (who, like Fiorentino, was somewhat older than the character he was playing) and Bill Nunn as a private eye. Peter Berg went on to be better known as a director and exec producer than actor, but this is one of his better roles.

A passing thought on the question of genre, even though I know these are just arbitary categories we give movies. Like most critics I tend to think of The Last Seduction as a noir (or neo-noir, if you like) rather than considering it an erotic thriller, which is what the production company allegedly thought they were getting and which its none-of-the-cast-or-main-crew sequel The Last Seduction II presumably is. Part of that might just be snobbishness – I like this therefore I’d rather slot it  alongside, say, Scarlet Street than the movies starring assorted Shannons that followed in the wake of Basic Instinct or indeed Jade, the William Friedkin/Joe Eszterhas movie Fiorentino starred in shortly afterwards.  (Then again, I’ll make the case for the bonkers but in places briliantly made Basic Instinct – absolutely an erotic thriller – anytime). More to the point, though, is the fact that the sex scenes in The Last Seduction are all short and plot-relevant – it is (like the noirs of the 1940s) a film whose sexual charge comes through atmosphere and dialogue rather than flesh. 

However, there’s a clear difference in style from Dahl’s debut, Kill Me Again, which although it was set in the present day had lots of scenes that were clearly trying to evoke the 1940s in their look. The Last Seduction in its lighting and sets and technology is unashamedly early 1990s. There are a couple of things that can be seen as retro nods – Bridget’s hair has a Veronica Lake shape to it, for instance – but its noirishness is much more about the characters and the narrative than the visuals. 

Oh, and I like the way that in the outdoor shots in NYC the shots emphasise the height of the buildings and bridges*** to provide a contrast for when we reach low-rise Beston.

(Quick note: if you were born after the film was made and have 2020-flavour progressive sensibilities or are older but share those concerns, there are a couple of things in this film you may regard as problematic.)

Which I guess brings us to the final question: rewatching it in 2020, was I as blown away by The Last Seducation as I was in 1994? Absolutely.

*And I think she’s good in Men In Black and Dogma and – but I want to check this sometime soon – After Hours.

**I’m sure there will be some that pre-date this. But the Wachowskis’ Bound, for instance, is a couple of years after. ***I know, I know, but you can film at eye-level rather than frame your characters tiny against tall buildings. 

[giftofshewbread]

Created Problems (Prophecy update)

By Daymond Duck   Published on: August 22, 2021

Created problems are piling up in the U.S. as the globalists continue their effort to weaken America and establish a world government by 2030 or sooner.

These are facts, not conspiracy theories.

Oil—The Biden administration deliberately reduced America’s oil production by stopping construction on the Keystone XL Pipeline, halting oil production on federal lands in Louisiana, New Mexico, etc., and this caused the price of oil to soar. Now, Biden wants production increased to bring the price of oil back down, but he doesn’t want U.S. companies and U.S. workers to increase production, get their jobs back, etc.; he wants OPEC and foreign workers to increase production and have those jobs.

Crime—The Defund the Police movement has resulted in police budgets being cut in many cities, thousands of criminals being released from jails, soaring shootings, killings, and thefts; this is by design because globalists want to gain control of the police.

Border—The Biden administration has deliberately destroyed what few immigration laws the U.S. had. This week, Biden’s Homeland Security Sec. visited the U.S./Mexico border and was secretly recorded saying the border crisis is unsustainable (just the opposite of what he is saying in public). About one million immigrants (many with Covid) have come across the border, drug and human trafficking have increased, etc., and there is no effort to stop it (just an effort to hide what they are doing by lying about it.).

Covid—Only U.S. citizens are required to wear masks and be tested. Illegal aliens are not required to be masked or tested, and many are deliberately bussed and flown to other parts of the U.S., especially TX and FLA (at taxpayer expense) in what appears to be an effort to spread Covid, turn TX and FLA from Red to Blue (from Republican to Democrat) and blame unvaccinated citizens for spreading Covid to justify forcing everyone to be vaccinated for the global good or the common good (deceptive phrases meaning world government).

Inflation—Inflation is rising faster than wages are increasing, meaning money is declining in value and buying less and less. There seems to be two reasons: 1) Unending stimulus packages with pork-barrel spending, and 2) Disruption of production due to the deliberate spread of Covid and imposed lockdowns. This is increasing the price of everything (food, clothing, vehicles, rent, mortgages, medicine, etc.; gas is $1 per gallon higher than it was this time last year). It is destroying the U.S. economy and hurting every American, especially the poor.

Critical Race Theory (CRT)—Socialists have increased their power in the Democrat Party, and they are pushing CRT (a new form of segregation) to divide the U.S. They know that a nation divided against itself cannot stand. Why else would they want to re-establish segregation? Note: On Aug. 16, 2021, the Arkansas Attorney Gen. said separating children based on race violates the Equal Protection Clause of the U.S. Constitution.

Afghanistan—Biden told America the Afghan military had enough modern weapons and troops to defend itself. Then, we read that Biden sent a letter to the Taliban asking them to hold off taking over the country until we could evacuate our people. Then, we read that most of the major Afghan cities fell in 24 hours. Then, we read that the Afghan capital fell a few hours later. Then, we read that Biden offered the Taliban foreign aid for a promise to not attack the U.S. embassy.

Biden’s hasty exit sends the message that America is not a reliable ally; it dooms thousands of Afghan soldiers to death that helped the U.S.; it dooms Afghan women to second class citizenship, covering their face, etc.; it dooms Afghan girls to forced marriages, no education, etc.; it dooms Afghan boys to brainwashing, very little education, etc.; it dooms Afghan men to beatings, amputation of limbs, etc.; and it dooms the Christians to convert to Islam or be executed. Thousands of Americans were injured or killed in Afghanistan, and Biden squandered everything America accomplished in a matter of hours.

Update One: On Aug. 16, 2021, it was reported that French Pres. Macron was advised to call an emergency meeting of the EU Council because “the security of the world” is in danger. Some EU leaders say an Islamic Caliphate in Afghanistan will be a serious threat to the western world.

Update Two: On Aug. 16, 2021, an editorial in a Chinese-affiliated newspaper declared that war will break out between China and Taiwan, and the U.S. will not help Taiwan. Amir Tsarfati said China, Russia, and Iran are declaring that the post-American world order is over, and he believes that Russia and Iran no longer believe the U.S. will help Israel if they decide to launch an attack.

Update Three: On Aug. 17, 2021, it was reported that China has been emboldened by America’s apparent weakness, and her military is already preparing to practice an attack on Taiwan.

Update Four: On Aug. 17, 2021, it was reported that the Taliban is already sending letters to house churches saying, “We know who you are, and we’re coming for you.” The Antichrist will use beheadings as a terror tactic, and the Taliban does that too.

Here are some of my afterthoughts on Biden’s Afghan debacle.

Biden had a choice. He didn’t have to run. He was advised against it, but he did it anyway.

Biden has led America to defeat in the War on Terror, and his claim to love women and children is nothing more than a campaign slogan that he used to get elected (tell the women and children of Afghanistan that Biden loves them).

The Taliban, Iran and others will declare that Allah has given Islam a major victory over the Great Satan and be encouraged to fight harder (and Biden has just given them weapons worth many millions of dollars). They are surely blaspheming God, His name, and His people.

The success of radical Islam will increase the pressure on Israel and the Arabs to sign a peace treaty.

Israel must realize that she needs to rely on God, not America.

Biden has created a breeding ground for Islamic terrorists, and a borderless world is more dangerous than ever. (The security of the U.S. is threatened by America’s open border, and the Taliban won’t hesitate to cross it.)

It is clearer than ever that the Christian’s hope is the Rapture, not a better, stronger America.

As the world grows darker, the cries for a world leader to solve the world’s problems will grow louder.

God brought Afghanistan (and Babylon) down in a matter of hours, and He can bring the U.S. down in the blink of an eye if He wants.

The U.S. is led by people that are following Satan or it wouldn’t be supporting a godless world government, godless world religion, abortion, gay marriage, censoring Christian ministries, etc.

Biden raised the gay flag over our embassies, and the Taliban will probably take it down and raise their flag over our embassy.

There are many reasons to believe the lukewarm church needs to wake up, or God will eventually bring our sin-filled nation to its knees.

Here are some more reasons to believe that the Rapture is close.

One, deceit and lying have existed at least since God created Adam and Eve, but it will be common practice at the end of the age.

What could be more deceitful than deliberately spreading Covid-19 and blaming it on the unvaccinated?

Could it be internment camps to deliberately incarcerate the falsely accused unvaccinated?

This writer has seen several reports lately that the CDC is planning to have incarceration camps in every U.S. city.

Several sources have reported that on Aug. 6, 2021, TN Gov. Mike Lee signed an executive order authorizing the National Guard to seize unvaccinated people for incarceration.

Natural News reported that it has information that the CDC has been working with the University of Chicago to develop a plan to call homes in an effort to determine if there are any children between 6 months and 17 years in the home that have not been vaccinated.

The activation of incarceration camps in every U.S. city and perhaps a phone call to every household is very troubling.

It has also been reported that starting this month in New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco, people will not be allowed into restaurants, theaters, and several other venues without proof of vaccination.

This writer is far from knowledgeable on Covid-19 and the mutations or variants, but this is some of what I have read and the way I understand it:

The Covid-19 virus doesn’t want to be killed by a vaccine, so it tries to stay alive by mutating.

Some medical professionals believe the mutations are developing in and being spread by vaccinated people.

This explains why the world will never reach herd immunity (vaccinate so many people on earth that the spread of Covid-19 is unlikely). For whatever it is worth, about 2/3 of the new Covid cases in Israel are people that have been fully vaccinated.

Here is a repeat from my last week’s article with the addition of one sentence: we are seeing the global development and advancement of technology and policies that many excellent Bible prophecy teachers believe will lead to the Mark of the Beast (forced compliance, loss of one’s job, development of passports or passes, a demand for government databases to track people, a demand to prevent the unvaccinated from entering stores to buy or sell, the spread of anti-Christian rhetoric, etc.). We are seeing a preview of things to come and a warning from our merciful God (that knows what is going to happen before it happens) to be sure we are saved.

Two, concerning earthquakes:

On Aug. 11, 2021, a 7.1 quake struck off the coast of Mindanao, Philippines.

On Aug. 12, 2021, an 8.1 quake struck near the South Sandwich Islands (South Atlantic Ocean).

On Aug. 14, 2021, a 7.2 quake struck Haiti. Three days later, it was reported that 6,900 were injured, 1419 were killed, and 84,585 homes were damaged or destroyed.

On Aug. 14, 2021, a 6.9 quake struck in the Gulf of Alaska.

On Aug. 16, 2021, as Haiti was trying to deal with the 7.2 quake, Tropical Storm Grace was bearing down with strong winds and perhaps as much as 8 inches of rain (up to 15 inches and flooding in some areas).

Three, concerning an increase in frequency and intensity of natural disasters (like birth pains): on Aug. 14, 2021, The Moscow Times reported that Russia’s Pres. Vladimir Putin said the scale of natural disasters (floods, droughts, and forest fires) that have hit Russia this year is “absolutely unprecedented.”

According to the article, “Russian weather officials and environmentalists have linked the increasing intensity of Siberia’s annual fires to climate change.”

More:

On Aug. 15, it was reported that at least 51 people have been killed by floods and mudslides in Turkey.

On Aug. 16, the U.S. announced that the water level in Lake Mead is at the lowest level since the Hoover Dam was built in the 1930s, a water shortage on the Colorado River was declared, and it was announced that there will be water cut-backs in 2022. Farmers and ranchers will cut production.

Four, concerning the Battle of Gog and Magog: on Aug. 13, 2021, Monte Judah (Messianic World Update) said, “It is very clear that the IDF and the government of Israel is planning to attack Iran soon to stop the nuclear weapons program. This is evidenced by the fact that the IDF, the Air Force, has been running long-range bombing training missions with the nation of Greece, and they have been doing in-flight refueling and other things of that type with Benny Gantz, the Defense Minister, announcing and giving warnings to the U.S. and other nations that Israel is going to stop Iran if they continue to do it.”

FYI: Several pastors say they are being inundated with requests for a “Religious Exemption Letter.” Here is a link to a letter that Rock Harbor Church (Rev. Brandon Holthaus) is using, and it can be printed off:

RHC Religious Exemption for Vaccines and PCR Swabs.pdf

Finally, are you Rapture Ready?

If you want to be rapture ready and go to heaven, you must be born again (John 3:3). God loves you, and if you have not done so, sincerely admit that you are a sinner; believe that Jesus is the virgin-born, sinless Son of God who died for the sins of the world, was buried, and raised from the dead; ask Him to forgive your sins, cleanse you, come into your heart and be your Saviour; then tell someone that you have done this.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

February 11, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

Today the House impeachment managers wrapped their case against former president Donald Trump. Using the words of the insurgents themselves, the managers argued that he incited the insurrection of January 6, spurring an armed and violent mob to storm the Capitol while Congress was counting the certified electoral votes that awarded the 2020 presidential election to Democrat Joe Biden.

After yesterday’s dramatic illustrated timeline of the insurrection itself, the managers used their time today establishing that Trump was responsible for sparking that insurrection. They showed the insurrectionists repeating his words—one man read one of his tweets through a bullhorn at the Capitol riot—and insisting that they were acting according to the former president’s instructions.

The managers’ case was reinforced by the fact that the Department of Justice this morning filed a memorandum establishing that Jessica Watkins, a member of the right-wing Oath Keepers paramilitary group, delayed her planned assault on Washington, D.C., until she was certain Trump was behind it. “I am concerned this is an elaborate trap,” she texted on November 9, 2020. “Unless the POTUS himself activates us, it’s not legit. The POTUS has the right to activate units too. If Trump asks me to come, I will. Otherwise, I can’t trust it.”

Again and again, the managers tried to distinguish between Trump and his violent supporters, on the one hand, and the lawmakers of both parties who were their prey, on the other. Again and again, they focused on Trump as the perpetrator of the big lie that the election had been rigged and that he, not Biden, was the rightful victor.

They warned that Trump’s attack on our democracy is not over. Even after all that has happened, he has still not conceded that he lost the election. This refusal to abandon the big lie keeps it potent, enabling him to rally supporters with the argument that fighting for Trump means defending American democracy. It is a deadly inversion of reality.

The House impeachment managers have given Republican senators multiple ways to justify a vote for conviction to their constituents. They have shown how Trump began to incite violence even before the election, in plain sight, and how that led to an assault on the Capitol that came close to costing the lives of our elected officials, including Vice President Mike Pence—a Republican—and House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, the two people next in line for the presidency if Trump were to be removed from office.

The riot threatened the representatives and senators—including them!—their staffers, and many of their family members who were at the Capitol that day. And yet, even as lawmakers begged Trump to call the rioters off, he did the opposite. He attacked Pence in a tweet even as the vice president was being rushed to safety from the mob.

The managers focused, too, on the terrible toll the attack took on Capitol police. Three of them are now dead, with more than 100 wounded physically and others wounded mentally. Senators could vote to convict out of a determination to protect law enforcement officers, something their constituents say is important to them.

Today, the managers emphasized the many Republican lawmakers who condemned Trump in the wake of the insurrection, including the Cabinet members who resigned their posts, the state governors who called him out, and fellow lawmakers who expressed dismay at his incitement of the rioters.

Finally, the managers warned that, unless Trump is stopped, he will absolutely do such a thing again. They pointed out that the riot in Charlottesville, Virginia, after which the president condoned the white supremacists who killed Heather Heyer, was a rehearsal for the attack on the Michigan state house this summer. That, in turn, was a rehearsal for the attack on the Capitol. As manager Diana DeGette (D-CO) said: “In 2017, it was unfathomable to most of us to think that Charlottesville could happen, just as it was unfathomable to most of us that the Capitol could have been breached on January 6…. Frankly, what unfathomable horrors await us if we do not stand up now and say, no, this is not America.”

Senators were apparently shocked to see how close they came to falling into the hands of the rioters, and yet, although many Republican senators concede that the House managers mounted a compelling case, they continue to say that they do not believe they have the power to convict a former president. This suggests they are looking for an excuse, since the Senate’s vote on this question, which should be definitive, passed on Tuesday by a vote of 56-44. At one point today, at least 18 Republican senators were absent from their desks as the managers were making their case.

It’s unlikely that any of the senators want to acquit Trump because they want him to stay in the political scene. Some of them want his voters, but that itself cuts against wanting him to stay around: they want his voters to elect them, not to reelect him or elect his chosen successor. It’s likely they simply hoped he would fade away as he lost his social media presence and became occupied with the financial and legal troubles that are already piling up.

After all, bankers have distanced themselves from the former president, his businesses appear to be losing money, and a $100 million tax dispute with the IRS is now likely to come to a conclusion after being put on hold for four years. Yesterday, District Attorney Fani Willis, Fulton County, Georgia’s top prosecutor, announced that she is launching a wide-ranging criminal investigation into Trump’s January 2 phone call to Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger, a call that lawyers have suggested broke election laws.

But the Senate trial has shown that maybe he’s not going to fade away. The House impeachment managers have laid out a damning case. The scenes from the insurrection were shocking, and they established a pretty strong sense that Trump is deeply involved in an ongoing attempt to overturn our democracy. It looks possible that the Department of Justice might, in fact, go after the former president and perhaps others with the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act.

After the past two days, senators who were planning to let Trump off the hook might be worrying they will have to answer to constituents furious that they didn’t do their jobs and instead associated the entire party with a criminal president and the rioters that attacked the Capitol. Already the editorial board of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch has lambasted Missouri Senators Josh Hawley and Roy Blunt: “There is no way to credibly argue that Trump protected and defended the Constitution when video evidence shows him directing a mob to storm the Capitol and interrupt constitutionally mandated proceedings to certify the Electoral College result.”

The senators need Trump’s lawyers to do a good enough job tomorrow to give them cover to acquit, and it seems likely those lawyers are not skilled enough to do so. Tonight, Senators Ted Cruz (R-TX), Mike Lee (R-UT), and Lindsey Graham (R-SC) visited Trump’s defense team. Cruz said they were “sharing our thoughts” about their legal strategy: it is of note that Cruz was the Solicitor General of Texas before being elected to the Senate, and Lee was an assistant U.S. Attorney for the District of Utah. Also a lawyer, Graham is the former chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee.

The Republican senators who will vote either to convict or acquit the former president must do so knowing that trials associated with the insurrection between now and the next election will keep the story in the news. The question is whether the American people will interpret the story as the impeachment team has framed it, or whether Trump’s lawyers and later Trump himself, if he regains a political foothold, can somehow knock that interpretation aside.

Lead impeachment manager Jamie Raskin (D-MD), who was a constitutional law professor before he went to Congress, seems to understand their dilemma. “Tyranny, like Hell, is not easily conquered,” he told the senators today, quoting political theorist Thomas Paine, “but we have this saving consolation: The more difficult the struggle, the more glorious ... our victory.”

He told them, “Good luck in your deliberations.”

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[thestarkerisobvious]

inspired by art work by @starker-sorbet​  

moodboard by @von--gelmini aka @starker-stories

A snugglefic for @mrstarksbabyy​

Sixteen

2  Three Worrisome Things.  Alright, Four.

The first thing:  When the day came and Tony could come out from under the bed, he was going to ask Peter to return to the castle.  This was the first worrisome thing. 

Peter had said no the last two times Tony had asked.  They had already roamed the castle hand in hand, Peter telling Tony the story of Dracula, Tony pointing out

 how many features a castle and a monastery had in common.  And they had stargazed in the courtyards, one of Peter’s favorite pastimes.  Having a friend like Tony was a dream come true, someone to talk to, who didn’t mind his endless lists of facts or even his endless questions.  Someone he wanted to hold hands with.

But every dream of the castle ended up in Tony’s bedroom, the chamber of the menacing voices intoning eerie words in other rooms, the chamber where things happened that Peter wasn’t entirely sure about.  In the last castle-dream they had both lost their shirts, Tony describing that the skin-to-skin contact was a type of feeding for him.  They had lay in each other’s arms that way, kissing (but it wasn’t really kissing, it was just feeding, Tony was just feeding) and whispering for hours.  The lack of shirts was not a worrisome at the time, because it was only a dream.  Because it was only a dream, it didn’t matter.

But when morning came Peter always began to doubt himself.  The first time they had met in the castle-dream was the very first time dream-Tony talked to him in full sentences.  That next night, real-Tony was speaking in full sentences.  Maybe Peter was fooling himself when he said that the dreams didn’t matter.  What happened in their dreammeetings might very well have real-world consequences. 

And then there was the second worrisome thing:  mainly, that the very first time they had been in the castle Tony’s hands were doing wonderful things, roaming over Peter’s back and shoulders and waist and arms and back to his waist… feeling Tony’s hand on the small of Peter’s waist was the most amazing feeling.  It was a memory he treasured late at night.

Once, but only once, Tony’s hand had strayed lower and Peter, in a moment of panic he couldn’t even explain, had stopped him.

And he regretted that deeply.  He dearly wanted Tony to touch him there again, only he had no idea how to ask.

The third worrisome thing:  The biggest question of all, perhaps, and that was the little matter (that was definitely not a little matter) of the voices that whispered in the other rooms.

“In the Master’s Chambers, there are no secrets,” the voices intoned ominously, and Peter had never, not even once, worked up the nerve to ask Tony what that meant, or why they were even there.  Sometimes when those voices echoed Tony actually looked worried himself, as if he, too, were trying to work of the nerve to say something (but that was silly.  Tony was fearless.)  Sometimes Peter tried to convince himself that he had heard the voices wrong, but that seemed a little ridiculous.  Then there was little question of who the ‘master’ might be.  Tony called him “Master Peter” and “Master Doctor” all the time, but that was just because Peter had explained all the things he had learned in his advanced classes in NYC and Tony insisted that this was the equivalent of a masters or a doctorate in his own time.  Mostly Peter just took it as a teasing reference to how much Peter had read, or perhaps a backhanded show of gratitude for reading all those books aloud to Tony.  Besides, Tony had said on the first night that the was the master of that place.  And it certainly was not Peter’s bedroom.  It was Tony’s ‘chamber’ and if in his chamber there were no secrets, well…

…that was problematic.  Because Peter was developing secrets.

Secrets from Ned.  Secrets from what few kids at school decided he was worth talking to now.  Secrets from his teachers.  And although Tony wasn’t around to talk to, Peter was keeping secrets from him too.

But worst of all, Peter was keeping secrets from May and Ben.

Keeping secrets from the kids at school didn’t feel like a weighty sin, that was certain.  Especially since all the boy’s talk about kissing girls or reaching under blouses and sweaters sounded pretty made-up anyway.  And keeping Missy Lovelace’s secret felt like a GOOD thing, not a bad thing, especially since she had sworn Peter to secrecy anyway.  A heroic thing.  About how she didn’t miss school because she kept getting the flu.  Or how her real name was “Hortense.” 

And keeping secrets from Missy Lovelace also seemed more like a virtue than a sin.  Like how he didn’t want to hold her hand as they walked home from school, and blushed furiously if anyone mentioned it.  How he really didn’t think of her as a friend anyway, since the only movies she liked involved kissing and she didn’t read books at all.  How he prayed every day that Mike DeSlaughter would walk home with them too because then he wouldn’t have to fight constantly to keep his hand safe from hers.

And keeping secrets from his other neighbor, Mike, felt more like self-defense, also fully justifiable.  Like pretending he liked Westerns just as much as Sci-Fi.  Pretending that he was just as interested in handguns as Mike was, and was probably going to receive one on his birthday too.  Mike’s father had actually gone to college to study chemistry and was now a professional exterminator, which meant Mike was often good for a good science-based conversation.  Just as long as Peter could keep the stranger parts of his personality under control, the parts that had made him so unlikeable when he had first moved to Devil’s Holler, he felt like Mike DeSlaughter was a pretty decent school-friend. 

Once upon a time, the Post Family had owned magic books from two different continents explaining how to control and command demons.  Peter wished there was a book explaining how to control and command his own weirdness.  He had checked out How To Win Friends And Influence People from the library but it was of little use.  All the things he liked and was fascinated by hadn’t been invented in 1936.

And keeping secrets from Mike had paid off, in any case.  When the boys had dared Peter to go into the abandoned shed it was Mike who had warned him against it.  He hadn’t listened, but at least Mike had made sure he understood that the whole thing had been a prank.

But keeping secrets from May and Ben just felt wrong.

But he kept it up steadfastly.  For some reason it seemed very important for Aunt May that Missy Lovelace be his “sweetheart” or that he be “sweet on her” or something like it, and so he let her go on believing it.  Or believing that when Peter said he had been “hanging out with the boys” he had really had been having fun with the other boys in town, instead of being pranked with the magazine in the abandoned shed.

That was just one more of the multitude of secrets Peter had now, weighing down on his neck like an iron collar.  At least when Tony came back out from under the bed, he could share some of them.  But not all of them, of course. 

The secret of what happened in the shed, which no human being knew, and Tony would never know it either.

As the days approached when Tony would appear again, Peter still dreamed of the shed, even though the prank had happened the very last day of school and an entire summer had passed since then.  If he had that dream he would hurry out of bed and sleep in one of the bedrooms in the hall.  It was one of those kinds of dreams, the kind of dreams he didn’t even want Tony to know about. 

Which brought up another thing that was weighing heavy in Peter’s brain.  The other thing he had heard the ominous voices intone other rooms as he lay relaxing on Tony’s bed in the dream-castle. 

“When the master commands…” those voices had chanted, and just thinking about it made Peter’s skin prickle. 

It was true that Tony called Peter “Master Scholar” and “Master Doctor” and no matter how often Peter tried to explain the difference between a high school and a university education Tony would not budge on the subject.  (Of course, Peter never got tired of being told that his high school subjects made him better informed than scholars that Tony had met, how could he?  He glowed under Tony’s praise.  He lived for it.)  But Tony was the master of that castle, and this brought up weighty concerns in the evening hours that lasted Peter throughout the day.  Tony was a killer, of that there could be no doubt.  In the monastery he had killed and fed upon the bodies of heretics, apostates, lovers and rivals.  He had killed his own lover Simeon, albeit gently. 

For Evan Post he had slaughtered pigs (although, Peter reasoned, those pigs were going to be slaughtered anyway.)  But Tony had also killed Evan’s neighbors, sometimes for the minor crime of asking him when he was going to get married.  Although Peter could certainly relate (he sometimes felt similar feelings when the old biddies at church asked him if he had a ‘sweetheart.’  Why was everyone so desperate for him to have a girlfriend?)

“When the master commands,” those solemn voices had chanted from hidden rooms, and the very memory gave Peter chills.

Tony had asked Peter to difficult things before, although it had only been in the dream.  Had asked Peter to follow him into the pitch-black passageway.  Had asked him to lie beside him on the bed.  And every time Peter had found he could do it, if he looked directly into Tony’s eyes. 

But what if Tony asked him to do something… bad?

 “When the master commands,” those voices had whispered.  Had threatened.  “When the master commands, what else can the servant do but obey?”

Whatever else Tony was, he wasn’t human.  Whatever else he wanted to do, he might want to do bad things.  And he might be able to command Peter to do those bad things.

And maybe, just maybe, Peter might want to be told to do some bad things.

But as September was well underway and the date that Tony had called “Mabon” drew near, the fourth worrisome thing was that thing that was foremost on Peter’s mind. 

The fourth worrisome thing:  For all the things he had learned the night Tony had fed from the vein in his neck, Tony had never, not even once, fed that way in his room.

And that was a problem.

And that was a problem.

Not at first, of course.  The first time Peter had entered the dream-castle he still found himself afraid.  Afraid of the old memory of too-young-to-be-reading-this-book-Peter and the terrifying idea of being in a vampire’s arms.  Held close.  Held down.  Held helplessly, unable to move away from the stronger man whose arms were around him.

But Peter was sixteen now.  And not-too-young-for-that-book-anymore-Peter had other ideas.  And while it seemed like his sixteen-year-old body had ideas all its own, embarrassing ideas that often forced him to go sleep in the guest beds (so as not to share those secrets with Tony) Peter’s brain had set out on one solid course.

Tony had offered to feed on Peter’s light the way Dracula fed on Johnathan Harker’s blood.  Had offered once, and never again.

This year, that was going to change.

Master (Post)

please direct all comments/questions/discussion to @witchwayisright

[zairapvrker]

disabledsos day!

Author’s note: heya everyone! i took some time off of your requests, and i apologize for that, because in the past couple of days i’ve been working on this fic for this amazing and wonderful project! disabledsos was born to bring visibility to fans who are dealing with any sort of disability and spread awareness to make the community feel loved within the fandom. if you wanna read more about it, and i really encourage you to, i’ll leave the link for the original post here: https://skinnylukes.tumblr.com/post/613965381647876096/attention-5sos-fanswriters thank you so much to @skinnylukes for reaching out to me about this, i feel very honoured to partake in the project you’ve created with so much dedication and love.  i tried my very best to educate myself about the disabling disease i’ll be writing about, however i apologize if some details are missing or wrong. please feel free to correct me, constructive criticism is always welcomed! and to all of you strong, amazing, beautiful people who fight everyday, i’m so proud of you all and my heart goes out to you, never give up, we’re all here for you! i keep you in my thoughts, always. 

Multiple Sclerosis (MS) is a potentially disabling disease of the brain and spinal cord. In MS, the immune system attacks the protective sheath (myelin) that covers nerve fibers and causes communication problems between your brain and the rest of your body. Eventually, the disease can cause permanent damage or deterioration of the nerves. Signs and symptoms of MS vary widely and depend on the amount of damage and which nerves are affected. Some people with severe MS may lose the ability to walk independently or at all, while others may experience long periods of remission without any new symptoms. MS can occur at any age, but usually affects people between the ages of 16 and 55. There’s no cure for multiple sclerosis. However, treatments can help speed recovery from attacks, modify the course of the disease and manage symptoms. These last ones can vary from person to person and differ greatly and over the course of the disease depending on the location of affected nerve fibers. Symptoms often affect movement, such as numbness or weakness in one or more limbs that typically occurs on one side of your body at a time, or the legs and trunk, electric-shock sensations that occur with certain neck movements, tremor, lack of coordination or unsteady gait. Vision problems are also common, such as partial or complete loss of vision, usually in one eye at a time, prolonged double vision and blurry vision. People with MS may also develop muscle stiffness or spasms, paralysis (typically in the legs), mental changes such as forgetfulness or mood swings, depression and epilepsy.

“Mikey, I’m home!” you yelled as soon as you’d entered your shared apartment. Your roommate, and best friend, was almost always on the couch playing videogames but the headset he used to play made it hard for him to hear any sound outside of the yelling of his friends. That’s why you always had to be loud when you came home from work, slamming the door and calling out for him to notify him of your presence.

It had been an incredibly hard day, your stress levels were through the roof. It seemed you forgot pretty much every task you were supposed to do, remembering only when reminded, and couldn’t keep your focus. After all, you were in charge of much and with the imminent publishing of a new article, you’d blamed it on the general chaos that overtook the entire office.

“Hey, you” you nudged Michael’s shoulder as you sat down next to him on the couch, making his head turn in your direction. A smile opened up on his face upon seeing you finally home. “Hey, you’re back!” he exclaimed happily, stamping a kiss on your cheek. You giggled watching as he bid goodbye to his friends and shut the TV off. “So, I haven’t had the chance to get started on dinner-“ he started, sheepishly. “Michael!” you reprimanded with a smile on your face, slapping his arm playfully. “But I did think about what kind of take out to order” he justified, his arms up in surrender, the same amused smile you showcased on your face etched on his. You’d sighed. “And what is it?” you asked giggling. “Chinese, of course” he rolled his eyes. “Alright, but you call!” you pointed a finger at him as Michael nodded, getting up to go change out of the clothes you’d worn for the day.

Michael was quick to grip your hand to offer some sort of support as he saw you falter in your step, almost falling back down on the couch, while getting up. “Is everything okay?” the concern in his vice was clear. You squeezed his hand, waiting for the dizzying sensation of shock to pass and your sight to go back in focus. “Yeah, yeah” you reassured, slowly opening your eyes. “It’s been a long day” the smile you gave him was meant to ease his nerves, but Michael couldn’t help but worry as he watched you make your way to your room with a hand constantly pressed to the wall, in search for stability.

That evening you weren’t as talkative as usual, in fact, Michael did most of the talking. He told you about how one of the strings of one of his students’ guitar had snapped while he was tuning it for him and hit him in the face but had to laugh it off with tears in his eyes, his friends, the latest news. You just said it was a chaotic day at work, that your boss had yelled at you so much you thought your head was going to explode. He hugged you tight, offering to go and key her car if needed, which made you laugh softly. Feeling very tired, you excused yourself out of the usual Friday movie marathon. Michael smiled sweetly, saying it was okay and wishing you goodnight. He really is the best ever, you thought as you went back you your room.

The only way you could describe what happened when you woke up the next day was a nightmare. You almost though it was. You wanted to roll around to turn your alarm off, which even on Saturdays woke you up so you wouldn’t waste the day away in bed, but found you couldn’t. The motion was second nature to you, literally managing every day with your eyes closed, however the immobility of your torso made your eyes crack open as the alarm kept on going off.

Michael, on the contrary, liked to sleep in on Saturdays, so when he heard your alarm keeping on blaring he got off the bed and marched towards your room. When he opened the door he found you hopelessly trying to reach the alarm over on your nightstand but failing miserably. “Will you turn it off?” he huffed, going over to do it himself, yawning.

“I’m trying!” you snapped back, trying to sit up and failing. “I can’t feel my torso” you reasoned out loud, feeling the panic slowly set in.

“What?” Michael asked concerned, his eyes wide, as he took a seat beside you on the bed.

“I don’t know” it was safe to say you were confused. “I think it’ll go away, it may be the stress” you were trying to find a possible answer, pushing back the fear as best as possible.

“The stress?!” he exclaimed, his arms flying up. “You can’t feel half of your body and you think it’s stress?” clearly, he wasn’t as good as you were at rationalizing.

“Mike, it’ll go away” you voiced, his tone wasn’t helping you remain calm, his doubts the same as the ones you had but were trying to push at the back of your mind.

“Do you want me to help you sit up?” he asked then, offering his hands to hold onto. You nodded, slowly letting him help you with the motion.

Over the next couple of weeks, mostly spent in bed or on the couch and always requiring Michael to help you with every movement, the situation seemed to get better and worsen at the same time. The numbness was, in the span of a day, left behind in favour of wobbly legs and dizziness, you were always fatigued and tired. You had taken more days off of work in three weeks than ever since you started working. But just when you thought you had made it out of the woods, everything went downhill.

“It can’t go on like this” Michael sighed as, once again, he picked you up from the floor when your right leg had failed to support your weight while standing up from the couch. “We’re going to the ER” he stated, looking at you in the eyes.

You gulped, seeing the worry in his sparkling greens clear as day. Truth was you were worried too, but you were always used to downplay the discomfort you were in, brushing it off as if it were nothing. However, this was going too far and scaring you to your very bones. Nodding you agreed and he helped you prepare a bag in case you had to spend the night at the hospital, praying you wouldn’t have to, as silent tears made their way down your face.

Michael hated to see you like this, you were always so cheerful and bright, this was really taking a toll on you. He heard the quiet sniffles coming from you when he entered the room, finding you where he’d left you on your bed, folding a shirt into the duffle bag next to you. His heart had been held captive in a painful clench the last few days, the worry truly never leaving him and the confusion messing with his head. He took a seat next to you, putting his own change of clothes in the duffle, and taking your hands in his. Bringing them up to his lips, he left a light kiss on your knuckles.

“We’re getting you through whatever this is, alright?” he could hear his own voice faltering, watching as more tears pooled in your eyes. “I’m right here” he assured when you threw yourself into his arms, holding you tight. Next thing you knew, he was picking you up, almost forgetting the duffle and going out to his car. You made sure to turn off the lights and lock the door behind you.

The hours that followed were a whirlwind, dragging you down and down until you were sure you hit rock bottom when finally the results of all the tests and consultations with the doctors came to an end. All that you were sure of was Michael’s hand holding yours, fingers intertwined, when you were called back into the doctor’s office, from the waiting room full of other patients, and your legs failed to support you. Your best friend was the first to be at your side, followed by the doctor herself and a bunch of people in the waiting room. You couldn’t understand a thing that was going on, too many voices talking at the same time as you were sat on a wheeling chair and finally brought into the office. The diagnosis hit you like a slap in the face and you were sure you only heard half of the words that left the doctor’s mouth. “Multiple sclerosis is common at your age” “We will have to run more tests to make sure of what the complications you’ve developed are” “In some cases it is very hard to diagnose, but looking into the symptoms you’ve described and MRI we were lucky to find out right away” “Unfortunately, it was pretty quick to affect your legs, clearly causing an impairment we need to assess” “There are ways to help you regain the ability to walk independently, if you’re lucky”

She’d used the word lucky a lot, you’d noticed, while talking. Unfortunately, you didn’t feel like that at all.

Calling your family to tell them the news had been extremely difficult, knowing that they were far away and could only visit so many times took a huge toll on you. You hated to admit to yourself that the positive outlook you’d always had on life was quickly fading in favour of judgement-clouding pessimism. The first night back from the hospital you’d spent crying after days of not letting a single emotion shine through. Hearing your sobs shattered Michael’s heart and it only got worse when he entered your dark room and held you as you shook, gripping his t-shirt in tight fists and wetting it with salty tears. He’d seen you at your lowest and he was determined to bring you back.

Making you listen was hard, the wall of hopelessness you’d built around you seemed insurmountable, but Michael was as determined as ever. He wasn’t about to let you fall any deeper into the pit of anger and frustration that never seemed to leave you.

“Have you listened to what the doctor said?” he asked pushing your wheelchair through the park near your apartment building. It was a beautiful day and he was determined to get you out of the house.

“No, Mike, I was tired” you mumbled, looking over at the kids running after each other in a game of tag.

“The more you refuse to move, the more it’ll hinder your exercises in physical therapy” he reminded, stopping near a bench so he could sit down and look at you in the eyes while having this conversation.

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do?” you snapped. “Waltz out of this fucking chair and go for a jog?” you pointed to a pair of joggers who were about to pass you by.

“Well, one day you might be able to!” he insisted, making you shake your head with a scoff.

“And what if I’m not? What if I’ll never walk again?” you wanted it to sound harsh, convinced of what you were saying, but your voice betrayed you, breaking at the end.

“What if you do?” he asked back softly, hoping that his point got through to you. And it did. You took in a shaky breath, looking away from his hopeful eyes, not bearing to see how much he’d believed in you when you didn’t.

--

Michael was there for you through every up and down: he held you when you couldn’t fall asleep because your anxieties and worries were eating away at your peace of mind, he was there to listen when you listed all the reasons why you believed you wouldn’t be albe to do this, always offering reasons why you could right back. He came to every appointment of physical therapy you had, he was with you every time you had to go to the hospital for check-ups or visits and was also there when it was explained to you that you had Relapsing Remitting MS, which meant that you would have episodes or spikes after periods of time without any new symptoms and it was a possibility that you could slow down the progression of the condition and manage symptoms, possibly walking on your own again if you were consistent with medication and exercising.

And while you were still worried, you couldn’t help but stare at the doctor with wide eyes. “R-Really?” you asked her, a smile threatening to slip at the mere thought of being able to stand for more than two minutes without the help of anyone.  

“Really” she confirmed as an elated sigh escaped you, Michael squeezed your hand, happy to see you hopeful.

It became routine for you two, when he came home from work right about when you shut your computer off as your part-time shift ended, to immediately start exercising. He was happy to finally see you as combative as you once were, determined to fight this off as much as possible.

“You gotta!” he reminded with a laugh from his spot beside you as he saw you panting on the yoga mattress in the middle of your living room. 

“I don’t wanna!” you whined covering your eyes with your arm. He chuckled, lifting it slowly as you peered up at him with one eye opened. 

“Come on, it’s the last set!” he encouraged and you huffed, knowing he was right. Propping yourself up on your elbows you looked at his adorable smile and rolled your eyes. Michael helped you up, slowly walking you to the wall, and stopping a foot away from it. He eased down with you into a sitting position as you let your back rest against the wall, finally letting go of you.

“Look at you, walking up to the wall without tripping!” he crossed his arms over his chest, smiling as you silently counted the seconds you needed to keep in position for. You chuckled, seeing proudness in his eyes. Once the squat exercise was over, you stood up with wobbly legs, only one hand resting on the wall behind you for support. You smiled widely upon seeing the look on his face.

“You can stand on your own?” he asked a little shocked as you nodded. “Since when?” he smiled brightly, quick to offer his help to walk back to the couch and sit down.

“Yesterday the phone was ringing, it was my mom, I forgot it on the shelf behind my desk and you weren’t at home, so I just… tried” you shrugged. Michael scoffed with a bright smile. “I almost tripped, but I fell back on the chair before I could”

“Atta girl!” he hugged you tight. “I’m so proud” he rocked you from side to side, making the both of you giggle.

It was taking incredible effort but you saw the improvements every day, slowly there was no need for you to hang on to the parallel bars at you sides as you hesitantly put a feet in front of the other, walking the short distance. There was no need for your nurse, or Michael, to help you stand up from a sitting position and you were even able to stand while you prepared your cereals in the morning before your best friend helped you walk to the dining table.

Slowly, Michael was able to go back to his normally longer shifts at music school as you found it easier and easier to move through the house either with crutches or, on the days when you were too tired, with your wheelchair.

“Need help?” Michael asked as you were in the kitchen microwaving some popcorn for your movie marathon.

“Nope!” you yelled back, leaning against the counter as you waited for the device to beep, crutches at your side. “Okay, maybe” you second guessed once you put the popcorn into the bowl.

Michael was quick on his feet, entering the kitchen with a lopsided smile, leaning on the door frame with one shoulder as his hands went to the pockets of his basketball shorts.

“Can you take the bowl?” you smiled sheepishly. He chuckled, nodding as he complied. “Thanks” you blew a kiss his way, steadying yourself on the crutches and making your way to the couch. Michael stayed back, watching you.

“Staring is rude” you snickered, sitting down and laying your crutches down on the floor.

“I wasn’t staring” he defended, making his way over. You cocked an eyebrow at him with a smirk.

“I was admiring how far you’ve come” he added, bringing some popcorn to his mouth as he sat down.

“Sure, Clifford” you laughed, reaching for some popcorn too.

“I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “Eight months ago you barely wanted to get out of bed, now you’re walking around the house and are basically a fitness instructor” you scoffed as he giggled.

“Just wait till new symptoms show up in a few years” you sighed, pressing play on the movie. Michael snapped his head in your direction, his brows furrowed.

“Hey, no, don’t talk like that” he almost scolded.

“Mikey, it’s fine, I made my peace with it. My life is always going to be like this” you gestured to the crutches and the wheelchair in the corner, shrugging.

“No, it’s not” he couldn’t help but raise his voice a little, disbelieving of the words that were leaving your mouth. “You’re taking back the life that this tried to pry from you, you’re fighting and it’s working. You’ll be able to walk again soon and if new symptoms show up you’ll learn to monitor them and make them your bitches”

“My bitches?” you couldn’t help but let an amused snicker out. You saw the left corner of his mouth tilting up, trying to keep the laughter at bay, after all, you were too.

“Yes” he said resolutely. “I’m helping you through this, remember? Every step of the way” it wasn’t time to cry, you reminded yourself, pushing back the tears as you nodded.

“Thanks Mikey” you let your head rest on his shoulder, sitting back. He just left a kiss on top of your head, resting his cheek against it as you both focused on the movie playing.

--

“Michael, come here!” you didn’t like to scare him, you really didn’t, but when he slowed down the fast jog he made over to you room, panting slightly and ready to help however he could, a glint of panic in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel the need to suppress your laughter. “Stay there” you said, watching confusion grow on his face, as he settled by the door.

“What’s wron-“ you shushed him before he could finish, slowly sitting up from your bed. Michael watched as you stood up without the need to hold onto anything, starting to walk  towards him without needing any help. His mouth opened in surprise and you smiled, finally reaching him.

“Hi” you said, a feet away from him. You didn’t have the chance to see his glassy eyes, full of pride, because he was quick to engulf you in his arms and pick you up to spin you around just once, as you giggled elated. He held you tight, his face hiding in the crook of your neck.

“Are you crying?” you asked slightly amused, feeling your skin getting wet.

“No” came the muffled response from him. “You did it” he whispered, still not moving.

“It’s not the end of anything, but by the looks of it… I can walk on my own now” you said, bringing a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for never giving up on me”

“Thank you for not giving up on yourself” he sniffled, finally looking at you with probably the brightest smile you’ve ever seen him display over the course of the last year and a half. You smiled too, a single tear of joy running down your face which Michael was quick to dry with the pad of his thumb.

He left a sweet kiss on your forehead. “We need to call everyone!” he jumped up in joy only seconds after, making you giggle, taking you by the hand like he’d done over a million times by now and walking with you to the living room.

“You need to chill” you said, sitting down on the couch next to him.

“Never!” he exclaimed, quickly searching for your mom’s contact. He really was the best, you thought looking at the one who had been by your side through one of the toughest of times and was sure to be there for you for anything that would come your way in the future, with a sweet smile.

[herweatheredunderground]

Can we please stop with the live-action adaptations of anime classics?

They never do the originals justice.

With the recent announcement of Nickelodeon’s Avatar Studios launch and plans to begin production of an animated Avatar: the Last Airbender feature film later this year, do we really need that Netflix live-action adaptation anymore? Well, we really didn’t need it in the first place.

Before I continue any further, I should make the disclaimer that I am aware that Avatar: the Last Airbender is an American cartoon and doesn’t necessarily fall under the “anime” category. However, considering the show’s creators drew heavily on both the anime style and East Asian culture as a whole for inspiration, and considering the word “anime” is just a shortened version of the Japanese word for “cartoon”, I believe it is perfectly valid to lump Avatar in with the other shows I will be discussing.

After the well known disaster that was M. Night Shyamalan’s The Last Airbender, many fans of the original series (including myself) were justifiably wary of Netflix’s announcement to create their own live-action Avatar: the Last Airbender series. The only saving grace that came with this announcement was the fact that the original creators would be working with Netflix to produce the new series. Updates on the show remained non-existent from 2018 up until half-way through 2020, when original creator Mike DiMartino made a blog post announcing the decision for him and co-creator Bryan Konietzko to leave the production, citing creative restrictions from Netflix. So far, this upsetting news has been the only confirmed updated on the series since it’s initial announcement two years ago.

With the departure of the creators, many fans have gone from skeptical to full on pessimistic about Netflix’s live-action series. Along with worries about how Netflix will tell the story of the Gaang, there are also valid concerns with how visually appealing the set and special effects will appear in a live-action setting. Production quality has come a long way since Shyamalan’s 2010 adaptation, but there is always something a bit off-putting about meshing real actors with fantastical worlds and creatures, as is apparent with criticism on shows as recent as The Witcher.

Meshing cartoon fantasy with real actors heightens disbelief

One of the beauties in using animation as a medium for story-telling is it’s ability to create other-worldly environments and characters that fully immerse the viewer in the magical setting of the creator’s choosing. But the constant push to make everything from Disney classics to popular animes into live-action films tells me that audiences have seemingly forgotten the value of a well animated show and would much rather see real people thrust into environments that highlight the unbelievability of all things magical.

Live-action adaptations of animes like Fullmetal Alchemist, directed by Fumihiko Sori, were impossible for me to watch for more than five minutes because I couldn’t get passed the fact that main characters just looked like cos-players running around an Amestris theme park, like how you see Potter-heads running around Universal Studios. Even with the understanding that it was a Japanese produced film, watching Japanese actors attempting to embody all the European qualities inherent to Amestrians, golden locks and all, made immersion into the story impossible. And while the CGI was well done, it still missed the mark in feeling believable, again because watching a real person use CGI alchemy to create a weapon just doesn’t hit the same as watching a cartoon character using cartoon alchemy.

Live-action creators never seem to grasp the importance of character ethnicities

The Fullmetal live-adaptation isn’t the only recent film to disappoint with it’s disregard to character ethnicity. The 2015 adaptation of Attack on Titan, directed by Shinji Higuchi, is also guilty of placing an entirely Japanese cast into a European world. Again, this would be forgivable considering the Japanese based production, but one would have to set aside a major plot point that is directly tied to the characters’ ethnicities. In the world of Attack on Titan, we experience the last survivors of humanity. Forced into hiding from human-eating titans, presiding safely behind massive walls, it is no surprise that diversity is non-existent. Except for, of course, the ever perfect Mikasa.

In both the manga and anime, Mikasa’s Asian heritage sets her apart from others not only in appearance but also in important plot points. If it wasn’t for her unique ethnicity, she wouldn’t have fallen victim to human-trafficking and therefore wouldn��t have formed an allegiance with main character Eren Yeager. As both the manga and anime have progressed, it has come to light that her Asian roots prove even more important than setting up a tragic backstory. But all of that is thrown out the window in a live-adaptation that casts all characters as Japanese, not even attempting to make Mikasa a different ethnicity to highlight the importance of her character’s arc. It makes one wonder if character development and story-telling were even important to the directors when creating their version of this widely regarded story.

While we have Japanese productions dismissing key plot points tied to characters’ Eurocentric ethnicities in Japan, we also get to watch Hollywood continue to whitewash Asian characters in adaptations like Netflix’s 2017 Death Note, directed by Adam Wingard. Here we have a classic anime, originally taking place in Tokyo with a cast made up entirely of Japanese characters, yet Netflix decides to change the setting to Seattle with a predominantly white cast.

If you want to make characters unrecognizable from their source material, just write your own original story.

As if changing that much of the original story isn’t enough, Netflix’s creators also felt it necessary to practically rewrite main character Light Yagami’s entire personality. In the original manga and anime, Light is a promising high school student with the academic potential to go far in life. His mature nature aids in his ability to smooth talk his way through conflict while remaining calm, cool, and collected. This basic personality trait makes the premise of him playing moral God and evading police interrogation all the more believable. Yet Wingard’s interpretation rewrites Light as more of a social outcast and awkward burn out, who delivers one of the most hilarious blood-curdling screams about ten minutes into the film- hardly the same Light that manga and anime fans would recognize.

Live-action adaptations have proven countless times, in numerous ways, that their visions are incompatible with their source material. Constantly providing a disservice to fans and critics alike, one needs only to look at the less-than-stellar Rotten Tomatoes scores for the films I listed above (Attack on Titan being the only exception for fan admiration).

In a time where shifting anything and everything to live-action seems to be the key money maker, it is essential to remember the riches that other art mediums provide. Animators and illustrators hold a magical key that allows viewers to enter worlds us humans aren’t meant to tread. With their various styles, animators are able to create fictional worlds that hold such beauty and magic, it seems almost too pure for the likes of us to actually set foot in.

Instead, we get to walk the worlds of Edward Elric, Eren Yeager, Light Yagami, the Gaang, and countless others (could you imagine if someone tried to sully the worlds of Cowboy Bepop or FLCL with such live-action nonsense?) from their perspective, in worlds unsullied by real human footprints.

So, Netflix, I guess go ahead with your live-action Avatar, but I’m not holding my breath just to be disappointed yet again.

[calpalirwin]

B.U.B

Summary: What’s better than your best girl and best mate getting along? Well, nothing really. If you knew the rumors were false, that is. 

A/N: They’re back! And they’re setting the record straight once and for all!

Content: Typical shenanigans

Word Count: 1.7k

Disclaimer: Not a poly!cashton fic

Need to catch up? Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

And away, and away we go!

__

Part 4

“Hi, I’m Calum Hood and I play bass!” Sam announced, her hands going to her hips as she struck a pose.

Ashton frowned. “You didn’t want to go as me?”

“Partner called dibs,” she answered. “Again,” she added with an eye roll at Luke on the couch dressed up once again as her boyfriend.

“Should’ve been faster, sweetheart,” Luke said.

Sam shook her head before turning her gaze back on Ashton. “What are you going as, Mr. No Fun?”

Ashton shrugged, tapping his fingers against his jeans. “This?”

“You didn’t wanna go as me?” she taunted, her blue eyes shining mischievously.

Ashton chuckled and pulled her close to him. “If it wasn’t a show night, I probably would dress up.”

“So what was your excuse last year?” she asked, referring to when Ashton had bailed on being a Three Musketeer with her and Calum so they dressed up Duke.

Ashton shrugged again.

“Well, enjoy staying backstage,” she said, patting his chest affectionately. Since he had refused to take part in the group costume, Sam and her bubs had decided that she would go on stage. 

“What?!” Ashton screeched. 

“If you refuse to take part in the band costume, you’re out of the band. Them’s the rules,” Sam stated, patting his chest again. 

“Them’s the rules,” the bubs agreed. 

“But you don’t even know how to play bass!”

“That’s what you think,” both Calum and Sam told him, high-fiving each other. Calum had been teaching Sam bass for months for this specific reason. 

“What?!” Ashton screeched again, realizing that his band mates and girlfriend were serious. There was going to be a 5SOS show, but Ashton Irwin had been regulated to Sam Hudson status. Which meant that Luke was going to… “No!” Ashton shouted, his arms crossing. “No. Luke is not. No!”

“Showtime, guys,” a stagehand announced. 

“Bye, Fletch, have fun!” Sam waggled her fingers at him as she followed Calum, Luke, and Mike out of the dressing room.

“Fuck off, this isn’t happening,” Ashton said, following after them, grabbing a spare set of drumsticks off the table when Luke grabbed the pair from the confused stagehand. “Luke, you touch my drum kit and it’ll be the last thing you do,” Ashton threatened, gripping Luke’s shoulder.

“Aw, c’mon!” Luke laughed. “Just one song?”

Ashton’s eyes narrowed as he took in his bandmates and girlfriend who all pouted back at him. “Fine!” he relented, throwing his hands up in the air. “One song! One! And if you break my drums, Luke, so help me God I will end you.”

The crowd lost their shit when they realized what was happening. And they chanted so loudly after each band member took their rightful place after the first song that Sam made an encore appearance.

~~~

“So let’s switch gears for a minute,” the interviewer said. “Sam Hudson.”

Ashton rolled his eyes while the guys laughed. This had to be the tenth interview of this press tour where he’d been asked about his girlfriend. Everyone wanted the exclusive scoop it seemed. Only there was no exclusive scoop. “What about Sam?” Ashton asked.

“Who’s she with?”

The guys shared a collective smirk. They had prepared almost too perfectly for this particular question. “Your mum!” they all laughed.

The interviewer laughed with them. “A while ago you guys were having a lot of fun with the paps, running them ragged as they tried to keep up with the lot of you. Is that still happening?”

“Yes and no,” Ashton admitted.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, we still take the girls out. Like there’s a rotation schedule we follow,” Ashton explained.

“Yeah,” Mike jumped in. “Like when we have our guys night, the girls have their night. Then there’s date night. Then there’s group night where we’re all together.”

“We just stopped knocking out paps,” Luke jumped in.

“Probably for the best. How did you manage to get out of that mess?”

“We all threatened to sue them,” Calum answered. “We haven’t had as many problems since then. Like they take their pictures and print their stories, but they don’t really say much to us anymore.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?”

They all nodded. “Yeah. Like we understand people are going to be in our business. It’s what comes with living the life we live. But that’s not a free pass to be rude. Like people are allowed to be close to each other without romance being involved.”

“And you guys seem to be on the cutting edge of that trend. Always seem to cozy up to one another.”

They all nodded again. “Yeah, we’re secure enough in ourselves to be affectionate with those we love. And we’re secure enough in our relationships for it to be a non-issue. Like there’s no jealousy or hostility. We all know where our hearts lie. And we doubt that what we do is uncommon especially in this day and age, but if people want to use us as the example of what healthy and mature relationships look like, then we’re happy to be that example.”

~~~

“Where are you going all dressed up?” Amanda asked, kissing Calum’s cheek as she looked at him in their bathroom mirror.

“It’s my day to take out Sam. We’re going to see Footloose.”

“Sam,” Amanda clicked her tongue. “As in Ash’s girlfriend?”

“As in my friend?” Calum asked back.

���And you’re taking her out?”

“Yeah,” Calum nodded. “Look, it’s a little hard to explain, but all of us guys take turns taking out each other’s girlfriends. It’s nothing serious. It just gives us all time to develop our own friendships naturally.”

“Oh, so you do this with Crystal and Sierra too?” she asked, crossing her arms and glaring at him through the mirror.

Calum nodded slowly.

“And what am I supposed to do? Just wait around for you to get back from your dates with other women?”

Calum rubbed at his face in slight agitation. “I’m not going on dates with other women. I’m going out with my friend to see a show. I’ve been doing this for three years now. It’s public knowledge this is what we do. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is I’m your girlfriend, Cal!”

“So I’m just supposed to stop hanging out with my friends?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“Really?” he asked, skeptically. This is why he didn’t do the dating thing. And it honestly made him feel like a royal prick for the way he had treated Sam the first few months she had dated Ashton. It wasn’t easy feeling like an outsider to the group of close-knit friends. And while he really liked Amanda and wanted to be respectful of her feelings, it was hard when he felt like he was being pushed into a corner.

“Yes. What I’m saying is I’m not comfortable with the idea of you going out alone with another woman.”

“Even if she’s my friend and dating someone else?”

“Especially if she’s dating someone else!” Amanda blew up.

“So you’d much prefer I go out with single women then, is that it?”

“I’d rather you didn’t go out with any women at all!”

He rubbed at his face again, trying to control his temper. “Honestly, I don’t have time for this argument right now. I want to respect your feelings. I really do. But this isn’t going to work if you can’t trust me.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” she pouted, pulling on his arm, her eyes pleading.

His brown eyes went hard. “No.” He shook his head. “Would you be upset if I was going out with one of the guys?”

“No.”

“Then why does it matter that Sam’s a girl?”

“It’s just different, okay?!”

“How?! How is it different?”

“It just is!”

Calum shook his head again. “Nope. That’s not a good enough reason. She’s still a friend. If it’s not weird that I would go out with Ash alone, then it shouldn’t be weird that I would go out with Sam alone. And if it is weird, then I’m sorry but that’s a double-standard and…”

“And what?”

“And we probably won’t work out.”

“So that’s it? You’re gonna go on your date with Sam and we’re done?”

“I’m saying I’m walking out that door to go hang out with my friend. And if you wanna stay and work this out when I get back, I’m happy to do that. And if you don’t want to, then I understand and I wish you the best.” And with that, he was walking out of the bathroom past her and out of his front door, headed for the car.

He was pulling out of the driveway when he saw Amanda slam his front door shut and stomp off to her own car. Something told him she had made her choice. Two months down the drain. He rolled his eyes. He didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. If a girl wanted to be part of his life, she needed to be able to understand the people in it.

“Hey, bu- whoa, you okay?” Sam asked as she pulled open the door for him before he could open it himself.

He shrugged. “Pretty sure Amanda and I just broke up.”

Sam frowned and wrapped him in a hug. “Oh, bub, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright,” he said, hugging her back. “She wasn’t happy when I said I was leaving for the day to take you out.”

Sam’s frown deepened. “Bub… I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, princess.”

“It kinda is…” She bit her lip.

Calum shook his head. “No it’s not. I told her I was willing to talk through her concerns with her when I got back. She decided to leave. All there is to it.”

“I’m still sorry, bub. I know you want a queen.”

“I don’t want a queen if she can handle the rest of my court. Now, c’mon,” he smiled down at her, “we got a show to catch.”

“Sorry about Amanda, mate,” Ashton called out to Calum as he came down the stairs, having finished getting spiffed up for his own “date.” He turned his attention to Sam. “Have fun with Cal, baby.”

“Have fun with Crystal, Fletch,” Sam said, reaching up to kiss him goodbye.

Ashton turned his attention one last time to Calum. “You’ll find a girl who understands one of these days,” Ashton said, resting a hand on Calum’s shoulder.

Calum returned the gesture. “I know mate.”

Calum found his queen a week later when Sam’s childhood friend, Emily, came over on the group’s weekly get-together. By the end of the afternoon Emily found herself not only accepted into the group of seven, but the missing 8th piece to the puzzle. By the end of the month, Emily’s name was added to the BUB Accords.

__

Tag List

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[spiceytuna]

Batch ‘81: The Struggle between Power and Morality

content warning: contain photos/topics that may be sensitive to others

Mike de Leon, one of the most acclaimed Filipino filmmakers of our time, is known for many of his works that pose criticism (either metaphorically or literally) towards the Philippine society. Some of these films include: Kisapmata (1981), Sister Stella L. (1984), and Batch ‘81 is no stranger to this concept. 

Batch ‘81 (1982) follows the story of seven college students, one professor, and their experience in one of their university’s fraternities, Alpha Kappa Omega (AKO). The film runs us through the entire initiation or hazing process, and is told through the perspective of the protagonist, Sid Lucero (played by Mark Gil). Throughout the rites, the eight neophytes suffer physical and mental damages– some parts even being lethal, to prove their worthiness to the ‘masters’ of the fraternity. 

Other audiences who have seen Batch ‘81 have expressed that it acts as a metaphor or symbol for the nation under the Marcos era or the Marcos dictatorship through the amount of violence (campus violence in this context) and power plays seen all throughout. However, the majority of the film also digs deep into the human psyche, decision making, and what factors affect or influence these very decisions. Through observation and interpretation, Batch ‘81 is a film that depicts an individual’s struggle in balancing power, morality, self-awareness, and loyalty when put under very compromising circumstances. 

The evidence of the argument stated above are spread throughout as the film progresses; however, the following scenes that will be discussed serve as major justifications for the claim.

In a birthday party within the fraternity, through what seems to be an initiation rite disguised as a drinking game, the neophytes are asked to recite a part of the creed, drink a sip of the beer, spit it back in the glass, and pass it onto the next person to do the same. When the cycle ends, the first person, Roxas Jr., drinks it all. He eventually feels sick and rushes to the bathroom to throw up. While the scene is happening, the fraternity group resumes with their celebration, but the camera shifts its focus to Lucero, who watches Roxas Jr. As the camera zooms in, this becomes the first scene in the entire film where Lucero expresses the slightest bit of fear and vulnerability. 

This scene now establishes a sense of imbalance within Lucero and his mind, as it seems like he expresses empathy for Roxas Jr., and even looks like he wants to help him, but his pride says otherwise. Deep inside he knows that this is just another way of the fraternity to test their strength, so he does nothing. 

During a dinner date between Lucero and Mariel, his girlfriend, Mariel brings up her concern for Lucero, saying that the fraternity will bring nothing but chaos. Lucero says that it’s too shameful to drop out at that point and tries to reassure her by saying that he knows what he’s doing. Mariel does not buy it and tells him that he’s losing himself in the process and that he won’t be aware of it until it’s too late. Here it can be argued that Lucero has already gotten too invested in the fraternity that it has inflated his pride and ego.  Another past scene that showed this aspect was when Mariel refused to watch the fraternity’s dance practices and expressed her dislike towards them, to which Lucero counters with, “Prejudice ka lang.” 

When Vince, one of the masters, hears about Roxas Jr.’s consideration to leave the fraternity after the night of the birthday party, he straps him into an electric chair and is shocked when the wrong answers to questions are given. This escalates to a point where Roxas Jr. can no longer answer, and his fellow neophytes fight to get him out of the chair (Lucero excluded). It is then revealed that everything was just a set-up in order for them to realize that trust– especially towards their masters, is all they need within the fraternity. 

“Puro frat nalang lumalabas sa bunganga mo, pero anong ginawa mo nung nagkakagulo na? Wala, tumanganga ka kalang! (The only thing that’s coming out of your mouth now is about the frat, but what did you do when the fight broke out? Nothing, you just stared!)” Enriquez spits this out after Lucero hypocritically expresses his support after the scene. Enriquez adds, “Neophyte ka palang, isip master ka na. (You’re just a neophyte, but you think like a master already.)” Here it is observed that even Lucero’s own best friend now notices that he has started to absorb himself fully into the fraternity’s system. 

In addition, when the neophytes celebrate the return of Roxas Jr. in AKO, they fail to acknowledge the fact that he was abused or hit by his dad when he tried to leave. This once again shows that they’re blinded by the “positive” or the benefits they’ll receive at the end of the initiation, concealing all the immoral things occurring. In simpler terms, the neophytes have seemingly adapted to the “the end justifies the means” kind of mindset. 

At the climax of the film, a fight between Alpha Kappa Omega, and another fraternity, Sigma Omicron Sigma, takes place after Enriquez’s unjustified death and results in even more deaths which include: Roxas Jr., Gonzales (AKO) and Abet (SOS).

The entire “rambulan” between the two exposes the violent nature of fraternities and the need to prove that one is stronger than the other– so much that it can even result in homicide. Tracing this back to the argument, it just proves once more that there is a clear conflict when it comes to power, loyalty, and value for human principles and virtues. 

Batch ‘81 comes full circle when five of them, Lucero included, pass the initiation rites and become the future masters. At the end of the film, we see them subjecting the next neophytes to the same initiation process– the same pain and torture they experienced. They become the oppressors next, and this shows how power can take over our morality and ignore what’s right and wrong.

“Brads na kami. Masters na kami. (We are now brothers. We are now Masters.)” Lucero’s ending statement does not draw a clear line between his desire to become part of the fraternity vis-à-vis his desire to continue living for his comrades who had lost and failed in the process. 

In conclusion, the entirety of Alpha Kappa Omega is the culmination of all things stated in the argument. How the men’s initial determination to ‘belong’ or to be recognized, has shaped them into something predictable– but still violent nonetheless. Through the scenes that have been analyzed, expounded upon, and because of this kind of mindset, the inflation of ego, humans may blindy succumb themselves to submission and loyalty which then results in them losing their sense of self and abusing the power they are in control of.

[dreams-of-wings]

Impossible (7/8)

Imagine Billy Hargrove with a Mixed/Biracial SO

Warnings: SEASON 3 SPOILERS, Swearing, mild violence, angst.

The rest of the week flies by, with Billy weaning himself away from hanging out with Tommy and Carol and more to hanging out with you.

Billy actually learned a couple things that just barely helped him scrape by on his tests.

You passed with flying colors of course.

Now y'all are in the "real world"

Billy snags a summer job as a life guard.

You got a job at the hospital as a patient escort (the hours ain't bad, and it pays good).

You visit Billy at the pool sometimes, and you both still hang out on weekends.

Tommy and Carol don't hang around him anymore (because popularity status from high school no longer matters).

You're trying to help Billy move out of his house, but getting a place of your own isn't easy, so you manage to convince your parents to let him move in with you guys.

He has to stay in the guest room and pay rent though, obviously.

Billy still hasn't moved in yet though because he wants to save a bit of money before he has to worry about paying bills.

It's a smart idea and you support him.

For the most part your Summer is just working, hanging out with friends after work, and juggling the kids (Will, Dustin till he goes to summer camp, Mike, Lucas, and Max. You don't worry about Eleven because she isn't really allowed out of her house).

One day when the kids are all hanging out at your place, Billy walks in and treats the place like he lives there.

Just walks in grabs the milk from your fridge and makes himself a bowl of Cereal, before sitting in a stool by your kitchens island.

Thay all just kinda stare at him for a moment in silence.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

Billy just rolls his eyes and finishes his bowl before getting up to go to the bathroom.

"Ah, ah! Put it in the sink!" You just happen to walk past to grab something from your parents room.

He doesn't fuss, throw a fit, or even act remotely annoyed. He just back tracks and put the bowl in the sink, filling it with warm water before continuing on his way.

Once you both are out of ear shot, Lucas mentions how he's glad the two of you are dating, because Billy's gotten a whole lot better. He's still an ass, but old Billy would have tried to scare the shit out of the kids for fun just for staring at him. New Billy was just annoyed.

Max acts like she's disgusted, not at the idea of the two of you being together, but just because Billy is her brother and she's just grossed out by the thought of him with anyone really.

"They are not dating!"

"They totally are, did you not see the way they just interacted!" Mike is whisper yelling.

"Yeah, it was actually kinda..." Lucas shrugged and looked at Mike.

"Domestic," Mike found the word Lucas was looking for.

"Nu-uh! Billy's just moving in, so he should know house rules by now." Max tried to justify what just happened, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms, before sitting back into the couch with a huff.

"That statement really doesn't help your case."

"Trust us, they're dateing."

"Who's dating?" You walk in just then.

"No one!" "Mike and Eleven!" "Max and Lucas!" They all had conflicting answers to your question.

You just raised a brow in confusion at them.

At that moment Billy steps out with his red duffle bag and heads out for work, "Forgot I left my stuff here the other night," he explains as he passes you to the door.

The kids all look at each other, 'The other night?'

"Okay, there's leftovers in the fridge!" You call as he opens the door.

Billy pauses again and backtracks, closing the door, going to the fridge, and opening it. He paused for a moment as if searching, and then he pulls out a Tupperware container with last night's dinner in it, before putting it in his duffle and heading out again, "Thanks," he opens the door, "See you later!"

"See you!" You turn and look back at the kids, "Sorry, what were you saying?"

They kinda just stare at you gobsmacked.

"Nothing."

The kids actually make it there mission for a while to prove to Max that the two of you are together, but all they succeed in doing is getting caught and threatened by Billy to "Fuck off" and "take your sick jokes elsewhere." He doesn't appreciate peeping toms, especially when they're peeping at him.

Still kinda the same old Billy, just much less dramatic.

You notice something's up with Billy though after he gets attacked by the Mind Flyer.

He seems paranoid, tense, and almost bipolar.

You ask him constantly about it when you see him, and at first he tells you its nothing.

You thought his dad found out about him trying to leave because now he doesn't come around your house anymore.

You still see him at the pool, and he'll stop by, but he never stays.

He becomes awkward in conversations, like he's there, but not completely.

You wonder if he's depressed.

Then he starts avoiding you all together after Heather goes missing (of course you didn't know that she'd gone missing).

When you manage to corner him at the pool, Billy seems to revert back to his old High School self.

He's rude and tells you he wants you to stay away from him.

You're honestly really hurt now because you've made so much progress.

He was supposed to be moving in for gods sake.

Little do you know he's just trying to protect you.

You're the last person he wants to hurt.

He's already hurt one of his coworkers.

He almost hurt Mrs. Wheeler.

But you don't know about her.

When the kids try to spy on Billy, your house is the first place they go to.

Max has been sleeping over at Elevens house the past few nights, so she doesn't know he's been actively ghosting you.

"I dont know, he's avoiding me."

They of course thought that was weird, just a few days ago he seemed so comfortable in this house and around you, and suddenly he's giving you the cold shoulder?

"Did you guys get into a fight?" Max is concerned now because she's really hoping Billy is not the host. They're looking for Billy to do very un-Billy things as proof, and this- thus us very un-Billy.

"No, one day he was fine, then the next he acts like he doesn't want to talk to me if he doesn't have to, and now he's avoiding me all together!" You're actually getting very frustrated now.

"Do you guys know something? Did something happen? Is Billy okay?"

"No nothing," You still dont know about what's been going on the past year or so. You weren't there when they caught off the Demigorgon and you weren't there for the fall of the Mind Flyr either. They had to keep it a secret, "Max just noticed he hadn't been around you lately."

"Friends don't lie," Eleven doesn't like that they were hiding Billy's life being in danger. If something happens to him, you would be hurt, and it would partially be their fault for not telling you the truth.

They try to keep Eleven quiet.

Spoiler, it doesn't work.

So they have to tell you everything that's happened since Will disappeared.

You didn't believe them at first of course, but then Eleven shows you her powers and you start to second guess yourself.

It would at least explain Billy's sudden odd behavior, and why Will acted strange after he returned.

Of course you had always blaimed it on PTSD since you didn't know what the kid had truly been through.

Now you see it's much worse than you could have imagined.

So now your in on the madness.

The next place the kids go is the pool.

Shocker, he's there.

"Its too hot outside to be wearing a long sleeve," is your contribution to their debate on whether or not Billy seems like Billy right now.

"True, but light color cloths make it a bit cooler."

Also true.

None of you could see from this distance, that Billy us sweating buckets right now.

But at least the sun isn't hitting him directly, so he skin won't burn and give him another lesion.

The boys are talking about their plan, but your too lost I thought watching Billy to notice them leave you, Max, and Eleven behind.

It was odd to think that this person you were watching wasn't really Billy. He looked like Billy, but he didn't act or think like him.

When the boys come back then fill you in on the plan.

For the most part you're just hiding with Max, but you will come in handy if the real Billy is still in there somewhere.

You show yourself alongside Max.

Billy pauses for a second, like his mind is trying to comprehend that you're a part of this.

"Why?" He actually looks vulnerable and his voice sounds broken, till it slowly contorts into a look of anger and he starts banging o the door.

Your a little unnerved.

And your having flashbacks from back in High School when you and Billy still didn't get along.

He doesn't understand why this is happening to him.

Everything was going great.

He had a job.

He was working on getting out of his father's house.

And he actually felt like he had someone he could trust.

Then you had to go and do this to him.

That's when it occured to him.

He's been treating you like shit these past few days.

And he's done terrible things

Maybe he deserves this.

That's when he screams in frustration, anger, and sadness, before he starts sobbing.

"Its not my fault...."

"Please."

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean to."

He's pleading to you and Max with a broken voice and a broken spirit.

For once Billy looks the way he's always felt on the inside.

Desperate, alone, and afraid.

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

"It's not my fault, I promise you."

You're the first to approach the door, and Max follows right behind you as she begins to question Billy.

"He made me do it."

When Max questioned him about who "he" was and what "he" made him do, Billy seemed to retreat into himself more.

The sight broke your heart.

After high school, Billy seemed better, and after he started slowly getting away from his father he actually seemed more confident- and not that fake ass peacocking he didn't in school either, like actual confidence.

But now he was fighting something he couldn't get away from.

He slowly lays down on the floor and continues to beg and plead.

He can't even say what he's done.

You almost open the door, till Mike and Eleven stop you.

Your almost on the verge of tears.

"He's my friend....."

"That's not Billy," Mike says sternly.

"He's hurt," you're trying to get them to let you open the door.

But you stop when Will tells you he can feel "him."

Mike backs of first and tells you and Max to get away from the door.

You're confused at first, but you see Billy just as he comes for the window with the piece of tile.

You push yourself away from the door, and take Max with you, saving her from being hurt by the thing posing as her bother.

When Billy manages to get out and starts hurting the kids, you call out to him.

He stops to look at you and you can see the real Billy in his eyes and in his lip that quivers slightly at the edges.

When El starts throwing him around the room all you and Max can do is hold eachother.

Billy had changed, and you all had gotten so close, and now you have to watch someone you have come to love get hurt.

It breaks your heart to see how desperately he wants to fight this thing. He's always tense, like he's trying to hold his body back, and the tear that trails down his face tells you that again, he's so sorry for what he's doing right now.

You're relieved when he runs off because it means that he can't hurt the kids, and they can't hurt him anymore.

Max is glad she at least has you with her.

Sure she has Lucas, but her friends never really liked Billy, so they don't understand why she cares so much.

You go to the hospital with the kids when Nancy and Jonathan take them along.

You pose as Mrs. Driscoll's grandchild as well.

It was terrifying seeing a pile of gore come to life and chase your friends down.

After you all got back to Eleven's house, you can't stop pacing up and down, and you're just making Max more on edge.

I mean who could blame you though.

Those guys at the hospital who turned to mush were under that monsters control, so what was keeping it from doing the same thing to Billy?

What if he dies a horrible painful death? And you can't be there with him?

Max tries to reassure you that everything will be alright.

After all, they've beaten this thing before.

Though it does sound more like she's trying to convince herself more than she is trying to convince you.

You sit down when Max and Mike get into an argument about Eleven. Honestly, after the night you've had, you've just realized how physically, emotionally, and mentally drained you are. You didn't even think you've slept in almost 24 hours - the kids came to your house, you went with them to the pool, you watched Billy till the end of the day when his shift ended, trapt him in the sauna (mind you it was already dark when the Sauna Test went down), craziness happened, went to Eleven's place so she could find Hopper and they could fill him in on what's going on (because apparently the Sharif is in on this madness too), and that's when Nancy and Jonathan arrived with their information on Mrs. Driscoll, and now your here.

Maybe it's been a little more than 24 hours... Perhaps you should lay down...

Meanwhile, Billy is off doing God knows what.

He's trapt in his own mind - completely aware of what's happening but he's unable to do anything about it.

This monster has taken control of him from the inside and the first few days it at least seemed like he had some semblance of control - like he was driving and the monster was sitting in the back seat telling him what to do. Of course at that point he didn't have to listen, but then it started showing him things. It migrated to shotgun and started messing with the steering wheel.

Now it just feels like it's in the driver's seat, but he's bound and gagged in the back passenger seat where he can at least see everything.

It was hard hurting those kids. He had promised Max he would never hurt her friends again, and honestly, because of you he and his little sister had grown closer, and he's actually been relatively happy. He had just been starting to think that maybe, just maybe, Hawkins wasn't so bad and he could stay.

Then shit hit the fan.

He had never seen you so afraid of him in the time he has known you. Not even when you both didn't get along in high school. Back then, you had more of a rebellious fire in your eyes, and no matter what he did to try and snuff it- to make you afraid of him, it only seemed to feed the fire. But back in the sauna...you looked petrified, unsure, on edge, afraid.

Ironic how now that he desperately wants to protect you and Max, you're both can't trust him.

Why is he like this?

Why does he always screw things up?

His mom left him.

His dad hates him.

He was a fuck up all throughout school.

He had shitty friends who, let's be honest, weren't really even his friends.

He hurt- maybe even indirectly killed his coworker.

He almost killed Karen. Oh God, Mrs. Wheeler. He regrets trying to get her to meet him at the hotel. He doesn't even have feelings for her - he just thought she was hot and wanted to get laid, and by an older woman at that. In fact, he had been on his way to meet her when he was attacked.

And now he's probably lost you and Max.

He feels utterly and terribly alone.

When you wake up, it's to the sound of El screaming. She's freaking out because of the vision she just had of talking to Billy.

The conversation about what she just saw was very sobering. You are wide awake now that the possibility of death looms over you, and the sound of screeching from the approaching monster in the distance doesn't help.

It found you.

You all get the house ready - shut the windows, close the blinds, block off possible openings and stand back to back.

You would feel much safer in a basement.

When it comes through the windows, you help Jonathan fight it off to the best of your ability, but you both end up getting thrown around the room.

Thank whatever supernatural being put El on this earth, because you all would have died without her.

Fast forward to you all going to Starcourt Mall

You help Eleven walk because she's injured, and since Steve isn't here, you're mom now.

Apparently everyone was somehow already on to fishy stuff happening? But what do Russians have to do with anything?

You're so worried about El, that bite looks bad. Like, infected bad, but it can't have been more than an hour or two since she got it, so it can't have progressed that quick.

You know something isn't right.

And you are proven correct when you see something wriggling around in the wound.

Props to El, for being so strong when Johnathan tried to remove that nasty thing, and then removing it herself.

They would have had to knock you the fuck out first if that were you- all the nope.

You all know what happens.

Part 8 will hopefully be the end. Idk we'll see, maybe I will get carried away and make it too long and then their will be 9 lol.

Like I did with this imagine. It was only supposed to be one part, but here we are going on 8.

I apologize for this part following season 3 so closely. As you all can tell I like to at least try and make my own content so it doesn't just feel like you're reading the show, and I think my struggles reflect on this part a bit. I have seen season 3 at least 4 times now because I was trying to find a way do this without just basically rewriting the season with the reader patched into it, but it was either this, have the reader just kinda loose contact with Billy and then find out he's "dead" (my denial is showing), or have reader become one of the flayed (let's be honest, not much would probably go on there). Plus this option has the most angst I feel.

Hope y'all are ready for the angst in the next part.

[giftofshewbread]

It’s Over!  ( Biblical Update )

By Daymond Duck     Published  on: August 15, 2021

“This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come” (II Tim. 3:1).

Be aware that “evil men and seducers shall wax worse and worse, deceiving, and being deceived” (II Tim. 3:13).

The right of U.S. citizens to freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom to buy and sell, etc., is being challenged by the shadow government’s desire to restrict and/or control American’s freedom of religion, speech, right to buy and sell, etc.

Covid is a global medical crisis that the godless shadow government created to justify the establishment of a world government, world religion, and worldwide tracking system to enslave everyone on earth.

The public is being told that proof of vaccination (passports, I.D. cards, or whatever) is needed to bring Covid-19 under control when the truth of the matter is that Covid-19 and the variants are a tool that the rich and powerful are using to bring all people under their control.

It is possible and perhaps likely that this proof of vaccination will eventually be followed by the lockdown and persecution of Christian groups and institutions based on their support for Bible teaching and lack of support for the globalist agenda (the godless world government, godless world religion, abortion, gay rights, etc.).

Before the persecution reaches its peak, Christians will be removed (Raptured) from this earth, and the door will be thrown wide open for the godless shadow government to select a leader to take dictatorial power on earth.

Following his appearance, their so-called proof of vaccination will probably evolve into a data system that will be used to determine who can buy and sell, who can live or die, etc. (Don’t overlook the fact that some of the leaders that want to force everyone to be vaccinated are the same people that want to reduce the population of the earth from almost 8 billion to about half a billion; many support abortion, gay marriage, euthanasia, etc.).

God will allow these godless globalists to select a leader to rule for seven years, but God will ultimately cause them to regret what they have done for all eternity.

A reader recently sent an e-mail to this writer containing part of a message that Dr. Franklin Graham delivered at a Baptist Church in Florida.

Dr. Graham said, “The American Dream has ended.”

Readers need to understand that the one who said “The American Dream has ended” is one of the most highly respected preachers in the world, not a fanatic and not a prophecy teacher, but America must decline if the globalists are going to meet their goal of a world government and a world religion by 2030 or before.

Here is a repeat from the article I wrote last week: On July 27, 2021, former Sec. of State Mike Pompeo said, “Collapse from within is possible… Immigration without assimilation, illicit drugs, human trafficking, disputed elections, inflationary risks have become the tools to disassemble our republic in what must surely be an attempt at national suicide.”

I want to close my opening remarks this way: We are not seeing the Mark of the Beast yet (people are not being jabbed in their right hand or forehead; people are not taking the name, number, or Mark of the Beast; unvaccinated people can still buy and sell in most places; etc.).

On the other hand, we are seeing the global development and advancement of technology and policies that many excellent Bible prophecy teachers believe will lead to the Mark of the Beast (forced compliance, loss of one’s job, development of passports or passes, a demand for government databases to track people, a demand to prevent the unvaccinated from entering stores to buy or sell, the spread of anti-Christian rhetoric, etc.).

Also, keep in mind the fact that the Church will be Raptured a minimum of 3 ½ years (and perhaps more) before the global development and advancement of the technology and policies goes into effect as the Mark of the Beast (the Gates of Hell will not prevail against the Church).

Here are other reasons to believe that history is approaching end of the age Bible predictions and the American Dream is over.

One, when Jesus was asked about the signs of His coming, He listed famines, pestilences, earthquakes, etc. (notice that the words are plural as in more than one famine, more than one pestilence, etc.; Matt. 24:7).

Today, the world is trying to deal with Covid-19, the Delta (India variant), Lambda (Peru variant), and Epsilon variant (pestilences plural).

Two, on Aug. 6, 2021, California announced that a low water level caused by drought has forced the shutdown of the state’s second largest hydroelectric plant for the first time since the dam was completed in 1977.

The state will be able to get electricity from other systems.

More: On Aug. 4, 2021, the Dixie wildfire destroyed Greenville, Cal., a gold rush town of about 1,200 people (5 days later, Fox News reported that about 600 buildings have burned and about 13,000 are in danger).

More: On Aug. 6, 2021, it was reported that Lake Powell on the Utah-Arizona border, the Great Salt Lake in Utah, and Lake Mead in Nevada have hit record lows this summer.

FYI: Drought is having a devastating impact on crops, cattle, hog, and sheep production in the U.S. (a very large part of America’s food supply).

FYI: Unprecedented wildfires are also taking place in Greece, Italy, Turkey, Lebanon, and Russia.

Three, during the Tribulation Period, the world will be divided into two groups: those that take the Mark of the Beast and those that refuse to take the Mark of the Beast.

Today, the world is being divided into two groups: those that have been vaccinated and those that have not been vaccinated.

Four, on Aug. 9, 2021, World Net Daily posted an article by Wayne Allen Root that said:

Republicans asked for “papers” from migrants who had broken into our country. Criminals. Democrats said, “No, that’s racism.”

Republicans asked for “papers” once every two years for federal elections to prove you have a right to vote. Democrats said, “No, that’s racism.”

Now Democrats want American citizens, not illegal aliens, not criminals, but patriots born in this country to produce papers 24/7. We’ll need papers to enter restaurants, bars, nightclubs, concerts, casinos, conventions, and hotels and to board a train, plane, or bus. We’ll need papers to enter a supermarket, or we’ll starve to death—all for the crime of being unvaccinated.

Note: U.S. Sen. Rand Paul said the U.S. is at a crossroads, and he is urging U.S. citizens to “resist the mandates, lockdowns, and the harmful policies of the petty tyrants and bureaucrats.”

Five, on Aug. 6, 2021, Natural News reported that the U.K. has admitted that it is building storage areas for bodies in the 32 boroughs of London and the city itself.

These storage areas are being built because the government expects an increase in deaths over the next five years due to their attempts to force people to be vaccinated (some people that are not allowed to buy and sell will go hungry, get sick, etc.).

Writer’s Comment: It is common for some people to ask how bad will God let it get before He Raptures His Church. No one knows the answer to this, but the situation is worsening, and Christians everywhere need to pray about it.

Six, on July 31, 2021, the Carnival Cruise Ship Vista left Galveston, TX with everyone or board vaccinated (every guest, every crew member, every staff member, everyone vaccinated; no unvaccinated people on board).

On Aug. 8, 2021, it was reported that a small number of people on the ship have tested positive for Covid.

Seven, God promised to bless those that bless Israel and to curse those that curse Israel (Gen. 12:3).

On Aug. 4, 2021, the Iranian-backed terrorist group that controls Lebanon, Hezbollah, fired three rockets into Israel.

On Aug. 5, 2021, Israeli jets struck terrorist targets in Lebanon for the first time in 15 years, and Pres. Biden announced that he will give the terrorist government $100 million dollars in economic aid (borrowed money that will add to inflation in the U.S.).

On Aug. 6, 2021, Hezbollah forces fired 19 rockets from Lebanon into Israel, and Israel responded with artillery fire.

On Aug. 8, 2021, new hardline Iranian Pres. Raisi met with leaders of the terrorist groups Hamas, Hezbollah, the Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ), and the Houthis, and promised to support their terrorist activities until Israel is defeated.

Writer’s Comment: This could easily get out of hand and lead to the fulfillment of several prophecies (Psa. 83 if that is a war; the Destruction of Damascus as prophesied in Isa. 17; the Battle of Gog and Magog as prophesied in Ezek. 38-39; time will tell.).

Eight, violence is on the increase, and some politicians want to defund the police and take the guns away from law-abiding citizens, but the globalist goal is only partly to prevent citizens from defending themselves against criminals.

The globalist goal is primarily to prevent citizens from defending the U.S. against the shadow government’s takeover of the U.S.

For whatever it is worth, thousands of people have marched in Paris and other French cities four weeks in a row to protest the loss of their freedoms.

On Aug. 6, protests erupted in Turin, Italy.

Nine, on Aug. 6, 2021, a guest on Fox & Friends said the strongest outbreak of the Covid Delta Variant is in Texas and Florida, and those two states are where the Biden administration has taken the largest number of Covid-infected migrants.

Ten, concerning global pandemics and the Mark of the Beast, on July 25, 2021, The Times of Israel reported on a study that found that people vaccinated before Feb. 2021 are twice as likely to get Covid as those vaccinated in June 2021 for two reasons: 1) Their vaccine effectiveness decreases over time and is becoming less effective every day; and 2) The Delta Variant is more contagious than the original Covid-19, and therefore more able to overcome the resistance of their declining vaccination.

The doctor that headed up the study said, “We definitely need to think about a third vaccine.”

It is the opinion of this writer that the globalists will want people to take a 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, etc. vaccination until they bring in the Mark of the Beast.

Update: On Aug. 5, 2021, Moderna said data shows a noticeable drop in antibody levels 6-8 months after a vaccinated person’s second jab, so vaccinated people will need to get a booster shot this fall.

Writer’s Comment: Just a reminder to U.S. citizens that Pres. Biden said, “You’re not going to get Covid if you have these vaccines.”

Eleven, concerning world government: it is widely known that the World Economic Forum (WEF) wants to establish a world government and eliminate private property ownership by 2030 or before.

The WEF even produced a video saying, “You will own nothing, and you will be happy.”

My article “Developing Now,” posted two weeks ago, quoted Tony Koretz who said, “A global medical dictatorship is rising.”

I added that “It is hard to deny that the shadow government is using unelected individuals to dictate policies to nations all over the world.”

On Aug. 3, 2021, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) extended the U.S. government’s eviction moratorium, a document that allows renters in areas that have a high level of Covid to not pay their rent.

Put another way, property owners that have rented their house, apartment, etc., to someone else must make the mortgage payments (if the property owner has a mortgage payment), pay to keep the house, apartment, etc., repaired, and the property owner cannot evict the renter for not paying their rent (the renter can live in the house free, and the property owner must pay the bills).

The fact that the CDC (a medical group) can force private property owners to make the property payments and let renters live in the property free sure looks like a global medical dictatorship has taken over.

The real owners of the property are not happy with making the payments and receiving no rent.

Twelve, on Aug. 4, 2021, concerning a Mark on the forehead to buy and sell, it was reported that Amazon is now using palm scanners at 53 Amazon-owned stores, and it plans to expand the program to other stores in the U.S.

Customers can use a simple hand scan to pay, enter or I.D. themselves, and Amazon will give them a $10 promotional credit to sign up.

Before my final word, pastor Keith Watts asked me to include this paragraph in my article (something I can’t start doing for ministries all over the world): “I am asking all prayer warriors from around the world to join with us for a day of prayer, fasting, and repentance on August 16, 2021, for the sake of the Philippines and on behalf of over 110,950,213 precious souls. We will be fasting from the time we wake up until we go to bed, interceding on behalf of the lost souls in the Philippines.”

Finally, are you Rapture Ready?

If you want to be rapture ready and go to heaven, you must be born again (John 3:3). God loves you, and if you have not done so, sincerely admit that you are a sinner; believe that Jesus is the virgin-born, sinless Son of God who died for the sins of the world, was buried, and raised from the dead; ask Him to forgive your sins, cleanse you, come into your heart and be your Saviour; then tell someone that you have done this.

[buriedincharcol]

Red and Blue Lights

(Red Crackle Detective/Criminal AU

@jaythesaltybastard i blame you for this and you know exactly what you did)

Carmen Sandiego had wanted to be a detective for as long as she could remember.

Every day after school, she would fight her sister Amy for the remote and plop herself in front of her family's old TV. When she won the hard-earned battle, she would adjust the antennas just right so she could watch her favorite programs: true crime shows and buddy cop movies. The young girl was riveted by the thrilling chase scenes, spellbound by the explosive shoot-offs, moved by the deep bond between partners, but most of all she was intrigued by criminals and the motivations behind their schemes.

Now one could argue that exposing an impressionable child to these kinds of media would desensitize them to explicit violence and perhaps even warp their moral values. These concerns would be perfectly justified and measures would be taken to protect their young minds... if it were any household other than Carmen's.

She and her sister Amy had been adopted by Kage Gozen - the ambitious, stoic New York Chief of Police (dubbed teasingly as Shadow-san by close family and friends). Instead of discouraging his daughters from following in the footsteps of their father, he encouraged their interest in his dangerous profession. Kage enrolled his daughters in martial arts and self-defense classes, taught them how to shoot, and drilled into them the nuances of the law. Perhaps he was grooming them to become officers - maybe he wanted to carry on the family profession of law enforcement just as he took up the mantle after the retirement of his mother, Tomoe Gozen, from the same position.

Or perhaps the weeb side of him just thought the idea of having a couple of badass anime kids was cool.

(There was evidence to suggest this was the case, but if forensic pathologist Doctor Bellum ever breathed a word that she caught him Naruto running down the street to catch a suspect then he would stop bringing his homemade castella cake to the break room every Sunday. It was mutually assured destruction - nobody would end up happy in that situation.)

Regardless of his intentions, Chief Gozen ended up with two very capable, very opinionated, and very independent young women.

Amy, always a stickler about the rules, decided to study to become a prosecutor. After seven grueling years of hard work, she cried when she finally passed the board exam and then cried some more when she realized they misprinted her last name as "Santiago" on her licence to practice law. Since the elder sibling was off doing another profession, that meant the responsibility to follow in their father's footsteps fell to Carmen.

It was good that the girl's father instilled her with a strong sense of justice and a clear distinction between right and wrong because otherwise her obsession with criminals and the law could have gone the other direction.

Can you imagine Carmen Sandiego as a criminal? Absurd.

She knew from the moment she graduated from the Academy that she'd have to work twice as hard and be twice as efficient than her male counterparts to be treated with even half the respect. This challenge only fueled her drive her to push herself and become the best cop in her father's precinct. She resolved that when she usurped Chief Gozen's position (not if, only when) she would leave no doubt that she earned the place for herself instead of gaining it through nepotism.

That wasn't to say that she hadn't already tried asking.

Eventually, her efforts payed off as she quickly rose from police technician, to officer, to detective. Carmen was sure that along with her trusty partner, Mike "Player" Tozier, she'd reach enough solved cases and arrests for their superiors to consider promoting them to corporals soon. They had a 98% success rate - so far, it looked like smooth sailing towards her goal. What could go wrong?

(If you read the previous statement and thought to yourself: Ah, that looks like a setup to introduce someone or something that made everything go wrong...

...You'd be absolutely correct you funky little detective.)

The thief known as "Crackle" was the teensy, tiny  wrinkle in her carefully mapped out life plan towards success.

"Evading us for the tenth time is not a small problem, Carmen."  "Shut up, Player. I totally had him that time."

He had appeared out of nowhere and jumped onto the detective's list of Top Priorities when the Panthère de Cartier - a necklace crafted from glittering precious stones and white gold priced at fifty-two thousand dollars - disappeared directly from the neck of the actress known as Countess Cleo as she attended the Met Gala. She only noticed its absence when a photographer asked her out the bold fashion statement of wearing a folded piece of paper dangling from a piece of string as an accessory with her Ralph & Russo evening gown.

Law enforcement quietly infiltrated the Gala when the grand theft was called in by the woman. They discreetly pulled the victim aside to question her about the crime since the last thing they needed was frenzied paparazzi, press, and celebrities causing a panic and destroying potential evidence. Cleo was inconsolable as she cooperated with the police, makeup running down her face. While Player questioned/consoled the her, Carmen's intense grey eyes studied the note left over by the thief. Her gloved hands were careful while dusting the outside folded area for prints. No dice. When she opened the note it simply read: the name is Graham Crackle.

Carmen deciding that it was a stupid-ass codename, cut off the first part and dubbed him "Crackle".

At first she didn't have the slightest clue as to what the thief looked like, but then she noticed that at every crime scene that had Crackle's calling card - a note usually with some flirtatious pickup line or message - there would be a tall, athletic-looking man with swept back brunette hair on the security footage who would leave right before they arrived and would turn right at the last second towards the camera as if knowing that they would be watching.

Sometimes, if Carmen squinted hard enough at the grainy footage, she could swear that the man would flash a cocky smirk that felt entirely too much like he was mocking her personally.

However, she didn't look closely that often because Player would tease her relentlessly about her 'checking out the suspect'.

He would laugh, "Maybe that's why we haven't caught him yet - you have puppy love for the perp." She didn't know how else to reply except by shooting him a quick, but indignant "Shut up!"

She was an independent young lady with high standards to match her high moral values who absolutely did not blush whenever she opened up those notes and she absolutely did not lay awake in bed thinking about him.

"Well... shit," Carmen said aloud to herself as she stared up at the ceiling of her apartment, her short hair bedraggled from tossing and turning on her mattress as the night went on.

His motivations didn't make sense.

Crackle would steal an assortment of priceless items like the Olympic gold medal of athlete-turned-coach Sarah Brunt, the abstract (and disturbing) fine art paintings of the renowned Professor Maelstrom, and the bejeweled necklace of Countess Cleo along with other objects of high value. With his prizes, he could absolutely sell them with ease on the black market and gain a fortune... but that wasn't the case. After a few weeks or months at most, the items would be found in the homes of their rightful owners - it was like he didn't want to steal for the money but rather because it was like a game to him.

It was almost like he just wanted the attention.

Carmen laughed to herself, "What a stupid idea. What kind of dumbass-"

She was startled as a sharp knock on the door broke through the silence of her apartment. Still half asleep and groggy the brunette rolled herself out of bed, thumping onto the hardwood floor. She groaned as she stood up unsteadily, checking herself over on her iPhone camera to make sure she was at least halfway decent. The bright screen of the phone momentarily blinded her as she squinted at the time. She hissed, "What the- what the fuck it's fucking three in the morning? Who the fuck?"

Suddenly alert, Carmen grabbed a her father's present from when she first moved out: a big ol' can o' mace. She stalked toward the sound of the knocking. Apparently, her visitor had already become bored while waiting as they had taken to rapping their knuckles to different beats on the wood like they were playing a drum.

When she looked through the peephole, she realized that it was the brunette suspect from all the crime scenes:

Crackle.

As she swung it open, the door hit the inside wall of her apartment with a loud bang. He stopped mid-knock to look down at her (and the nozzle of her pepper spray) with an odd expression that seemed to show shock, apprehension, and... something else she couldn't recognize. Slowly, he raised his hands up to show that he was unarmed and they stood frozen in her doorway silently sizing each other up for a few seconds. The tension felt like it could be cut through with a knife.

"So, uh..." Crackle trailed off as his eyes traveled over her black sheep onesie, "Come here often, Lambkins?"

Huh, he's an Aussie.

Carmen's expression hardened.

In a flash of movement, her right hand free of the mace reached up and grabbed the collar of his shirt with an iron grip as she dragged him into her apartment. Still holding onto him, she turned slightly to kick the door shut behind them.

When she turned back, she noticed a deep rosy blush had exploded over his face.

Seeing him over the grainy footage of a security camera was much different than seeing him in person.

Oh no, he's hot, she screamed internally.

Her external expression remained stony as she advanced forwards while he was forced to move backwards, hands still in the air. Carmen shoved him onto her bed while she remained standing with the pepper spray aimed towards him; he fell onto the mattress with a yelp. "Do you do this with every strange man who shows up at doorstep in the middle of the night? Don't you think it's a tad too forward, mate? Not that I'm complaining-" "Shut up." Carmen cut off his nervous rambling.

She continued, proud that her tone didn't betray her internal freak-out, "You're going to tell me why you did what you did."

From his sitting position he looked up at her with a cocky grin, "I did a lot of things today, Red. You're gonna have to specify-"

Suddenly, the detective threw the pepper spray off the side as she leapt onto him. The woman quickly maneuvered until she ended up with one forearm at his throat, the other arm pinning his hands tightly to the mattress above his head, and both her knees squeezed securely around his hips to ensure he couldn't escape. However, escape was last thing on his mind at that moment. Carmen stubbornly ignored his pink flush as she spoke, "Did I not tell you shut the fuck up, Crackle? Did I fucking stutter?" He slowly shook his head under her grip. "I'm going to let you get up, and you're going to tell me why you went through all the time and effort to steal all those things only to give them back. I'm not playing around - if you fucking twitch wrong I'm going to knock you out cold and with the rest of the force will be here before you can even blink. Nod if you understand." He slowly nodded and she moved herself back until she was standing again.

Although their contact had ended as quickly as it had begun, Carmen could still feel the way his pulse fluttered against her skin.

Crackle sat up from his previous position on the bed while still looking up at her as he rubbed his neck, "First of all, the name's Graham. My friends call me Gray and I suppose you should call me that considering how close we were just a few seconds ago." She huffed and crossed her arms, glaring at him.

He continued, "Alright, so you asked me why I would rob shit and return it right? Well it's simple, there is no tragic backstory or puzzle I just wanted to get your attention." He studied her face to gauge her reaction and almost laughed at the way her expression could only be described as 'carmen.exe has stopped working'.

The cogs in her head turned, still processing his reason (and confession) when she finally let out a hysterical giggle, "I had my suspicions, but I didn't think anyone would be that much of a dork." He looked at her offended, "What? Theft is absolutely a valid language of love if you're trying to lure in a detective!" His upset tone threatened to turn her giggling into unattractive chortling, "Says who? What disaster of a person recommended this to you?" "My friend Jean-Paul said that's how he snagged his husband!" The thief defended. She stopped for a second, thinking about the familiar name, "Oh yeah, I know Antonio and his husband. He totally would've given stealing as a flirtation technique." Carmen made a mental note to confront the couple later about their unorthodox relationship advice.

The detective thought for a moment, "Wait, I hadn't even met you before you starting stealing things. Why me?" Graham looked off to the side and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, "I was just visiting to precinct to drop off something I borrowed from Antonio when I saw you working on a case with your partner. I thought you were cute so asked Jean-Paul for his advice, and the rest is history." She looked at him with exasperation, "I can't fucking belie- I would've gone out with you if you just asked me like a normal person, dipshit! You didn't need to break the law! I needed to do so much paperwork because of you!" Carmen waved her hands about to help express her frustration.

Graham looked at her as he seemed to think something over, "Well, what if I ask you out like a normal person now? What do you say about meeting me at that little cafe on 20th Street between 7th and 8th Avenue? Maybe on Friday at 8:00 PM?" Carmen considered him for a moment, "Okay, I'll meet you there... if you promise to stop stealing stuff and just date me like anyone else would." His mouth twisted into a cocky smirk, "No promises." She groaned as she grabbed his elbow, hauling him up and started to walk him back towards her door, "Why did I think you would reply any differently?  Just... remember to bring your loot back to their owners."

"Of course, Lambkins"

"Don't call me that."

She opened the door and just as Graham was about the step out, she yanked him down so they were face-to-face; they were both hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu.

Carmen's stormy grey eyes peered into his as she spoke, "I just thought that you should know something before you leave: If I find out everything you've talked about was a lie? Or if you just disappear on me and don't show up on that date? I will hunt you down, I will find you, and I'll do worse things to you than what I did earlier when you got smart with me." Her soft voice was filled with warning.

Graham met her gaze with his own, his eyes eyes half-lidded, "Bold of you to assume that's not exactly what I want."

A rosy blush spread across her face as he smirked.

Carmen abruptly pushed him out the doorway and slammed it shut behind him, listening with her back to the wood until the sound of his footsteps in the hallway faded away.

She rubbed her face, tired from the events of the night as she shuffled back to her bed. Right as she was about to take a running leap onto the soft, inviting blankets, she noticed a folded piece of paper on her pillow. She hadn't even noticed him leave it there.

The brunette laughed to herself as she picked up the calling card and read aloud, "I’m supposed to be the thief, and yet you’ve stolen my heart." What a dork, she thought to herself.

And if Carmen's face heated up just a little bit then Player wasn't there to tease her about it.

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

Aaannd it’s time for part three!

Hi, scumbags!

I’ve finished part 3 of Once In Every Lifetime. This time it’s from Mike’s POV and will be available on Ao3 (scumbaganarchy), along with the other parts. I’ll be honest, this was a hard one to write and I’m not entirely sure why - it just wasn’t flowing arghhhhh - which is why it’s taken so long. I’m slightly worried it might be a bit boring? I don’t know, I’ll let you be the judge of that. I should also mention that this gets a tad dark towards the end. Nothing bad actually happens, it’s just something dark is implied. If you choose to read on, I hope you enjoy!

First part

Second part

Can’t You See?

“So, let me get this straight: you decided the reason Rick had to go meet his maker – ie, God’s much less talented younger brother – is because he told you he liked your hair?”

Mike wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t find Rick excruciatingly annoying or that he wouldn’t readily support Vyvyan’s desire to smash his face in on most days but this just didn’t make any sense.

“No, no, Michael – he said it looked nice without the gel in it, which is an altogether very different statement!” Vyvyan countered, seemingly adamant that his reaction was justifiable.

Thankfully, no one had followed the two them into the spare bedroom after the events outside; Mike wasn’t sure if he had the strength to hold Vyvyan back twice in one night. He was exhausted and could feel the bed – he was having the actual bed on offer, not the camp bed – calling to him, practically singing. There were no two ways about it: today had been a long day.

“We’re splitting hairs here, Vyv, come on. Why did that warrant the destruction of Neil’s mum’s lampshade?” he asked wearily, hooking his shades over the headboard, “Those suckers don’t come cheap!”

“Look!” Vyvyan snapped back somewhat testily, “He was only saying it ‘cos he’s a poof and he’s got no taste!”

Mike climbed into the bed and put his hands behind his head, staring at the pale ceiling. Not a cobweb in sight. Not a crack. He had forgotten that some people lived in clean houses. On the other side of the room, Vyvyan appeared to be following suit, the air of murder still smouldering around him stubbornly. Mike turned over and saw him run a hand through his flat hair in frustration.

“Most of us tend to accept compliments when the postman comes delivering,” he sighed, quickly followed by a yawn.

“But it wasn’t a compliment, Michael!” Vyvyan insisted.

The camp bed creaked uneasily as the punk wriggled about in it, trying to get comfortable. He finally stopped and glared over at Mike petulantly.

“No?” Mike asked.

“No! It was an invitation for a beating!”

Something in Vyvyan’s eyes flashed cagily. It was very likely just tiredness setting in, although Mike himself wasn’t awake enough to tell for sure. As far as he knew, Vyvyan didn’t really get tired – he simply passed out when he was bored enough – which made his apparent tiredness all the more unlikely.

“Remind me to knock you off my party invite list, then,” Mike quipped jokingly.

The sound of Vyvyan chuckling at that comment reassured him as he shuffled down into the sheets. Unfortunately, Mike was discovering Neil’s old pajamas were extremely itchy and far too warm for summer weather. All things considered, the warmth may have been due to the fact that they absolutely buried him but the point still stood! He would have to buy himself a proper pair as soon as he had the money, though he knew that in reality if he ran into some cash that pajamas wouldn’t be first on his list of things to buy. In fact, with the way Vyvyan was going with lampshades, it wasn’t as if there would be any money left for him to even consider spending on pajamas at all! Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

“I would never hurt you, Mike…” came the scratchy mumble from across the room, jerking him out of his bedwear concerns.

Vyvyan’s voice sounded softer, which Mike inferred to mean that sleep was taking a hold of him. He supposed it was a nice admission from the usually hostilely violent punk – that said, he wasn’t sure that he believed him, even if he did mean it in the moment.

“I know, Vyv,” he replied, “I know.”

“Just that spotty little bastard…” Vyvyan continued absently, “Why can’t he just go away…?”

Mike opened his eyes in mild surprise at the almost desperate question. He would have probed further but found that, quite possibly for the best, Vyvyan was now asleep; the drool already pooling on his otherwise spotless pillow being a big indicator.

“Well, well, well…” Mike murmured, smiling fondly before he went to drift off to sleep too.

Of course, something was going on with Vyvyan and Rick – the cool person realised this. He would be damned if he didn’t get to the bottom of it sooner or later.

~~~

The next morning, Mike was up earlier than he could remember ever being in his life: 7:00am.

Why? Well, that was a little more uncertain. He suspected it was down to nervousness even though Mike did not get nervous and that was a fact. Maybe the pressure of looking out for the other three had gotten to him, especially now that they were living with Neil’s parents and Vyvyan had already proven himself to be a health hazard. Honestly, Mike was out of plans if this all went tits up – and he didn’t mean in the sexy way.

Currently, he was stood looking down at his sleeping roommate, which was a rare experience in itself as Vyvyan was quite a few inches taller than him. The fashion crimes daring to call themselves clothes he had found in the chest of drawers opposite the beds were itching him perhaps more than the pajamas and Mike’s hair wasn’t looking quite as suave without his product in it. His shades were all he had left to preserve his dignity.

“Just because you’re in Neil’s house doesn’t mean you gotta start acting like him,” he chastised himself grumpily.

“Huh? Mike?”

His sudden outburst appeared to have stirred Vyvyan. It was about time, anyway. Mike cracked a smile for him and backed off, straightening out the covers on his own bed for the umpteenth time – a worrisome development he wasn’t proud of. Vyvyan squinted at him before sighing loudly.

“Oh god, I need a drink,” he rasped.

Mike laughed though he wasn’t feeling very humorous.

“We can go down and have breakfast once you’ve got dressed,” he pointed out, sitting down on the sheets in an effort to prevent himself from straightening them again.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Vyvyan explained groggily, getting up and almost falling into various expensive looking furnishing as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “I want a drink, Michael.”

Mike nodded in understanding.

“Maybe later, Vyv,” he suggested.

The pair were following the scent of food that didn’t smell like manky lentils not long after that. In their matching flared trousers, they descended the staircase; Mike in particular feeling glad that they both looked equally stupid. Vyvyan’s oddly fluffy hair was causing him minor worry due to the shenanigans of the night before but everything else was under control. Well, it would be if he managed to keep a straight face when addressing Vyvyan whilst the punk had on a ratty old shirt with ‘Peace and Love’ printed on the front. So far, Mike had only allowed himself a small smirk.

As they entered the dining room, Neil looked up from across the table and smiled like a rabbit in the headlights.

“Oh! Hi, guys…” he greeted awkwardly.

Vyvyan grunted and took a seat near the door. His focus instantly turned to the display of food on offer: toast and jams, various cereals, sausages, bacon, boiled eggs, hash browns and black pudding. Apparently not able to come up with a negative reaction to this almost fantastical amount of options, Vyvyan simply poured himself a messy bowl of cornflakes and reached for the ketchup.

“Morning, Neil,” Mike acknowledged before sitting down too and nabbing a slice of toast, “You have a good night?”

He wouldn’t usually have cared but there were more cards on the table than Neil’s sweet dreams; it was quite obvious that Rick wasn’t here yet. It would be far easier to discuss what they were going to do now with the four of them present, even if one of them was a prick. Luckily, Neil’s surprise at being asked such a question and the subsequent clattering when he dropped his spoon into his cereal managed to distract from the elephant in the room. He apologised quickly for the noise – to the bowl, if Mike’s eyes weren’t deceiving him – and turned to peer warily at the hallway beyond the door. What, did he think Rick was going to leap from behind the coats screaming “FASCIST!” or something? Actually… that probably wasn’t such an unfounded fear…

“Well, sort of,” Neil disclosed unhelpfully, “I think I, like, woke up at some point.”

Mike frowned and bit into his toast.

“You think? Don’t you know?” he asked.

“No, no – I mean, when I woke up, right, I could hear Rick-”

“Ooer!”

“What? No, he wasn’t doing that, Vyvyan!” Neil shuddered and continued, “He was, like, crying or something. I tried to ask him if he was alright – y’know, since… well… y’know – but he told me to piss off and said I was having a dream about him because I’m a ‘disgusting, little pervy’. So I dunno if it actually happened or not.”

Mike nodded, chewing his toast. Whatever conclusion Neil had come to was his business but there were certainly no doubts about the validity of this event in Mike’s mind. He glanced over at Vyvyan to gauge his reaction and saw that he was pointedly squirting even more ketchup into his bowl whilst simultaneously mixing at a growing speed. Mike sighed and stood up – there was only one thing for it.

“Alright, where’s Rick now?” he questioned with a perfectly disguised hint of dread.

“He’s making a phone call in the drawing room,” Neil explained, gesturing with his spoon and accidentally flicking milk over Mike’s already shameful attire, “Oh gosh! I’m sorry-”

“Don’t mention it; they’re your clothes anyway,” Mike pointed out.

He left in hunt of the drawing room, which turned out to be at the back of the house. All along the hallway were embarrassing photos of Neil from his childhood – school pictures, judging from the pompous shirts and blazers that the Neil he knew today would never be caught dead in. The shadow of moroseness in his eyes made it obvious even without the context of where these pictures were that the ageing child within them was Neil. His hair suddenly began to lengthen out once he reached what Mike assumed were his later teenage years. Hippies, eh?

Mike could hear Rick’s slightly irate voice echoing out from the drawing room as he approached the door. Surreptitiously, as Rick was currently facing away from him, Mike lent against the doorframe and crossed his arms. Strangely, he could detect a small amount of patience in the other’s tone. Whenever whoever Rick was talking to cut him off mid-sentence, however – which seemed to be a reoccurring theme of this conversation – he clenched his right fist and his posture became evermore rigid. Mike hoped he wasn’t about to lose his temper.

“Yes, I realise that, grandma… they were my wruddy parents! Don’t I have a wight to know? … But, grandma- yes, I know, I alweady explained that. I didn’t have access to a telephone, wemember?” Rick sighed loudly before going completely still. “Of course I care!” he snapped indignantly, “Look, just tell me what happened and I won’t bother you until the funewral.”

There was an uncomfortably long pause that seemed to make the atmosphere distinctly more uneasy. Then Rick slammed the receiver down.

He turned around quickly and jumped at the sight of Mike watching him.

“How long have you been listening for!?!” he demanded, twitching and pale faced… apart from the recent bruise.

“Didn’t hear a word, Ricky,” Mike lied smoothly as he stepped into the room, “Who was it?”

Rick visibly relaxed and laughed one of those fake laughs he thought he had perfected but in actuality was less convincing than Mike’s display of women’s underwear… wait a minute… forget that last bit!

“Oh, just my grandmother,” Rick explained oh so casually, “We always finish phone calls like that, you know – slamming the wreceiver down instead of saying goodbye. It’s a sort of in-joke in my family because we’re all so anarchical and don’t obey the norms of conversation.”

Mike chose to be the bigger person here and not make a comment about how most people already knew that Rick didn’t obey the norms of conversation. If Rick wanted to spout bollocks then Mike would let him, just this once.

“And they say families don’t come together anymore. Well, Rick, she tell you anything?” he asked in hope of a topic change.

“Yes,” Rick revealed amidst a jerky nod, “She told me that – uh – they’re having some trouble finding my parents’ wills. Also… she said they… they died in a… in a car crash.”

Throughout this admission, Rick had point blank refused to meet Mike’s eyes. A swirl in Mrs Pye’s garish carpet was where his focus was instead directed though it didn’t look like he was really taking it in. Mike nodded solemnly and reached over to pat Rick’s left arm.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he offered.

He supposed it would have been quite possible for him to have found out this detail the morning that a tearful neighbour of the Pratts had rung the shared house and informed him of Rick’s parents’ passing. Why hadn’t he asked how it had happened then? It was such an obvious thing to do now that Mike thought about it. It made him feel guilty – here, in this moment – which was not an emotion Mike liked to feel. The guilt grew worse when Rick finally looked back up at him, his eyes not quite focussed on the present. If Mike could have described him, he perhaps would have used the word ‘confused’. It didn’t feel quite right but descriptors weren’t Mike’s thing. Supposedly, they were Rick’s. This haunted looking Rick’s.

When it became clear that there wasn’t going to be a reply, Mike realised he was going to have to speak again.

“Come to the dining room, Rick, we’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Rick obliged – worrying in itself – in silence.

There was an ominous tension between the four of them that Mike was sure hadn’t existed in this way prior to last night. He was less sure of whether everyone was aware of it; Neil seemed to be, if his darting looks between Vyvyan and Rick were anything to go by. Vyvyan was ignoring Rick with some determination, still squeezing ketchup into his otherwise empty cereal bowl whilst Rick himself was sat on the chair closest to the wide, polished window and was staring out of it with little expression or reaction to life around him noticeable. Mike rubbed his chin.

“Alright,” he announced, trying to go for the tone of leadership, “Remember the plan, guys?”

No one responded so Mike coughed to cover up that his question hadn’t been rhetorical.

“We needed shelter – we’ve got that now.”

Neil cheered extra quietly.

“The next step is some dough. I know we’ve only just got here but we can’t stay forever – well, maybe Neil can – but as for the rest of us we’re gonna have to put that university education to work, if you know what I mean,” Mike explained, “The situation really is that severe.”

Vyvyan scrunched his face up and slammed the ketchup bottle on the table.

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, Michael?” he asked, sounding both excited and vaguely disturbed. Mainly excited.

“In all likelihood, Vyv, no. Our minds very rarely come to the same conclusion first time round. I was talking about the dread of entering the jobs market,” Mike admitted.

What had he- Oh. Ohh.

Of course, it wasn’t that such an idea was abhorrent to Mike; it simply wouldn’t have been fair on the others. He obviously would have gotten the most work, what with that copyright policy. Did that still apply now that they had been evicted? It did, Mike assured himself, of course it did. Vyvyan huffed in disappointment but thankfully didn’t go for the ketchup again. Rick still hadn’t so much as moved.

“Being the responsible guy that I am, I’ll take a butcher’s at the papers for work,” Mike offered after clearing his throat once more. He reached for the only paper adorning the Pyes’ dining table: ‘The Daily Mail.’ “There’s SPG to think about too.”

This reminder elicited a strong reaction from Vyvyan, who scowled deeply and set about draining the ketchup again.

“We don’t need to bother, Michael, he was a bastard anyway,” he muttered bitterly, “Besides, I left him in my car and they’re both gone now so it’s pointless.”

Vyvyan was truly in a stellar mood this morning; Mike feared for when the ketchup ran out.

“That’s up to you, Vyv,” he told him carefully, “That just leaves Rick’s-”

Rick suddenly re-joined reality at the sound of his name, standing up and turning to face the other three – well, two. It was clear Vyvyan wasn’t alone in his pointed ignorance. The unexpected movement from the so-called Peoples’ Poet caused Neil to jump.

“Woah! Rick, man-”

“Shut up, Neil!” Rick snapped instinctively. A look of realisation dawned on his face and he pinched the bridge of his noise and groaned, “Look, I didn’t mean- Oh, what’s the bloody point… Mike-” he addressed the cool person directly, “-I’m not sorting out the funewral – apparently I’m ‘not mature enough’,” he sulked, badly disguised hurt shining in his eyes.

“Oh,” Mike said because he couldn’t think of anything smarter. There’s a first time for everything, after all.

He wouldn’t have admitted it then but not having to organise the likely pricey funeral of two people was a bit of a relief. Hopefully, Mike was right to be relieved. Things couldn’t get worse still, could they?

Unfortunately for Rick, who looked as though he wanted to say something else, it was at this point that Neil’s mother entered the room like a lamb to the slaughter… no, no, that implied something bad was about to happen, which Mike certainly hoped it was not. She still appeared nervous at the site of the four young ones together. Of course, she wasn’t the only awkward Pye in the room: Neil hunched over marginally at her presence. Mike quickly plastered an entirely fake smile on.

“Good morning, Mrs Pye,” he greeted cheerily, “Lovely breakfast!”

Mrs Pye smiled back at him a little too tightly.

“Thank you…”

“He’s called Mike, mum.”

“Thank you, Michael. Neil’s father has gone to work and won’t be back until this evening. I was going to watch a few episodes of my favourite situation comedy before doing the washing up and you’re all – ah – welcome to join me, if you wish to,” she explained in gradually creeping unease.

The fixation Mrs Pye had with the back of Vyvyan’s spikeless head as she spoke couldn’t be ignored. Interesting, Mike noted, that whilst she couldn’t seem to remember their names, she could remember their viewing habits. Or was it just Vyvyan’s rant that she recalled? Hadn’t Mike referred to her as a “daft old cow” at some point? He hoped she didn’t remember that.

Vyvyan grit his teeth, perhaps to bite back a rude retort. Mike glanced at Neil purposefully – to be fair, she was his mother.

“I’ll come and watch with you,” Neil assured her with a sigh, submitting to Mike’s will fairly easily and getting up to go.

“Oh, good!” Mrs Pye gushed.

She was about to drag her son off to the drawing room when she must have noticed Rick.

“Richard, did you ring your grandmother?” she asked in the gentlest tone Mike had heard her use.

This was weird. Why has this happening? Was Neil… rolling his eyes behind her back? Vyvyan caught Mike’s eye; something had clearly happened last night. Well, something else. To add to the mystery, Rick’s response to his proper name was not one of synthetic outrage, it was more akin to a swotty student being asked a question by their favourite teacher.

“Yes, Mrs Pye,” he answered unnaturally calmly, “She was very weassuwring.”

He then smiled one of his nasty, little smiles and it was only thanks to the fact that Mike had had to live with him for three years that he could see it didn’t reach his eyes. Mrs Pye beamed, clearly – as Rick would say – “weassuwred”. The smile vanished with the Pyes as they left the room.

“I’m going upstairs,” Rick muttered under his breath.

Logically, Mike would muse later on, Vyvyan must have followed Rick not so long after. He was absorbed in the paper but had he really been so out of it that he hadn’t noticed the punk’s exit? Could Vyvyan teleport these days? A scary thought. Not quite as scary as the reoccurring one that there just weren’t any jobs Mike could see the four of them doing and sticking at, especially if they wanted money to live off independently. ‘The Daily Mail’ probably wasn’t best catered to their circumstances and Mike realised this; anyone who had ever met Vyvyan would have instantly seen that he wasn’t suited to the roll of a typist… mainly due to a sure rejection on his part at doing anything remotely “girly”. Still, you had to try, didn’t you?

The section that brought Mike out of his gloomy thoughts and alerted him to the distinct lack of Vyvyan, however, contained one stand out word:

BALOWSKI.

It shouldn’t have shocked Mike; it wasn’t uncommon for their former landlord to advertise his properties in the papers. The man could have owned a monopoly of houses all over Britain for all Mike was aware! They hardly knew him! Their interactions had consisted largely of rent dodging and psychotic breaks – your normal landlord stuff.

No, what surprised the cool person about this entry was that it wasn’t an advertisement. It was a small article informing readers that Mr Jerzei Balowski was dead, struck by lightning the same day he’d evicted the guys from the shared house.

“Well I never…”

It appeared this mini article was something of an exposé. Mike couldn’t help but chuckle as he read about the other Balowskis fighting over his legacy and business. Who wouldn’t? Mike definitely would have been in there biting ankles, given the chance. The only issue they were having – as well as who was going to inherit everything – was that with Balowski’s death had come some uncomfortable truths. Truths that felt awfully familiar.

“The front door fell off the first night we were here.”

“My roommate fell through a hole in his bedroom floor last month.”

“He attacked us with an axe once because the rent was late.”

Complaints. Lines and lines of complaints. The Balowskis were doomed and Mike was grinning.

Were the complaints true? Who cared! Although, having experienced Jerzei Balowski for himself, Mike was inclined to believe them.

The family were having to give out compensation to disgruntled tenants and this was eating away at the stash they were fighting over. Now, hang on a minute, this wasn’t funny anymore. This was actually very serious. They – ie, Mike, Vyvyan, Rick and Neil – could squeeze the Balowskis for money, maybe more if this story really took off. Wow. There might be good news yet!

“Vyv, you’re never gonna believe this-”

Mike looked up to see no one. Shit. Visions of last night’s violence flashed through his mind. He had to find Vyvyan. The paper was dropped immediately.

The title music for ‘The Good Life’ was playing as Mike raced up the stairs. With any luck, Neil and his mum would remain too distracted by the lovely Felicity Kendal to notice whatever was about to happen upstairs. Mike couldn’t believe Vyvyan sometimes; did he want to end up back on the streets or something?

Upon reaching the landing, it was with no small amount of dread that Mike noticed that the only closed door was to the spare room and that Rick wasn’t in Neil’s room. He hurried towards the spare room with his heart rate increasing, pausing once he reached it to peek through the keyhole. Ah yes. Rick and Vyvyan were in there. Luckily, nothing appeared to be broken yet.

“-that night in the alley was just too good to be twue, wasn’t it? I should have known it wouldn’t last! You don’t actually care!” Rick was ranting from across the room, his face stormy with unspoken words. He certainly looked on edge if nothing else.

As for Vyvyan, Mike couldn’t actually see him until he stomped into the spotlight and briefly obscured his view of Rick. He was clearly equally pissed off – was that steam rising from his ears or were Mike’s eyes playing tricks on him?

“I’m not your mum, Rick! I’m not going to be there to dab your tears away whenever you have a meltdown!” he snapped.

Rick scoffed in fake disbelief.

“I know you’re not my mother, Vyvyan! Do you know why? Because she’s dead! Because some great wruddy fascist in his stupid bloody car cwashed into her and daddy and killed them!” he fired back.

There was a silence then where the two seemed to Mike to be weighing each other up like slabs of meat. Rick had murder in his eyes – this being Rick, however, diminished how threatening this facial expression actually looked. He did look hurt, though, deeply hurt. Mike wasn’t sure why arguing with Vyvyan was having such a strong affect on Rick now, even if his parents’ deaths were making him more emotional than usual. They were Rick and Vyvyan. Wasn’t it normal for them to spend most of their time together bickering?  

“I know that-” Vyvyan cut himself off as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he had just been about to say.

“Oh, do you? Hurrah! Vyvyan’s memory extends more than five minutes!” Rick quickly butted in, stepping closer to the punk and scowling at him. “You know, just because your father wran away wather than face life with you-”

“Oi!”

“-and just because your mother is so nasty that you’d probably celebwrate if she died doesn’t mean it’s the same for me!”

And suddenly Vyvyan had Rick pinned to the wall opposite the door by the neck; Mike didn’t so much as see him move. This, to literally any other person, would have been deemed an obvious time to intervene and break up the fight. For Mike, on the other hand, it didn’t seem the right time to intervene at all – mostly because he didn’t think he could pry Vyvyan off Rick in that position but there was also the question of whether they both needed this confrontation in some way. The air needed clearing.

“You don’t know what it was like to grow up with her for a mother,” Vyvyan snarled in an unnaturally low tone, “So. Shut. Up.”

Rick – never one to pick the straightforward route when it came to practically anything – recovered quickly from his shock at being pinned to the wall and rolled his eyes at Vyvyan’s angry words.

“Ah yes, you’re wight, how silly of me. My parents actually wraised me wather than whatever dwagging up you’ve been subjected to!” he taunted; voice mildly squeaky thanks to the pressure on his neck.

He was goading Vyvyan on. He wanted him to snap.

“I’d rather have been dragged up and learnt how to take care of myself than been coddled my whole life by two middle class Tory voters until I was wetter than your bottom!” Vyvyan spat back.

Rick’s eyes widened in some form of outrage.

“SHUT UP!”

“Make me, Wicky,” Vyvyan teased him. He even laughed.

Naturally, Mike had seen enough of their fights to know that whenever Rick tried to be clever or gain the upper hand he failed abysmally. He always seemed to forget that Vyvyan was more capable of beating him – both physically and verbally – than he ever was of beating Vyvyan. In this particular situation, Mike had to wonder if Rick wasn’t some kind of masochist.

“I hate you!” Rick snivelled, having completely lost control of the argument, “I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU!!! GET OFF ME!!!!”

Gordon Bennett! He could really go from zero to eleven, couldn’t he? It was by some miracle that the Tom, Barbara, Margo and Jerry were managing to cover up Rick’s nigh-on screeching!

Unsurprisingly, Vyvyan didn’t abide by Rick’s request. Mike was beginning to think the time had come for him to make an entrance when he noticed Rick struggling to breathe. His hand was on the doorknob when-

“If you’re not going to get off then why don’t you end this once and for all? I can’t… I can’t cawry on like this, Vyvyan,” came Rick’s rasping voice. There was a tiredness that hadn’t been there before.

No reply.

“I know you’ve always wanted to and I’m giving you the opportunity,” he pressed more urgently, “W-why won’t you do it?”

Was this for real? The bottom dropped out of Mike’s stomach.

“Why won’t you let me see them again, Vyvyan?” Rick complained, unable to hide his sheer desperation, “Can’t you help me at least once? I-I want to see my parents again!”

Mike didn’t have a mirror handy but he was willing to place quite a hefty bet on the blood having drained from his face at Rick’s confession. This was bad. Very bad. Worse than he had imagined. Why wasn’t Vyvyan saying anything? He wasn’t going to bloody do it, was he!?! Dear God!

What happened next would change things forever. Mike went back to the keyhole just in time to see Vyvyan release a tearful looking Rick from his grasp. He wasn’t going to do it, then – phew! Still, the surge of relief Mike felt in that moment was replaced by absolute shock and an inability to form coherent thoughts in the one after. Vyvyan – angry, arguably insane and psychopathic, punkish Vyvyan – reached forwards and gript Rick’s face with both hands. Rick, for his part, barely had time to register any confusion before one of the hands had snaked its way to the back of his head and Vyvyan had pulled him into a vicious snog.

A snog. A kiss. Vyvyan Basterd and Rick Pratt were kissing.

Though he wanted to look away, Mike found that he could not. It was as if some supernatural force was holding him in place, mouth agape, forcing him to watch. A thought occurred in the seconds before Rick pulled away that this was all some crazy, drug-induced dream… but what drugs produced this!?!

More unbelievable still was that Rick didn’t appear to be in the slightest bit disgusted by what had just happened. The anger remained as did that gut-twisting misery in his eyes but he didn’t even look startled. Both of them were breathing rather heavily.

“That isn’t fair, Vyvyan,” Rick finally said.

He was quiet. His voice cracked. The tears that had been swimming in his eyes began to fall abruptly and he rushed towards the door.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mike muttered under his breath, diving, in his panic at being discovered spying, into the full washing basket that stood tall by the wall between the bathroom and Neil’s room. Was it repugnant in there? Yes. Could Mike smell all four of their body odours mixed in with the smell of old people? Indeed, he could. Nevertheless, all of that was preferable, in his view, to bumping into Rick like this and causing yet more drama.

Once he heard the tell tale sign of one door opening and another slamming shut, he allowed himself to come up for gasping for air.

“M-Michael?”

Vyvyan was stood in the middle of the landing and suddenly looked quite ill. Mike wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen the punk look scared before.

“You know, Vyv, there were several possibilities on my mind concerning what was up with you and Rick. I’ve got to tell you that sexual tension was only at number three.”

This was – of course – complete and utter bollocks.

~~~

And that’s that! I hope it was satisfactory. Next up is Vyvyan’s POV so you’ll finally get to see what he thinks about everything. Also, there’s a funeral looming…