#they’re a coupla bitches!

[readjthompson]

Happy Halloween, people. Here’s an all-new short story (© me, now), free to read.

Bayou Ma’am

by Jeremy Thompson

“Those bitches!” Claude exclaims. “Those lyin’, stinkin’, blue ballin’ whores! Makin’ us the butts of their jokes! Gettin’ us laughed at by everyone! We oughta find ’em and stomp their fuckin’ skulls in!”

“And how would we even do that?” I respond, focusin’ on my composure, compactin’ the shame and heartbreak I now feel into a teeny, tiny ball that I’ll soon entomb in my mind’s deeper recesses. “They said they’re flyin’ back to New York City tonight, to that precious little SoHo loft they wouldn’t stop braggin’ about. They wouldn’t have done what they did if they thought we might see ’em again.”

Andre says nothin’, unable to take his eyes from the iPhone he manipulates, alternatin’ between the Instagram profiles of two hipster sisters, to better appraise our debasement.

#bayoumen is the hashtag they affixed to photos they’d taken with us just a coupla hours prior, at the one bar this town possesses, which we fellas have yet to leave. They’d flirted and led us on, allowin’ me to buy ’em drink after drink and believe that maybe, just maybe, one or more of us would be blessed with a bit of rich girl pussy for a few minutes…or twenty. They’ve got relatives in the area, they claimed, and had just attended one’s funeral. Some black sheep aunt of theirs. A real nobody.

Finally, Andre breaks his silence. “Look at this, right here. They used some kinda special effect to give me yellow snaggleteeth. I go to the dentist religiously. Look at these veneers.”

Barin’ his teeth, he reveals a mouthful of perfect, blindin’-white dental porcelain.

“Yeah, and they made Claude’s eyes way closer together than they really are and gave ’im a unibrow,” I say. “And they gave me a neckbeard and a fiddle. Look pretty real, don’t they?”

“Look at all the likes they’re gettin’. Thousands already. Everyone’s crackin’ jokes on us, callin’ us inbreds and Victor Crowleys, whatever that means. Look, that bitch Marissa just replied to someone’s comment. ‘Those bayou gumps were so cringe, we’re lucky we didn’t end up in their gumbo,’ she wrote. Fuck this. I’mma give ’er a piece of my mind.” A few minutes later, after much furious typin’, Andre adds, “Well, now she’s blocked me. Probably never woulda told us their real names if they knew that we’re on social media.”

Indeed, outlanders often make offensive assumptions when learnin’ of our bayou lifestyles. Hearin’ of our tarpaper shacks, they assume that we do naught but wallow in our own filth every day and smoke pounds of meth. Earnin’ a livin’ catchin’ shrimps, crabs, and crawfishes doesn’t appeal to ’em. They’d rather work indoors, if they even work at all. Solitude brings ’em no peace whatsoever. They care nothin’ for lullabies sung by frogs and crickets. Ya know, maybe they’re soulless.

I wave the bartender over and pay our tab. Nearly three days’ earnings down the drain. “Let’s get outta here, fellas,” I say. “It’s time for somethin’ stronger. There’s blueberry moonshine I’ve been savin’ at my place. It’ll drown our sorrows in no time.”

“Your place, huh,” says Claude. “We ain’t partied there in a minute.”

* * *

The roar of my airboat’s engine—as I navigate brackish water, ever grippin’ the control lever, passin’ between Spanish moss-bedecked cypresses that loom impassively, fog-rooted—makes conversation a chore. Still, seated before me, Andre and Claude shout back and forth.

“Bayou men aren’t fuckin’ rapists!” hollers Claude. “We’re not cannibals neither! I can whip up a crawfish boil better than anything those stuck-up cunts’ve ever tasted!”

“Damn straight!” responds Andre. “Bayou men are hard-workin’, God-fearin’, free folk! If they should be scared of anyone around these parts, it’s Bayou Ma’am!”

“Bayou Ma’am?!” I shout, as if that moniker is new to my ears. “Who the hell’s that…some kinda hooker?!”

“Hooker, nah!” attests Claude. “She’s a…whaddaya call it…hybrid! Half human, half alligator, mean as Satan his own self!”

“I heard that a gator was attackin’ a woman one night!” adds Andre. “Then a flyin’ saucer swooped down from the sky and grabbed ’em both wit’ its tractor beam! Somehow, the beam melded the gator and his meal together all grotesque-like! The aliens saw what they’d done and wanted none of it, so they abandoned Bayou Ma’am and flew elsewhere!”

“I heard toxic chemicals got spilt somewhere around here and some poor teenager swam right through ’em!” Claude contests. “She was pregnant at the time! A few months later, Bayou Ma’am chewed her way right on outta her!”

“Damn, that’s fucked up!” I shout, well aware of the grim reality lurkin’ behind their tall tales.

* * *

Bayou Ma’am is my cousin, you see. As a matter of fact, she was born just seven months after I was, in a shack half a mile down the river from mine. Her mom, my Aunt Emma, died in childbirth—couldn’t stop bleedin’, I heard. Maybe if they’d visited an obstetrician, things would’ve gone otherwise.

My aunt and uncle were reclusive sorts, and no one but them and my parents had known of her pregnancy. There aren’t many residences this far from town, and none are close together. It’s easy to disappear from the world, to eschew supermarkets and restaurants and consume local wildlife exclusively. Uncle Enoch buried Aunt Emma in a private ceremony and kept their daughter’s existence a secret from everyone but my mom and dad. Even I didn’t meet her until we were both four.

One day, a pair of strangers shuffled into my shack—which, of course, belonged to my parents in those days, up ’til they moved to Juneau, Alaska when I was sixteen, for no good reason I could see.

“This is your Uncle Enoch,” my dad told me, indicatin’ a goateed, scrawny scowler. “And that’s his daughter, your cousin Lea.”

Though itchy and bedraggled, though dressed in one of Uncle Enoch’s old t-shirts that had been refashioned into a crude dress, Lea sure was a cutie. Her eyes were the best shade of sky blue I’ve ever seen and her hair was all golden ringlets. Shyly, she waved to me with the hand she wasn’t usin’ to scratch her neck.

The two of ’em soon became our regular visitors. I never took to my perpetually pinch-faced Uncle Enoch, with his persecution complex and conspiracy theories shapin’ his every voiced syllable. Lea, on the other hand, I couldn’t help but be charmed by. She had such a sunny disposition, such full-hearted character, that I was always carried away by the games her inquisitive, inventive mind conjured. Leavin’ our parents to their serious, sunless discussions, we hurled ourselves into the vibrant outdoors and surrendered to our impish natures.

“I’m a hawk, you’re a squirrel!” declared Lea. Outstretchin’ her arms, she voiced ear-shreddin’ screeches, and chased me around ’til we both collapsed, gigglin’. “Whoever collects the most spider lilies wins!” she next decided. “The loser becomes a spider! A great, big, gooey one! Yuck!”

We skipped stones and spied on animals, learned to dance, cartwheel and swim. We played hide-and-seek often, with whichever one of us was “it” allowed to forfeit the game by whistlin’ a special tune we’d improvised. It was durin’ one such game that Lea made a friend.

“I’m comin’ to get you!” I shouted, after closin’ my eyes and countin’ to fifty. Our environs bein’ so rich in hiding spots, expectin’ a lengthy hunt, I was most disappointed to find my cousin within just a few minutes. There she was, at the river’s edge. Behind her, towerin’ cypress trees seemed to sprout from their inverted, ripplin’ doppelgangers. So, too, did Lea seem unnaturally bound to her watery reflection, until I stepped a bit closer and exclaimed, “Get away from there, quickly! That’s a gator you’re pettin’!”

Indeed, we’d both been warned, many times, to avoid the bayou’s more dangerous critters. Black bears and bobcats were said to roam about these parts, though we’d seen neither hide nor hair of ’em. Snakes flitted about the periphery, never lingerin’ long in our sights. We’d seen plenty of gators swimmin’ and lazin’ about, though. As long as we kept our distance and avoided feedin’ ’em, they’d leave us alone, we’d been told.

“Oh, it’s just a little one!” Lea argued, scoopin’ the creature into her arms and plantin’ a smooch on his head. “A cutie-patootie, friendly boy. I’m gonna call ’im Mr. Kissy Kiss.”

I studied the fella. Nearly a foot in length, he was armored in scales, dark with yellow stripes. Fascinated by his eyes, with their vertical pupils and autumn-shaded irises, I stepped a bit closer. Mr. Kissy Kiss’ mouth opened and closed, displayin’ dozens of pointy teeth, as Lea stroked him.

“Well, I guess he does seem kinda nice,” I admitted. “I wonder where his parents are.”

“Maybe his mommy and daddy went to heaven, and are singin’ with the angels,” said Lea.

“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” I mockingly singsonged.

Suddenly, a strident shout met our ears: my mother callin’ us in for lunch. Carefully, Lea deposited Mr. Kissy Kiss onto the shoreline. He then crawled into the water—never to return, I assumed.

Boy, was I wrong. A few days later, I found Lea again riverside, feedin’ the little gator a dozen snails she’d collected—crunch, crunch, crunch. A week after that, he strutted up to my cousin with a bouquet of purple petunias in his clenched teeth.

“Ooh, are these for me?” Lea cooed, retrievin’ the flowers and tuckin’ one behind her ear. “I love you so much, little dearie,” she added, strokin’ her beloved until his tail began waggin’.

Their visits continued for a coupla months, until mean ol’ Uncle Enoch caught us at the riverside as we attempted to teach Mr. Kissy Kiss to fetch. Oh, how the man pitched a fit then.

“No daughter of mine’ll be gator meat!” he shouted. “Sure, he’s nice enough now, but these bastards grow a foot every year! By the time he’s eleven feet long and weighs half a ton, you’re be nothin’ but a big mound of shit he left behind.” Seizing Lea by the arm, my uncle then dragged her away.

When next we did meet, a few days later, my cousin wasted no time in leadin’ me back to the riverside. “Where are you, Mr. Kissy Kiss?” she wailed, until the little gator swam from the shadows to greet her. Sweepin’ him into her arms, she said. “Let’s run away together, right this minute, so that we’ll never be apart.”

“Oh, that’s not such a great idea,” a buzzin’ voice contested. “Little girls go missin’ all the time and their fates are far from enviable.”

“Who said that?” I demanded, draggin’ my gaze all ’cross the bayou.

“’Tis I, Lord Mosquito,” was the answer that accompanied the alightin’ of the largest bloodsucker I’ve ever seen. Its legs were longer than my arms were back then. Iridescent were its cerulean scales, glimmerin’ in the sun.

“Mosquitos don’t talk,” I protested.

“They do when they were the Muck Witch’s familiar. Now she’s dead and I’m free to fly where I might.”

“I ain’t never hearda no Muck Witch.”

“And she never heard of you. That’s the way of southern recluses. Still, such is the great woman’s power that she grants wishes even now, from the other side of death. The Muck Witch’ll ensure that you never part with your precious pet, little Lea, just so long as you follow me to her grave and ask her with proper courtesy.”

Well, I’d been warned about witches and the deceitfulness of their favors, so I attempted to drag Lea back to my shack, away from the bizarre insect. But the girl fought me most ferociously, clawin’ flesh from my face, so I ran for my parents and uncle instead.

By the time the four of us returned to the riverside, neither girl nor gator nor mosquito could be sighted. We searched the bayou for hours, shriekin’ Lea’s name, to no avail.

A few weeks later, after we hadn’t seen the fella for a while, my parents dragged me to my uncle’s shack, so that we might suss out his state of mind and offer him a bit of comfort.

“I found her,” Uncle Enoch attested, usherin’ us into his livin’ room, which was now occupied by a large, transparent tank.

Atop its screen lid, facin’ downward, were dome lamps that emanated heat and UVB lightin’ from their specialized bulbs. Silica sand and rocks spanned its bottom, beneath a bathtub’s wortha water. At one end of the tank, boulders protruded from the agua. Upon ’em rested a terrible figure. If not for the recognizable t-shirt she wore, I’d never have surmised her identity.

“Luh…Lea?” I gasped. “What in the world has become of ya?”

Indeed, though Lea had wished to always be with her beloved gator, I doubt that she’d desired for the creature to be merged with her, to be incorporated into Lea’s very physicality. Patches of scales were distributed here and there across her exposed flesh. Her beautiful blue eyes remained, but her nose and mouth had stretched into an alligator’s wide snout, filled with many conical teeth. And let’s not forget her long, brawny tail.

After our initial shock abated and dozens of unanswerable questions were voiced, my parents took me home. Never again did they return to my uncle’s shack, but a dim sense of familial obligation had me comin’ back every coupla weeks, to feed Lea local muskrats and opossums I’d captured, and help my uncle change her tank’s shitty water.

The years went by, and Lea moved into a succession of larger tanks. Eventually, she grew big enough to wear her mother’s old dresses, seemin’ to favor those with floral patterns.

Finally, just a coupla months ago, I arrived at the shack to find Lea’s tank shattered. Torn clothin’ and scattered bloodstains were all that remained of Uncle Enoch, and my cousin was nowhere to be seen.

Not long after that, the Bayou Ma’am sightings began, which vitalized increasingly outlandish rumors and the occasional drunken search party. Luckily, no one has managed to photograph or film Lea yet, as far as I know.

* * *

At any rate, back in the present, I cut the airboat’s engine, leavin’ us driftin’ along our twilight current. It takes a moment for our arrested momentum to register with Claude and Andre, then both are bellowin’, askin’ me what the fuck’s goin’ on.

Rather than voice bullshit answers, I whistle the special tune my cousin and I improvised all those years ago, again and again, to ensure that I’m heard.

Moments later, Lea bursts up from the water, wearin’ a floral dress that had once been red-with-white-lilies, before the bayou muck spoiled it. In the fadin’ light, blurred by her own velocity, she could be mistaken for a primeval relic, a time-lost dinosaur of a species hitherto unknown. But, as her nickname had been so freshly upon their lips, both of my passengers, nearly synchronized, cry out, “Bayou Ma’am!”

Whatever the fellas might’ve said next is swallowed by their shrieks, as Lea tackles Andre out of his passenger seat while simultaneously swattin’ Claude across the face with her tail. The latter’s nose and mouth implode, spillin’ gore down his shirt.

Attemptin’ to gouge out Lea’s eyes as she and he roll across the deck, Andre instead loses both of his hands to her snappin’ teeth. Blood fountains from his new wrist stumps as he falls unconscious.

Claude tries to dive off the side of my airboat, but Lea’s powerful mouth has already seized him by the leg, its grip nigh unbreakable. She begins shakin’ her head—left to right, right to left—until Claude’s entire right calf muscle is torn away and swallowed.

“Ah, God, that hurts!” he shouts. His eyes meet mine and he begs, “Help me! Kill the bitch!”

“Sorry,” I respond, comfortably perched in the driver seat, an audience of one, watchin’ Lea’s teeth tear through the fella’s arm, as his free hand slaps her snout.

After Lea’s mouth closes around Claude’s skull, my friend’s struggles finally cease. Not much is left of him now. All of his thoughts and feelings have surely evanesced.

Groggily, Andre returns to consciousness, only to find himself helpless as Lea tears away his pants and consumes his right leg, then his left. She takes special delight in dinin’ on his genitals, as is evidenced by her waggin’ tail.

Blood loss carries Claude’s soul away, even as Lea moves onto his abdomen.

* * *

I’ll miss Claude and Andre. Friends aren’t easily attained in the bayou and they were the best ones I’ve ever had. All of the memories we made together will be carried only by me now. When I’m gone, it’ll be as if those events never happened.

Perhaps I should say a prayer as I push what little is left of their corpses into the dark river, but all I can think to say is, “Farewell, cousin,” as Lea swims away, glutted. Does she even care that I sacrificed chummy companionship to help keep her existence unknown?

It’s tough as hell to fight a rumor, but I’m sure gonna try. I’ll say that Claude and Andre hitchhiked to Tijuana, cravin’ a bit of prostituta. No need to further enflame the Bayou Ma’am seekers. If many more of ’em disappear, it’s sure to spell trouble for Lea.

Perhaps my cousin’ll be captured one day, for display or dissection. Or maybe I’ll discover the Muck Witch’s grave and attempt to wish Lea back to normal. Is Lord Mosquito still alive? If so, can it be persuaded to help?

Whatever the case, I wasn’t lyin’ about that blueberry moonshine earlier. Lickety-split, I’ll be drinkin’ my way into slumberland, and therein escape familial obligation for a while.

[artofapeach]

Top favorite Verosika ships? They can be your own or just ones that stood out to you the most

Verbie all the wayyyyyyyyy they’re vibes are IMMACULATE

Also, I know it’s not popular, but I do actually like Blitzika too! But similar to the way that I like Blitzfizz; I don’t actually want them together, I’m just morbidly curious in what their relationship was like and how they fell apart. You can’t tell me Blitz and Verosika weren’t a coupla bad bitches when they were dating. The hottest couple in the room and they knew it ✋🏽😭

[iffltd]

celebrating the 50th anniversary of the release of Robert Altman’s original film adaptation of the novel MASH a story about three Army doctors (a coupla years late)

Frame 1

PAINLESS: Shame Henry wasn’t here. He’d a thought it was a real radio program.

BANDINI: I thought it was a radio program--

UGLY JOHN:  We should send a letter of commendation--

PAINLESS: --to the Armed Forces Radio Network--

BANDINI:  Yes. Wonderful. It was the most uplifting program I’ve ever heard.

PAINLESS: It was climactic.

Frames 2 - 6

TRAPPER JOHN (to the Korean mess servers): Morning, ladies.

DUKE (to Major Houlihan): Well hiya, Hot Lips.

She swirls on him, her breakfast sloshing onto Trapper.

TRAPPER JOHN:  Oh my goodness, over my--

HAWKEYE (squeezing past her):  I’m sorry to touch you but I--

She storms away,,,,,

TRAPPER JOHN (affects a “fey” tone):  Well what’s the matter with her today?

HAWKEYE (similarly affected):  I don’t know. It must be one of those ladies’ things.

As Hot Lips pushes past those in line, Hawkeye and Trapper continue their “fey” mockery....

TRAPPER JOHN:  It’s not like her to act like this--

HAWKEYE:  No. I mean she’s made such a--

TRAPPER JOHN:  she’s a bitch.

Hot Lips struggles beyond agitated to get out of the Mess tent.

HAWKEYE  (losing the affectation):  I think she’s going to have a nervous breakdown.

TRAPPER JOHN (normal tone of voice):  She can’t even get out of the door.

Frame 7- 8

HAWKEYE (sits across from Major Burns with his tray): Morning, Frank.  Heard from your wife?

Hawkeye whistles his trill with a kind of breathless intensity.

Frame 9

Radar greets Colonel Blake as he returns, his jeep pulling to a stop and he climbs out....

RADAR:  Morning Colonel. You forgot your briefcase.

HENRY (like almost always, vaguely distracted):  Yes, I left it in the jeep.

RADAR (as he retrieves the briefcase):  You left it there.

HENRY (as he accepts the briefcase from Radar):  Yes, I forgot it.

As Leslie emerges from her tent....

HENRY:  Morning, Captain.

LESLIE:  Morning, sir.

HENRY:  I hope you didn’t have to-- (hands the briefcase back to Radar) --here take care of this--  (back to Leslie)  I hope you didn’t have to bother with those shirts.  It wasn’t necessary.

LESLIE:  Too late, sir. It’s a done thing.

HENRY:  Well, thank-you.

Sgt. Vollmer rushes up to Colonel Blake, salutes him....

VOLLMER:  Colonel, sir.  How was your visit, sir?

HENRY:  Great. The General wasn’t there.

VOLLMER:  Listen, about last night sir, there was just nothing I could do about it. Sir.

HENRY:  Nothing?

VOLLMER: Nothing.

HENRY:  Well, it couldn’t have been helped.

VOLLMER:  Thank you, sir.

As Leslie gives him a dirty look, Vollmer skee-daddles with his good luck....

Henry notices something in the Mess, turns there with Radar and Leslie....

HENRY:  What’s that?

HENRY:  Frank Burns and Hawkeye Pierce.  Very encouraging.

HAWKEYE:  A bunch of the boys asked me to ask you, Frank, what Hot Lips was like in the sack.

HAWKEYE:  Y’know, was she--

FRANK:  Mind your own business.

HAWKEYE:  No, Frank. Y’know, is she better than self-abuse?

DUKE:  What’s that all about? He gonna get some pointers or something?

TRAPPER JOHN:  No, Hawkeye’s gonna sign him up to make a personal appearance tour in all the camps in Korea.

DUKE: ‘Sthat a fact....

HENRY:  Wonder what they’re saying. Can you make it out?

HAWKEYE:  Does that big ass a hers move around a lot Frank or does it just sort of lie there flaccid?

HAWKEYE:  What would you say about that?

RADAR:  Hawkeye’s questioning the Major on a point of anatomy.

HENRY:  Very  good -- exchanging ideas.

HAWKEYE:  Would you say that she’s a moaner, Frank?

HENRY:  What is Burns saying?

RADAR:  Major Burns isn’t saying much of anything. sir. I think he’s formulating the answer.

HAWKEYE: Seriously, Frank.I mean, does she go UhhhUhhhhUhhh.... Or does she just lie there quiet and not do anything at all?

FRANK:  Keep your filthy mouth to yourself!

HAWKEYE:  Or does she go UH-UH-UH-UH--

Frank lunges across the table, throttles Hawkeye!

HAWKEYE:  GET HIM OFF ME!  GET HIM OFF ME!

DUKE:  What’s goin’ on, Frank?  That lesson one?

HAWKEYE:  FRANK BURNS HAS GONE NUTS!

HAWKEYE:  I’m wearing glasses, for God’ssake!

TRAPPER JOHN:  Watch out for goodies, Hawkeye -- that man’s a sex maniac. I don’t think Hot Lips satisfied him.  Don’t let him kiss you, Hawkeye!

DUKE:  Frank, we love ya!

OVER P.A.: Radio Tokyo PLAYS “Sometimes You Have to Say Sayonara”

DUKE:  Colonel, fair’s fair. If I nail Hot Lips and punch Hawkeye can I go home?

SCORCH:  Hawkeye!

HAWKEYE:  Yeah, be there in a minute.

SCORCH:  Hawkeye!

HAWKEYE:  Shit.

HAWKEYE:  Okay.  Hey, Seidman, get another guy. We gotta take this into the O.R. just on the stretcher.

(to soldier whose neck bleeds like crazy)

Hold on.  You’re gonna be just fine, fella.

(to Scorch)

Okay, I can’t move my hand.  Come on.

TRAPPER JOHN  (off-screen at another O.R. table to Hot Lips):  Have you got the cutdowns, darling?

HAWKEYE (to soldier):  You’re gonna go to sleep.  You’re gonna be just fine.

TRAPPER JOHN:  Hot Lips, let me have one of your sterile knives, please.

HAWKEYE (to Scorch):  I’m gonna need two vascular clamps.

SCORCH:  All right.

HAWKEYE:  And an arterial suture.  As soon as you give me the clamp, I want you to be ready to gown and glove me.  All right?

HAWKEYE:  Ready? Okay.

SCORCH:  Yeah.

HAWKEYE:  Here we go. It’s gonna spurt a bit.

UGLY JOHN  (works anesthestesia):  You got it?

HAWKEYE:  Aye, aye, baby.

HAWKEYE:  Clamp.

SCORCH:  Yeah.

HAWKEYE:  Okay. Gown.

As Scorch quickly fits him....

HAWKEYE:  Gloves.  Y’got that arterial suture ready?

SCORCH:  Yeah.

HAWKEYE:  Okay.

(to Ugly John)

 Ugly, move outta the way ‘cause  I’m looking around over there.

(as he gets to work)

Baby, we’re gonna see some stitchin’ like you never saw before!

P.A. OVERLAPPING into next scene:  Attention. Attention. This is from Colonel Blake’s office.

OVER P.A.:  The American Medical association has just declared marijuana a dangerous drug.  Despite claims by some physicians that it is no more dangerous than alcohol, that is no longer found to be the case.

LIEUTENANT DISH (to Trapper):  Oh really?   When did you get them.  (with stethoscope)  Let me try it on you.

Father Mulcahy ENTERS.

DUKE:  Hey!  Dago Reddo!  Just in time for cocktails.

DAGO RED:  No. No, I can’t, really.  Hawkeye. Hawkeye?  Can I speak to you?

HAWKEYE:  Yeah, sure.

DAGO RED:  No. Outside.

HAWKEYE:  What?

DAGO RED:  I have to talk to you outside.

HAWKEYE:  You all right?

(a familiar little dog rushes up to him)

Hiya, pup-pup.

DAGO RED:  Sorry to drag you away from the gang in there--

HAWKEYE:  What?

DAGO RED:  This will only take a moment. There’s a problem with Walt Waldowski.

HAWKEYE:  Painless?

DAGO RED:  Painless.

HAWKEYE:  Y’got a toothache?  He’s a good dentist.

Dago Red:  No, no, no, it’s not my problem. See, it’s his problem.

HWKEYE: What do you mean?  What is it?

DAGO RED:  Well, what is it.... That’s-- It’s difficult to talk about, you see,  because I learned about his problem in confession.

HAWKEYE:  And you can’t....

DAGO RED:  I can’t divulge--

HAWKEYE:  Can you give me a hint?

DAGO RED:  But I--

HAWKEYE:  Just an idea--

DAGO RED:  Well, no.  But I can tell you how serious it is.

DAGO RED: He and the boys were playing poker and one of the boys turned to him and asked for a ruling on one of the hands and Walt said, he said, “What does it matter?  It’s only a game.”

HAWKEYE:  Painless said “what does it matter? It’s only a game”?  Poker, only a game?

DAGO RED:  Yeah.

Hawkeye whistles -- only this time with amazement.

DAGO RED:  Yeah. That’s what I thought.

HAWKEYE:  i guess I better go see a man about a tooth.

DAGO RED:  Thank you. See I didn’t know what I--

HAWKEYE (as he leaves): C’mon pup-pup.

DAGO RED:  You see there are some....

DAGO RED:  There are some things absolution just....

[saanphoenix]

“Why do so many old-school FFVII fans think that Cloud took Zack’s memories?”

Alright, so first things first. We gotta start from the beginning. We gotta start with Jenova.

Jenova is the name given to the alien entity known as the Calamity. “Heaven’s dark harbinger.” This being, assumed to be female because of the body she was in at the Crater, was basically godlike in her natural abilities. Historically, she was able to shapeshift. She was telepathic. She had a nigh indomitable will. And she used her abilities to infect the race of human(oid)s that happened upon her crash site--the Cetra.

Now, Ifalna, within the English translation of the OG, states that Jenova turned the Cetra into monsters, nearly wiping them all out, and that the wee few that remained basically had to be sacrificed to seal Jenova away before she could do anymore damage to all life on the planet. The notes Sephiroth finds within the Shinra Mansion seem to corroborate this version of events, as he tells Zack that the Cetra chose to fight the Calamity while the other humans “hid”, thus being spared Jenova’s shenanigans, allowing them to become the dominant race on the planet, but ultimately being cowards unworthy to be the shepherds of any star, to quote Emet-Selch from FFXIV. Stay with me now.

We also know that the notes Sephiroth reads within the Shinra Mansion do not, in any way, call Jenova the Calamity. They still refer to her as a Cetra. Meaning that those notes are outdated, before the discovery of a living Cetra, a Cetra who is 2000 years removed from her own people’s history. Right? So.

(’Ah, but what about Genesis point-blank telling Sephiroth the truth? He knew what was up!’ Yes, because Hollander and Hojo found out from Gast’s recordings, and Ifalna herself, what Jenova actually was, and then Hollander told Genesis, who then said some stupid ass shit to trigger Sephiroth into looking into the wrong information, and now Nibelheim is not Nibelheim anymore and Cloud is missing one more family member than he was when he joined Shinra. Also, fuck Genesis. Anyway.)

HOJO, yeah? Hojo, in two separate novels written by Nojima himself, states to Aerith and Tseng separately that Jenova 1) will inevitably infect all life on the planet with her “cells” because of the very nature of the Lifestream and 2) turned the Cetra against each other via subtle manipulation and illusions of their loved ones, dead or alive, conceived from their own memories. She didn’t show up looking like the Eldritch horror with the eyeball nipple, she showed up looking like a run-of-the-mill Cetra. And she would further disguise herself as people a Cetra knew in order to gain their trust. And then, after she had gained that trust, she would say shit like, “Hey. Your friend over there hates you,” or, “Hey. Your friend over there wants to kill you.” And thus the Cetra, at the very least morally but probably also physically, became monsters and tore themselves apart.

You ever wonder why everything the Cetra had was booby-trapped and hidden behind riddles and self-sacrificial bullshit like their Temple? My guess is because Jenova made it so they couldn’t trust anyone, even themselves.

“Why did I read all that? What does that have to do with Cloud voring Zack’s memories?”

Because we gotta understand the mechanics of this bitch first so that we know what to look out for.

Now, we have an alien in stasis--presumed dead but definitely not--and a buncha scientists who really want a coveted spot sucking President Shinra’s dick as head of the Science Dept. who all think that taking the genetic material of a Cetra and splicing it into a modern-day human’s DNA will give them a Geiger counter to the Promised Land. Which they want to use as fuel because only some of them really understand what mako is and the others are just fucking stupid. Anyway, my guess is that they archeology their way to Jenova’s still-kinda-alive corpse and do some DNA testing and go, “Ah! We’ve found a Cetra. It has to be one! She’s by the crater, after all, and that’s where some of them were nuked by a Meteor! :) We’re geniuses!” And Jenova, in the Lifestream, went, “GOTCHA, BITCH!”

And through the power of dino DNA, out pops a lot of nonviable lifeforms, some monsters, and, eventually, a relatively normal kid with a flare for the dramatic who will become wholly obsessed with apples and very boring literature that he will insist on repeating every five goddamn seconds. As he was no Geiger counter to the Promised Land, out pops another relatively normal kid who will grow up to have dreams, and honor, and steal food from his neighbors because he was so damn honorable that he just could not ask for a handout.

With Hollander and Gillian’s experiments not producing anything of note other than children that need love and support, Hojo and Lucrecia decide to take a slightly different sample of Jenova’s cells and just start sticking them everywhere. They’re in Lucrecia. They’re in Lucrecia’s fetus. And...something strange starts to happen.

Lucrecia starts to feel the effects of Jenova. Lucrecia’s mind and body start to kind of deteriorate. Not the way that Genesis’ and Angeal’s do later on, but she is plagued by shit like severe depression and fatigue. She falls out on the floor multiple times. Her bodyguard is a little late on pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at her husband and, instead of doing anything productive about her husband proving he’s an amoral murderous fuckhead, she just decides to play doll with her kinda undead bodyguard, get even sicker, and then, finally, pops out a very strange looking baby. In fact, he looks a little alien.

“No, seriously, what does this have to do with anything?”

Genetics. How Jenova cells work. Whatever clump of cells they injected into Lucrecia, clearly different from those used in Project G, seemed to focus more on the mental fuckery aspect of Jenova than the physical, shapeshifting aspect of Jenova. I would also argue that one of the reasons Lucrecia was so adversely affected by the cells and Gillian was not is their mental well-being. Gillian, even when we meet her, seems very upbeat and doing pretty okay despite her husband having died from exhaustion a coupla years back. Lucrecia was depressed and very subservient even before she married Hojo. Losing her mentor--Vincent’s father--probably exacerbated that. And, later in Advent Children, that sort of mentality--hopelessness and despair--is what Sephiroth’s Geostigma feeds off of. That and thoughts of death/dying. But that is more speculation than anything.

So, Sephiroth’s cells are different from Genesis’ and Angeal’s, and they were all three bred differently, but they’re all kinda chimeras of Jenova’s. And once Genesis learns about his origins, it’s like the lightbulb goes off. This guy’s creating clones by infecting his 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs with his own cells. And when he does that, their physical appearance becomes his own. As does their will. Whatever Genesis wants, the clones also want. And then he just grows a wing for shits and giggles. Once he tells his BFF Angeal the sitch, behold! He’s got monster clones--maybe because he realizes how fucked up overwriting a human being with yourself is--and wings, too. ...Why?

The power to do all of this shit was always there. It was genetically always there. They just had to be made aware of it, to have the puzzle piece put into place. When Sephiroth dies, that puzzle piece is put into place. And then he starts fuckin’ with shit. And turns into monstrous angels. And then dies again. And then comes back and finally grows himself his own wing. He did it, fellas. He’s a big boy now.

But we’re not here to talk about Sephiroth--ignore how much I talked about Sephiroth and his mommies previously--we’re here to talk about ZACK and CLOUD.

“What’s up with Zack and Cloud?”

First, what we must realize is that even though Hojo says that both Zack and Cloud are failed clones because they 1) didn’t take on any physical characteristics of Sephiroth, 2) didn’t seem controlled by Jenova (or Sephiroth) and, 3) didn’t exhibit the other signs of a Reunion impulse like the other clones in Nibelheim that does not mean that Sephiroth’s cells, Jenova’s cells, are not working on them.

As we’ve observed in other 1sts, abilities do not always manifest immediately or even noticeably. Clearly, Sephiroth’s physical appearance is a bit of a hint, but Genesis and Angeal look pretty damn normal and, if it weren’t for their mako injections, they probably wouldn’t be showing that much of an increase in physical capabilities. Theoretically. Maybe 10-year-old Angeal had biceps the size of a man’s head. I mean. Pff.

Zack’s tolerance to Jenova was strong due to his previous exposure in the SOLDIER program. Cloud’s mind broke pretty early on. Neither of these results matter to the fact that they both now have Sephiroth’s cells within them--just as Genesis’ and Angeal’s clones had theirs--and that their very wills are now going to be affected by Sephiroth’s. But they are also going to be a little bit like him in terms of power.

Zack’s hair, when ingested by a Genesis clone, a clone of a Type-G SOLDIER, transforms that clone into a monster. Zack doesn’t even have to do anything. The Jenova/Sephiroth cells within his body can just Do That, cause that change in another life form, of their own accord. I’m honestly shocked that, whenever they gave Zack these S-cells, HE didn’t turn into a monster. But that’s neither here nor there. I wanna talk about Cloud.

Cloud has mako poisoning, which the Remake describes as his spirit/soul being stuck between his body and the Lifestream. Weird. Anyway, he’s not fully aware of his surroundings at all times, and he clearly can’t control his body that much. He somehow has the ability to kinda get his feet shuffling, and I’m going to go on a limb and say he can chew whatever food Zack gives him, but most of the time, he’s a puppet with cut strings.

But he is also still recovering from a mind break caused by Jenova cells. The same cells that are just chilling in his body, like they are in Zack’s. And all the months Zack is dragging his ass across a continent, an ocean, and another continent, they and Cloud are listening to whatever the fuck Zack is saying. Cloud is also constantly in physical contact with Zack.

In The Kids Are Alright: A Turks Side Story, Kadaj has the power to not only read surface thoughts and memories just by being near someone, but he can also read deeper ones by making physical contact with someone. Because Jenova. And Sephiroth, whose cells Cloud and Zack have, in the OG demonstrates that he, too, can glean thoughts and memories from others. Because Jenova.

If this power is a genetic trait, as it is with Genesis and Angeal, then, sitting pretty underneath their skin, Zack and Cloud have this ability. Dormant. Snoozing. Kinda like the 1st Class Trio’s wings.

But Zack has a high tolerance and a high ignorance to Jenova and just what he might be capable of. Cloud’s mind is floating in and out at best. He’s not in control of himself. And when you have a situation like that, it is very, very easy to come to the conclusion that Cloud’s Jenova cells are passively absorbing the memories of Zack’s time in Nibelheim. That they are knitting these memories together with what little remain in Cloud’s head. That when Tifa comes across Cloud at the train station and calls him by name and remembers who he is that Cloud’s Jenova cells latch onto those memories in Tifa--as Sephiroth tells them they did--and they knit those memories with Zack’s and Cloud’s and the end result is the man we get at the beginning of the OG.

Because Cloud has visual memory of shit he never saw. It’s not just a visual medium telling a visual story. You wanna know how I know that for a fact? Because, in the Remake, Cloud remembers Sephiroth walking up to Jenova’s tank in the reactor from Sephiroth’s perspective. He is looking through Sephiroth’s eyes, through his memory, up at “Mother.” In that moment in the Remake, Cloud is Sephiroth. He’s not Cloud anymore.

Cloud sees Sephiroth delivering the speech of being an Ancient. Cloud wasn’t there. Cloud didn’t see that. Zack did. That is Zack’s memory.

The man writing the Remake is the same man who’s been at the head of MOST FFVII writing. He was on the OG, he wrote Advent Children, he wrote the novels, he wrote Crisis Core, he’s writing the Remake. He knows what these cells can do because he’s crafted this world-building for decades.

Cloud didn’t take all of Zack’s memories. He didn’t need to. Kadaj, in the novel, doesn’t glean everything from someone right off the bat. Because he doesn’t need to. Only when he needs to learn something else does he go digging. The same is probably true for what Cloud’s cells most likely did to be able to know what he knows. Hell! Kadaj gets punched in the novel and he ACCIDENTALLY picks up the emotions and memories of the guy who punched him. He didn’t want ‘em but he got ‘em!”

There is evidence within the OG, and even more within the Compilation, that lend weight to the theory that Cloud unintentionally read Zack’s mind when it came to the events of Nibelheim.

For years, people have wondered, “How the hell does Cloud know that if he wasn’t there?” For years, people have wondered, “How can he use the Buster Sword if he was just a little grunt that used a gun all the time?” The logical answer is, “Because of his Jenova cells. They can just do that shit.”

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

come on in, folks, i got some kind of goof ass Beetlejuice/Evil Dead crossover for you to enjoy.

He’s eighteen, and it’s Saturday, which means that he and Lydia are wandering around Manhattan, looking for trouble to get into. Lydia, eleven and ever his little shadow, is standing next to him, as they take a moment, on the busy New York street corner, to sip their boba and think about their next move. They were meant to be watching some horror movie that had looked alright from the previews, but ended up being so stupid, it wasn’t even fun, and the Deetz siblings had found themselves walking out, one hour poorer but a bucket of overly butter saturated movie popcorn richer. “I still can’t believe how bad that was,” Lydia says, again, huffing, because they’d actually paid money to see that stinker, instead of sneaking in, which is their usual habit. “Ya get one big name attached an’ everyone apparently stops givin’ a shit. Musta figured th’ droolin’ masses would eat it up,” he agrees, and he slurps up the last of his tapioca balls, and then proceeds to eat the plastic straw. “Is it too much to ask that characters actually be interesting, and, I don’t know, behave like normal human people?” Lyds bitches, as BJ takes a bite out of his cup, too. She glances up at him, dryly. “I mean, I guess maybe my standards for normality are low, but still.”

He grins at her. “Whatever could you possibly mean, sister dearest?” he puts on a posh, almost transatlantic accent, and she rolls her eyes, and sucks boba up in her straw, then shoots the pearls at him like a pea shooter. He snorts and laughs.

It’s a good day, despite the letdown at the movies. It’s nearly that time of year, just about the start of his seasonal depression, as the sun becomes shy and things go cold and gray. Still, there’s some time left with the sunshine, so he’s drinking it up, savoring it, and it feels good, to stand here with Lyds, and talk about nothing. “Alright, come on, let’s second act it,” he grins, and she perks up. “I think Wicked’s playing!” “Wicked’s always playin’.” “Well, I’m not sitting through Hamilton, it’s a Saturday. I’m not learning if I don’t have to.” “Totally fuckin’ fair. Music Man, maybe?” “Hugh Jackman’s weirdly brick shaped head freaks me out.” “There’s gotta be a show we can sneak into,” BJ frowns, scratching at the scruff of his chin, and then he catches a scent he’s never smelled before, as Lydia puzzles through their remaining options. It’s like death, sort of, but not. Like death warmed over, or death, refried. He takes his sister’s hand, and leads her away from the street corner, following the smell, nose in the air, pupils blown wide, and Lydia laughs. “Great, time to go poke a dead thing. That’s more fun than The Last Four Years, at least.” She’s seen him go like this before, and thinks she knows what to expect.

Neither of them know how to react when they follow the scent down an alleyway and see the violent fight happening in front of them.

Parked at the far end of the alleyway is a car, some 70’s make that he doesn’t know enough about such things to name, and between it, and the Deetz siblings, is an one handed man absolutely going feral on a group of three refried dead smelling zombie… things. “Deadly-vu,” he hears Lydia whisper, as they watch the man perform a scissor kick that sends a zombie head flying. It bounces like a basketball against the brick wall that makes the alleyway, rolls, and lands at the Deetz sibling’s feet. There’s a beat, as they stare at it, and it stares back, before the head on the ground opens its mouth and speaks. “DEMON!” it shrieks, and then it makes the life ending choice to roll at Lydia, teeth bared, and his boot is going through it, crushing through the skull like an overly juicy bug under his heel. He takes a second to wipe the gore from his sole onto the pavement. “Maybe Wicked could be good,” he turns and says to Lydia, who responds by ducking behind him, because the body the head formerly belonged to seems to be stumbling at them, clutching something in it’s boiled and infected and puss covered arms, and it thrusts the thing at BJ, before falling down and collapsing into dust. It’s a book. Some kind of creepy old demon book, from the look of it. He wrinkles his nose in vague disgust, and then takes a sniff. If the zombie things are refried death, this thing is a whole fucking Mexican food buffet of it, and it makes his head spin in a way he’s never felt before. He kind of likes it. He’s about to give the cursed reading material a tentative lick before a boom rings out from in front of them- the one handed man has pulled a sawed off shotgun off his back, and dispatched another corpse thing. There’s one left, and it’s circling the man, who by this point is so blood covered, he looks like he was tricked into being prom queen, or something.

“Is it just me, or do you freaks just keep gettin’ uglier?” the man quips, and the corpse lunges, a stumbling move which earns it the butt of the shotgun to the jaw, which goes flying. The zombie is shot through the gut, and drops, but is a twitching, squirming mess. BJ’s seen enough horror movies to know that thing is getting back up. The stranger has apparently, too. He takes a moment to reload the shotgun, then double taps, blowing clean through the thing’s skull. He blows at the slightly smoking barrels of his sawed off, twirls it, and holsters it, re-slipping it onto his back. It’s a pretty cool move, actually, and the siblings watch in rapt attention. It takes the three remaining people (well, two people, one demon,) in the alley a moment to actually focus on each other, and there’s silence, before the stranger speaks. “Uh,” says the man, covered in blood, and Lydia peaks out from behind BJ, and stares at him, with big eyes. “Kids,” he hears the man mutter. “Great, just what I need, a coupla kids, gettin’ in my way.. Hey, kiddies,” he says, louder, with a smile, which might be really charming when he’s not soaked in rot and blood, but the effect at the moment is not as sincere and friendly as he clearly thinks it is. “Looks like you two little heroes managed to wrangle my book away from those deadites. You wanna do your pal Ash a favor, and hand it over?” He makes a “come here” motion with his stump arm, and then seems to realize that’s not so appealing, because he tucks that appendage behind his back, worried, suddenly, about scaring them. As if a man with a missing hand is the weirdest thing they've seen in the last five minutes.

“What the fuck,” Lydia says, and BJ can’t help but agree with that sentiment. Also, he feels a vague sense of sudden responsibility for this weird old tome. It doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing a human should have. Maybe those zombies… deadites? Maybe they were trying to get back what was stolen from them. Though he’s not charitable enough to assume that they’re the good guys in this feud. The stranger, Ash, takes a careful step forward. “It’s alright,” he says, like he’s talking to a wild animal he’s trying to tame, and not a teen and preteen, respectively. “I’m not gonna hurtcha. Just need to get my book back.”

A sudden screeching wind roars down the alleyway, and both living humans react, ducking, as it bellows and swirls around them, kicking up dust and trash and chunks of leftover deadite. “Demon! Aid us!” BJ feels a presence in front of his face, something he can’t see, but a great, ancient something, reaching out to him, demanding, begging, pleading, for him to assist in whatever macabre goal it wants to meet. He responds by sticking his unglamoured tongue out at it. “Ewww, gross. No.”

The thing shrieks again, and makes a beeline for Lydia, which is just about the stupidest thing it could have done, because he drops his glamour fully and snarls, gives the ancient being a psychic push back, and he sends the thing that cannot be seen flying, out of the shady darkness of this alleyway, past what he assumes to be Ash’s car, and out onto the city street, into the sun. It shrieks and moans and curses him. He flips it off, as it dissipates. The vibe in the air, however, tells him it’s not “dead,” just gone.

Ash straightens up and looks at him. BJ’s already slipped his human disguise back on, so the effect is that Ash has just seen what seems to be a slightly too pale and definitely overweight human teen somehow push back an ancient evil, totally unaffected. Now it’s his turn to let out a confused, “What the fuck?”

“Come on, BJ!” Lydia grabs her big brother’s arm and pulls him away, running from the gore and the confused zombie slayer. “Wait, kids-!” Ash rounds the corner, after them, but the Deetz siblings are already gone, disappeared into thin air, flash stepping the span of blocks in the blink of an eye, and they don’t stop until Lydia, sick from the teleportation, gives his hand a squeeze. They appear on a rooftop, confusing and traumatizing some pigeons that had been roosting.

“Wait, why did we run?’ BJ asks, and Lydia looks at him like he’s a moron. “Because that guy was clearly a monster hunter! And kind of really good at it!” she says. He mulls that over, and smiles. “Worried for your big bro?” he bats his eyelashes at her, and she responds by slugging him in the gut, which he reacts the barest amount to. “Last thing I want is to explain to mom and dad how you ended up with a shotgun blast through your skull,” she says, and crosses her arms, before leaning forward, to study the book he’s still holding. “So. What is that?” He grins. “Wanna open it an’ find out?” Read the rest of the first chapter here!

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.3 (BAON)

Summary:   Despite the title, things are not exactly so, not by a long shot.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Certain Monsters possessed the skill of basic precognition, but Edge was not one of them. He was certain of it. It would have been a useful skill in Underfell so many years ago instead of relying on hard-earned experience or even as recently as a few months outside of the Chinese restaurant. There were many things in his life that might have veered down a different path with only a brief moment of insight into the future.

Of his many talents, the best he could offer in that direction was his intuition and perhaps that explained his vague restlessness that night as he sat on the sofa working on his laptop. As absorbed as he was in his work, Edge found himself shifting in his seat in a way that had nothing to do with his barely healed leg. A few times he nearly texted Stretch and resisted, not wishing to give off the impression that he was checking in on him. There was no good reason for him to feel uneasy about Stretch going out on the town with his best friend as he had many times before. There was even less for the prickling feeling crawling up his spine when his phone pinged with a text message in the chime he’d set for unknown numbers.

That prickling turned icy cold, skittering along his vertebrae as he read the simple message like the spiders he was still occasionally dreamed about on rare, awful nights. Three words. Not the ones he’d slowly grown accustomed to saying so often to Stretch, nearly torn from him the first time they were spoken and now said with ease, morning, noon, and night, as often as his love wanted to hear them and repeat them back.

These words made dread and fury lurch within his battered soul, tainted with fear.

We have him.

His phone chimed again but Edge didn’t have the chance to see the second message. At that moment, his front door burst open with enough force to slam against the opposite wall and Edge never hesitated. He hurled the attack on pure instinct and by the time he actually saw Antwan’s face, his dark eyes going wide, it was too late to pull it back.

Before the wave of bones could land, Antwan was yanked backwards out of the doorway by a sudden blue glow in his chest. The door swung back closed seconds before the sharpened bones slammed up against the steel, quivering briefly before vanishing without leaving behind a scratch or dent. His attacks were targeted at the soul and the physicality of the door was enough to stop them.

Edge was at the door before the last bone vanished, stumbling outside to find Antwan lying spreadeagle in the grass and his brother standing over him, his left eye still glowing with searing crimson and the spangle of blue at the fingertips of his left hand fading.

“fucking hell, dumbass, i told ya to stop!” Red snarled down at him. “lucky he didn’t turn you into a kabob, what the fuck were you thinkin’!”

Edge pushed past Red and fell to his knees next to Antwan, barely noticing the sharp twinge from his leg as he gasped out, “I’m sorry, I—" He fell silent as Antwan waved a shaky hand at him.

“My fault,” Antwan rasped. He sat up, and Edge could only crouch by him, his hands hovering but not touching as his friend coughed, dragging in a harsh breath to wheeze out, “Wind just…got knocked out me.” One harsh inhale, another, his breathing easing. “Don’t even try to apologize, he’s right, it was my fault.” Antwan staggered to his feet, barely catching his balance before holding out a hand to Edge. “Did you get a text?”

Red interrupted him with a short, sharp hiss before he could reply. “not out here,” Red said tersely. “both of ya inside, right now.”

Arguing would be pointless, Red would have things his way or none at all. The hard tangle of emotions in his chest, worry, fear, guilt, were ignored as Edge took Antwan’s hand and allowed him to help pull him to his feet. Now was not a time for anything as useless as pride and he forced it down with all the other emotions trying to boil their way up. He led the way inside, closing the door behind his brother.

But Red didn’t move further into the house. He stood on the doormat and held out a hand as he said curtly, “gimmie your phone.”

The instinct to protest was immediate, but Edge only hesitated a moment before handing it over. He wasn’t surprised when his brother entered the passcode and thumbed through his messages. He couldn’t even manage vague irritation. There wasn’t room in his soul for any other emotion, all of it viciously crammed together in a ball inside him, he couldn’t let everything demanding to be felt come through. His anger and fear needed to wait, the only thing he could allow was cool detachment.

Antwan had collapsed on the sofa when he came inside, an arm slung over his eyes. Edge left his brother to his snooping and went to sit by his feet, offering a quiet, “I am sorry. You startled me but that’s no excuse.”

Antwan only waved him off again. “Don’t, man. It’s okay, I was already unsteady on my feet, anyway. Your brother showed up in my house yammering about text messages and dragged me over.” His unpleasant chuckle turned into a groan and a stifled burb. “Your brother’s shortcuts are rough, no wonder you’re always about to upchuck after one.”

“bitch later,” Red said suddenly. He shoved Edge’s laptop aside to sit on the coffee table and his expression was not a soothing one, cold and grim. “gonna give it to you straight, both of ya, so brace yourselves. embassy took a call about ten minutes ago for a ransom demand.” He held up Edge’s phone between two scarred fingers. “included this same picture they sent you, boss, and if the time stamp is right, they were both alive when it was sent.”

Next to him, Antwan stiffened. It was strange to see him sputtering inarticulately, Edge noticed distantly. Always he was so eloquent in the courtrooms, arguing fearlessly for Monsters rights. To hear him now, struggling with words, was grotesque in a way, each one stumbling off his tongue, “They…alive? But how…what…they as in Stretch and Jeff? How the fuck, what the fuck do you mean a ransom demand, who the fuck...!?”

“Let me see it,” Edge demanded over Antwan’s questions. Even as he snatched for it, his phone disappeared from Red’s grip in a neat sleight of hand and he cursed aloud, “Let me see, damn it!”

“not a fucking chance, little brother.” The words were not unkind, only his brother’s dubious version of gentleness that Edge rarely wanted and certainly not right now. “it ain’t gonna do a damn thing to calm your tits.”

He closed his sockets briefly, then asked, low, “How much?”

Red licked his teeth, grimacing, “that don’t matter, neither. asgore’s all for payin’ it, no matter if it wipes out our accounts, but that’s ain’t gonna help. you know that.”

He did. Kidnapping and ransom were not uncommon in Underfell and he knew from bitter experience that ransom demands did not have happy endings. He forced those memories away, could not place his husband or Jeff anywhere within them, refused to even contemplate it.

His tenuous grip on his anger was slipping, his soul throbbing hot and heavy, ready to unleash his rage at whoever dared attack what as his. Useless; there was nowhere to direct it, not yet, and all he could do was get what information there was. “Then tell me where we are. What are we doing to get them back?”

“welp.” Red stood, tucking his hands in his pockets in a telling delay tactic that did nothing to soothe Edge’s burgeoning anger. “already sent a team out to where their cell and trackers are pinging, but they ain’t gonna be there ‘cause someone tipped ‘em off to ditch their clothes.”

“Their clothes--?” Antwan said, pitiful confusion swelling into his own anger. “you said they weren’t hurt!”

“said they were alive.” Whatever expressions were on their faces made Red grimace, “but yeah, they don’t look hurt, neither, which means the reports we’re getting’ that the honey bun was drugged at the bar are prolly accurate.”

Through his carefully cultivated calm, a sliver of his hope latched on to those words, not hurt, please, not hurt. “You said someone tipped them off. Why do you think that? Explain.”

Red pointed a sharp-tipped finger at him. “your liability ain’t a fighter, but he ain’t no slouch, either. he wouldn’t get in a car with a stranger no matter what candy they got, and he’d get the hell out of dodge before anyone snatched him up if things looked hairy. coupla rough shortcuts is hell on the equilibrium, anyone he was draggin’ along for the ride wouldn’t be in any shape to play these kinda games. but that ain’t common knowledge, so why’d they drug him and not handy andy, unless they had a cheat book.”

That made sense. Edge nodded, gesturing impatiently for him to go on and Red did, choosing his words with obvious care.

“already taking calls from the bar they were at, they’re the ones sayin’ the honey bun looked drugged. that takes some know-how right there, ain’t no wikipedia on how to dope a monster. descriptions are vague right now. humans, your basic white guy with dark hair generic bullshit. we’re gettin’ a copy of their security footage now.”

“So.” Edge stood and wandered to the window, tugging aside the curtain to look out at the night. The porch light cast a glowing circle of sodium yellow and within it he could see one of the flowerbeds he’d been working on before gardening took a brief backseat to building a small duckling a pond. In a few weeks there would be a riot of flowers blooming in colors he never dreamed existed before he came to the surface and it didn’t matter, none of it matter, he’d sacrifice any of it, all of it it, pay any ransom to have Stretch back here with him. He kept his gaze on outside as he said with slow deliberation, “What you’re telling me is we have no idea where they are, no idea who has them, and we know absolutely fucking nothing of any fucking use, particularly where they might have gotten this inside information!”

The last word ended on a near shout as Edge struggled again with his temper. This wasn’t his brother’s fault or if it was, he wasn’t the only one to blame. The failure to protect what was his was as heavy as lead, dragging him downward into the eager embrace of his LV, waiting to be unleashed.

Behind him, his brother drawled, “nope, that ain’t what i’m saying. that’s what i’m tellin’ you.”

Edge whirled around, snarling out, “you little bastard, you—”

“ah, ah, ah,” Red interrupted, eye lights flickering, and Edge shut his mouth so hard his teeth clipped the tip of his tongue, warm magic filling his mouth. “don’t try to sweettalk me, bro. i ain’t tellin’ you any extras ‘cause you need to be here, not out there gettin’ into shit and gettin’ into people’s way. we’re on it, i’m on it. you two are staying the fuck here ‘cause i’m already looking for two dipshits, don’t need to double it.”

Antwan let out an unsteady laugh. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but I’m a lawyer, not James Bond. I’ll stay. I’m trusting you to bring him home.” His voice broke then, that calm dignity wavering. In his lap, his hands were twisted so tightly together that his knuckles were bloodlessly grey. “Please, bring him home to me.”

Perhaps they were both too far from Underfell these days. That faltering gentleness rose again in his brother as he said, “already working on it, pal.” His gaze flicked back to Edge and hardened. “bro, look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” Edge ground out. Red nodded once.

“brother.” That single, stark word was like a jolt right to the chest, striking home. “i’ll get him back to you, you hear me? i promise.”

There was a beat of silence before Edge managed to nod. His head felt strangely heavy, wobbling on his vertebrae.

Suddenly, Red grinned, sharp-toothed and there was the cruel humor Edge knew so very well that his brother possessed. “one other thing you two gotta consider. of all of us, they snatched up stretch.” That grin widened, the wild, silent laughter glittering in his crimson eye lights nearly demonic. “gotta admit, the honey bun’s got a way about ‘im. wouldn’t want to be in their shoes right about now.”

Edge barked out a laugh, tight and pained, “That is a very good point. Of any of us, Stretch is certainly…creative.”

The last word caught in his throat, nearly choking him. He turned back around to escape from his brother’s penetrating look, staring again outside and this time he allowed his gaze to rise to the darkened sky, at the twinkling lights filling that velvety blackness as he thought, Come home to me.

He did not say it aloud, only looked out at the stars that Stretch loved so much and sent his silent wish to them with the desperate hope of one who needed to believe. Come home.

tbc

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Make America Great Again...

A poem by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and me...

(Y’all know the tune, get singing...)

Now this is a story all about how,

My life got flipped turned upside down.

And I’d like to take a minute

Just sit real still

I’ll tell you how I lost the presidency to Biden and a Girl.

 In West Philadelphia...for the last coupla days

They been counting votes in a number of ways

I was chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool

and shooting Obama's pictures off of the wall

When a couple of Dems who were up to no good

Started making trouble in my neighbourhood

I got in one little election, which I actually won 

But when I told them to stop the count they just carried on.

I screamed and tweeted day after day

But they carried on calling it in their own special way.

Biden sent me a vacate letter, sealed with a kiss.

I put my MAGA hat on, “Come get me bitch!”

Melania’s packed up her stuff,

Said she didn’t really like me that much.

I guess I should have noticed that time on the stage

When she slapped away my hand in a fit of pure rage.

 But wait, it ain’t over, my lawyers are on the job.

They’ll find that the Democrats committed fraud

And that Chris Evans, He called me a toilet,

Joke’s on him coz I actually won it.

Then the counting stopped and when I came out

Biden was there calling my name with a shout

“Time to go Donald, I’m the new Pres in town…”

But I wobbled off with the quickness of a round, orange clown.

I locked myself in and when he came near

I noticed through the window he was grinning ear to ear.

Kamala behind him, looking pretty pleased

As she turned over her shoulder and said “take him boys.”

I was pulled from the house by seven or eight

Huge massive cops, with guns which I know think should be banned.

I looked back at my kingdom

Wow, I really did fail

And now they’re gonna cart my ass off to a jail.

[bearly-dressed]

It's been several years since I've worked a job where I'm expected to interact with the public as much as I do, I haven't had as many interactions per day with folks since my college days working at a pizzeria. If I'm working the self-checkout aisles at my job though, I see and interact with at least six people every couple minutes or so and people come and go often, so it's very possible that on a busy day I see hundreds of people pass through and exchange pleasantries with me. Most of what I say feels scripted. Sometimes I catch myself saying the wrong parts of the script out of order and then have to correct myself. The greeting, asking if they need help, and bidding them a farewell as they get their stuff and head out.

"Hello! How are you?"

"I'm doing good."

It's the routine I'm used to. Just people going about their day. Not really caring to know me as a person, just knowing I'm available to help them if needs be.

What really gets me though are the brutally honest people. Throughout every few hundred similar if not word-for-word exchanges I have with people, there are the people that say fuck to the pleasantries. Fuck the scripts.

"Hello! How are you?"

"Not so good. I've been better."

"I'm sorry to hear it. What's going on with you right now?"

The people dealing with a rough day, or more serious, a rough life. Then we get to talking. The real conversations. Sometimes people are down and out, but most of the time the sad folks just wanna talk. Sometimes burdens are too hard to bear, and it's easier to just open up to a stranger like me, a local grocery cashier. They initially seem uncomfortable exposing what they think is vulnerabilty, but then realize they're talking to someone that's not going to try to cover up their pain with sunshine and rainbows because that's not a solution, let alone realistic. Sometimes bad things happen and there's nothing you can do to change it. I'm depressed as shit and can at the very least empathize and listen most times. Mainly folks aren't looking for solutions to their problems, they're just wondering if anyone else can understand what they're going through. It's kinda funny because despite the sadness that comes with having my own personal struggles with mental health or coping with the death of a loved one or the severe illnesses and disablities of myself or of others, a broken relationship here and there throughout my life, there's always this strange sense of community I feel when I speak to someone else going through some shit too. Some kind of comfort when people that are sad bond with one another over the things that hurt. Sometimes it's nice to just have those hard conversations about loss or not feeling yourself with another person because it's often a shared experience. You realize your feelings are just as valid as the next person's and despite being in mental, emotional, or physical pain you can at least take comfort that it's not weird or off putting to others. Pain is just as much a shared experience between all people just as much as happiness is. There's common ground in the human experience. None of us are invulnerable to having bad things happen sometimes. I guess, in a way, this fact comforts me. Knowing I'm not alone. That we're not alone.

There's really no point to this post other than just my own musings, so here's to bein' a sad bitch. Not to say there aren't things I wish I could change about myself, but I also know that some stuff takes time and it's totally fine if I'm broken and that shows sometimes, because inevitably I know we're all broken and it's gotta show sometimes. Despite my own personal defense of bottling things up until I'm overflowing, I know how it's not the best coping mechanism, but at the very least I KNOW. It happens and when it does I acknowledge it, tell people what's happening if it's hurting, even if I dont have any idea why I'm hurting, and then I eventually move on to the next thing. I've learned that you shouldn't hold yourself to lofty expectations because only you are the one making those up and not a single soul other than yourself is gonna hold you up to become someone completely perfect. I've taken some good advice and I've taken some bad advice from people, but even then I was the one making the choices at the end of the day and I still grow from that shit, even if I continue to make mistakes along the course of my life.

Realistically, I know there are no scenarios where I have my life totally together. No one does and no one ever will. That's what the human condition really is. We're imperfect. Spoke to a guy in his late 50s that really drove the point home the other day where he laughed kinda dryly at me talking about how frazzled I felt moving into my 30s and not really having my shit together and he said "I got a car paid off, a loving wife, and a house, a coupla kids. You'd think a guy like me has his shit together? I don't. Sometimes I'm falling apart at the seams, but I put on a good face. Sometimes we just gotta take the bad with the good." You'd be surprised what little nuggets of down-to-earth wisdom you get in a couple minutes time with customers that treat you respectfully, but also wanna talk about why life is so fucking hard for them right now. Rambling aside, if you felt like reading this whole thing, I bet you too are going through some shit. I see you. I love you. I can relate. And so many others can as well. You are not alone. Talk about it sometimes when you feel strong enough to do so. Sometimes it will hurt, sometimes it won't. Live on for the moments that it doesn't hurt.

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

Hunters of Flesh and Money Part 1

Okay guys, this is another big one I’ve been planning for awhile! This one is going to be based off my online character and experiences. I’m honestly not sure how many parts they’ll be but I promise they’ll be lots of good Arthur content! I hope everyone enjoys!

“Knock knock, anyone home?” You called as you entered the threshold of the cabin. You knew better than to come around unannounced, for both parts of the couple knew their way around the shotgun they kept.

Sadie was sitting in the corner cleaning the shotgun while Jake was cleaning in the kitchen. She stood as you entered. “Ah, Ms. Fletcher it’s so nice to see you!” She sat the gun down on the chair and wrapped her arms around your shoulders. You smiled as you returned your hug.

“What brings ya up here this close to winter?” Jake called from the kitchen.

“You know better than to try and navigate those old roads this time of year, they’re almost unrecognizable from all the snow fall! You coulda killed yourself.” Sadie chastised. You wondered if it was a choice for them to not have kids, Sadie acted more like your mother than a friend even from day one.

“Aww hell, y’all know I can handle myself out there, this’ll be my last trip up til the thaw I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do for y’all before I can’t come back for a coupla months.”

“Just here for work eh? What a shame, you’ll miss some of Sadie’s cookin’.” Jake knew exactly what to say to make you stay. You settled into your seat and smiled.

“I’m never here just for work, I also gotta make sure my favorite family is okay every now and again.”

Sadie laughed and stroked the firearm in her hand. “I don’t think you got anything to worry about there, missy.” She sat down the gun and took a seat at the kitchen table across from you. Her face was soft and sweet, the kindest woman you had ever known, and her husband was just as kind. Even from the first time you met the young couple you were drawn to them, now you made it a priority to see them as often as you could.

Sadie enjoyed your company as well. Living a solitary life in the mountains like this doesn’t come with much of a social life, so she looked forward to your visits. She knew Jake did as well. He never complained but he wasn’t born into this life like she was, she knew he had to enjoy your company just as much if not more than she did. “So,” She started. “Tell me about what you’ve been into lately.”

-

Your horse grunted as you pushed her excitedly, the snow had melted quite a bit since your last visit months ago, but this part of the mountain had snow year round. You were anxious to see the Adlers, it took you longer to get here than expected, bounty hunters crossed your path and kept you moving all across the land, unfortunately moving you farther southeast than you planned. The trip to Adler ranch was longer and harder than you originally had hoped.

As you pulled over the ridge looking Adler Ranch, your heart dropped. The place was burnt to the ground. “Yah!” Your horse sped down the hill at your command and you jumped off before she could even come to a full stop in front of the skeletal remains of the cabin. All that was left was the brick chimney and a few support beams here and there. Your chest tightened as you investigated the property. Whoever did this did it long ago, you felt guilt bubble up, maybe you could’ve stopped whoever did this if you had fame any earlier. As you looped around the burnt house, you found nothing. Any tracks that would’ve been left were long gone. As you approached your horse, a foul smell entered your nostrils. You knew the smell well, and your suspicions were confirmed when you lifted the tarp off the wagon. You had to hold back the bile that jumped up your throat as the putrid smell hit your nostrils and your eyes examined the puffed up corpse on the wagon. It had been decomposing for sometime, the face was unrecognizable, but you knew it was Jake by the wedding band on his swollen finger and the clothes that swaddled his body. You sighed heavily. “Oh Jake, what happened here?”

You grabbed your work gloves from your horse and pulled the bandana around your neck over your mouth and nose. The deadweight was heavy, even being out in the deep wilderness he still had some meat on his bones. It took more effort out of you than you hoped, but you got the corpse off the wagon and onto the tarp and wrapped it up carefully. You then went and retrieved a spade from the old work shed. It wasn’t the first or last time you would have to bury a close friend.

-

Arthur stood against the wagon patiently as he waited for Mrs. Adler to collect the supplies from the list he had given her. Would she prefer Ms. or Mrs. now that her husband has passed? Arthur wondered to himself. Best not to ask, he decided. Sadie was a firecracker of a woman, and to be honest it scared Arthur just a little bit. He was glad to finally see her coming out of her shell though, he was afraid she would stay the feral terrified woman they found in the mountains just a couple of months ago. He realized that it was the first time he saw her smile while she was reading Pearson’s letter. He allowed himself a small smile, maybe he could coax more smiles from her in the future.

The bell from the shop door pulled Arthur from his thoughts and out Sadie came, looking smug as hell with a shop boy following behind her struggling with all the supplies. Arthur has to hold back his laughter as she barked commands to the young man, he was almost trembling with fear by the time she sent him running back into the store. “You ready?” Arthur asked. Sadie went to respond, but was cut off.

“Mrs. Adler is that you?” Both Sadie and Arthur turned to see a woman dismounting a large horse, Hungarian Half Breed if Arthur was thinking properly. “Christ Mrs. Adler it really is you!”

Arthur’s hand cautiously hovered over his pistol, he could see plain as day the weapons strapped to your back and sides, along with the bandolier and gun belt full to the brim with ammo. He thought you looked like trouble, but the thought dissolved as Sadie’s eyes lit up and she ran to the dirty woman and wrapped her arms around her tight.

You felt tears prickle in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around Sadie. You had lost all hope of ever seeing her again. “What the hell happened?” You asked as she released you. “When the thaw came I headed up to the ranch, what the hell happened up there?”

You studied her face, even though you hadn’t seen her in only a few months it seemed like it had been years. Stress had aged her and her eyes looked dead. She had dark bags under her eyes and her hair was a mess tucked under a straw hat. Her face twisted in pain and darkened at your question. “Some bastards came through and ransacked the place. I hid out in the barn for a few days but... but my Jakie...” her voice cracked and for the first time Sadie Adler looked very small and frail to you. You wrapped your arms around her again and patted her head. “I know Sadie, I know. I found him and gave him a proper burial.”

She looked up quickly and you could see the tears in her eyes. “He had a certain spot he wanted to be buried, I never-“

“He wanted to be buried back with his family, I know. I took him there, he’s where he wanted to be.” Your voice was soft as you softly stroked Sadie’s hair.

A small sob broke from her chest and she clinged to your sides. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

You smiled and put your hands on her shoulders. “You can dry those tears and you can let me buy ya a decent meal.” You eyed the big man standing behind Sadie. Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you safe? Is this man touchin’ or hurtin’ you at all?”

“No no, he’s a friend.” She sniffled and raised her voice from a whisper and turned to the man. “Arthur, come over here!”

The man approached cautiously, you caught his hand moving away from his pistol and took mental note of it. You weren’t sure about him just yet, but if Sadie trusted him he had to be a good man. “Ms. Fletcher, this is Arthur Morgan. He and his gang helped me out when the O’Driscolls came.”

You shook the man’s hand. “O’Driscolls eh? I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“It’s a pleasure Ms. Fletching. Don’t worry bout them O’Driscolls they’re some mean sons a bitches. And they’ll do worse to women than what they’ll do to men.”

You dismissed him with a wave, “I can handle myself. I’ve dealt with those milksops before.”

Arthur chuckled, “oh really? We may just have to getcha to stick around.”

Sadie barked a short laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and you laughed while you rubbed your neck, “yeah, I ain’t much of a people person. Sadie and Jake were the closest ta friends I had but I appreciate the offer. I don’t think you want the price on me head followin’ ya neither. Now, why don’t I treat y’all to a meal?”

“Sounds perfect, it’ll make up for all the food I’ve fed you over the years.” Sadie joked.

You smiled, “yer right, I’d say I owe you bout a thousand meals by now.”

Arthur stood in disbelief as the women walked away together arm in arm. He had barely coaxed a single smile from Sadie after two months of traveling together and all it took was one look at you and she’s been smiling ever since. He shook his head and followed behind the women powerlessly. You turned your head back just for a moment to give a short whistle. The big black and white horse whinnied and galloped beside you. It was strapped down with furs and skins from all kinds of different animals. A turkey strapped to each side of the horse with a black bear pelt on the top of a huge pile of various deer, ram, and fox furs. He wondered just how long it took you to collect so many pelts. The saloon was just across the from butcher’s stall. You stopped at the front of the steps and grabbed your horse’s reins. “I gotta take this here load on over to the butcher to sell. You two go on in and find us a seat I’ll be right behind ya.”

-

Sadie gave a full bellied laugh at a joke you had made and Arthur smiled into his beer mug. Having a familiar face brought out a whole new side to Sadie that he had never seen. This side to Sadie was nothing but familiar to you. This was the Sadie you knew. A bright woman who had a heart full of love and a belly full of laughs. The three of you spent a good portion of the day drinking and laughing in the saloon. Arthur cleared his throat. “So, how did you ladies meet?” 

“Well, I was huntin’ some elk up near Colter and a terrible blizzard came through. I couldn’t half see my horse in front of me. I didn’t even know I was stumblin’ around Adler Ranch until I almost ran smack into the house. I made my way around to the door and let myself in.” You laughed. “Little did I know that was a huge mistake. I made it three steps in and I felt the muzzle of a gun on my back. Turned around to see Mrs. Adler with a scowl mean enough to curdle milk.”

Arthur laughed this time. “Oh, I’m sure. When we first found her, she was on the verge a killin’ Micah.”

You smiled at your long lost friend. “Good on you, Mrs. Adler.”

“Oh please, Fletcher call me Sadie.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say, Mrs. Sadie.”

Arthur looked at you, “You got a first name Ms. Fletcher?”

You raised a brow at him. “I do, but I ain’t givin’ it to ya. You can just call me Fletcher.”

He turned to Sadie. And she shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t look at me like that, she didn’t tell me her name either.”

Arthur huffed. “Best friends and ya don’t even know her first name?”

You shrugged. “Who needs a name? She knows me and that’s all she needs. If you would like me to have a name, call me whatever you please.”

Arthur sighed. “Fletcher it is then.” 

You smiled triumphantly. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”

“It’s Arthur.” He paused and looked out the window of the saloon. “It’s gettin’ late, I should get Mrs. Adler back to camp. We ain’t too far from here, any friend of Sadie’s is a friend of ours and you’re welcome to stay with us.” 

The three of you stood and headed out the door. Sadie and Arthur climbed in their wagon and you mounted your horse. “That’s a very generous offer, but I am afraid I will have to decline. I’ve got a camp not too far from here, I’m better off on my own.” You started off, then turned back around. “Before I go, Sadie I want to stay in touch.” You pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something down. “Write me. I get all my mail sent to this alias.” You handed the piece of paper to Sadie and nodded your hat towards Arthur. “You two have brightened my day, and I thank you. Keep in touch, maybe we can have another day like this soon.” 

And with that, you were off. Sadie scanned the name on the paper over and over, Peony Van Butrick III. Classy, just your style. 

[mwelxn]

Last week, ex-Guns N' Roses guitar slinger IZZY STRADLIN' gave PAUL ELLIOTT exclusive details of exactly what went down with his shock departure from the former Most Dangerous Band in The World. In part two this week, Izzy previews his Stones-influenced upcoming debut solo LP 'Ju Ju Hounds', and reveals that yes, he DID almostjoin forces with this week's K!cover stars The Black Crowes!... By Paul Elliott Kerrang! Magazine - Sept. 1992 "...And that goes for all you punks in the press / That want to start shit by printin' lies / Instead of the things we said / That means you, Andy Secherat Hit Parader, Circus magazine, Mick Wall at Kerrang!, Bob Guccione Jr at Spin..." - 'Get In The Ring', Guns N' Roses Although Mick Wall no longer works for Kerrang!, Axl Rose's anger at the publication has not abated. Guns N' Roses' outspoken frontman routinely bitches about Kerrang! when the band play in London, Presumably, the root of the problem was a feature of Wall's on the Rock In Rio festival in which he accused GN'R of aloofness. Kerrang!gave Guns N' Roses their first British magazine cover in 1987, but Rose chooses to remember only one comment from one journalist. And that, it seems, is the bunker mentality behind the Guns N' Roses/Kerrang!/'Get In The Fucking Ring' feud. Former GN'R guitarist Izzy Stradlin' is equally bemused by it all. "I just write songs," he shrugs, grinning. "I honestly don't know what that was about or what was said. Axl was mad at Kerrang!, right? There were so many things that pissed him off..." It's said that Bob Guccione Jr, editor of US rock periodical Spin, was baited by Rose on 'Get In The Ring' simply because Spinprinted the contract which Guns N' Roses attempted to force on all journalists interviewing the band. The contract sought to censor the press. "I didn't even know about this contract," Izzy protests, "so when I heard Axl was mad about it, I was going, 'What?'! "If I were a journalist I'd probably just tell somebody to shove it up their ass too, cos I guess that'd be like somebody telling a musician how to write a song. "I wasn't aware that Mick Wall was one of the guys in that song. The only one I knew about was Guccione. I was sitting back in Indiana watching MTV and I saw that thing about Axl challenging him to go fight, and Bob said, 'Okay'. And I didn't hear anything else about it! "Axl's real critical of himself, and his anger seems to propel him in a lotta ways. That song 'Get In The Ring', I really love a lot of the lyrics just cos they're really aggressive. Axl played guitar on that track as well, that was the first time I saw him play electric guitar, and he did pretty well. I was digging it cos it was good punk energy. But with all the names at the end I was thinking, shit! I wouldn't have slagged people off on my record." - Izzy's Record, his first since quitting Guns N' Roses, is titled 'Ju Ju Hounds' and is as cool a rock 'n' roll record as anyone has made in the last 10 years. Like The Black Crows', Izzy's music is simple, intuitive, soulful. Both he and the Crowes have covered reggae standards, but where the latter play a lot of blues, Izzy's more of a punk. Axl calls 'Ju Ju Hounds' "Izzy's Keith Richards thing", which is as good a description as any. Izzy's LP has the same lazy charm as Keef's 'Talk Is Cheap'. "I read what Axl said," nods Izzy. "I think Keith Richards is great, but I don't think he has any songs that play as fast as 'Pressure Drop' (Izzy's souped-up cover of the Toots and The Maytals classic, also recorded by The Clash). I wish he would - It'd be great to hear him do that. "I called Keith last week; he was in the studio. I'm gonna try and hook up with him in New York sometime. There's a part of me that wants to take a tape of my record along and play it for him, and there's another part that's going, 'Fuck it, I'll just say hi and listen to his record'." Izzy's such a big Stones fan, there's still disbelief in his voice when he speaks of his friendship with Keef and fellow Stone Ron Wood, who guested on 'Ju Ju Hounds'. "We got together with Woody in LA. We did an old song of his called 'Take A Look At The Guy'." - A Stones CD plays as Izzy talks. The album is 'Black And Blue', one of the Stones' most laid back and most underrated works, featuring classic heartbreakers 'Fool To Cry' and 'Memory Motel'. plus the reggae number 'Cherry Oh Baby', covered by UB40. "I got into reggae partly through the Stones," says Izzy. "I guess it just bled over from stuff like 'Black And Blue' - it's killer. The thing I love about reggae is that it's not technical music where things are perfect; it's very freeform, just a groove. You can lay on a beach or a couch and just absorb it It slows down your heartbeat too, those drum beats and the slow pulse of the bass. It's like a tranquilizer. " 'Pressure Drop' is in this great movie called 'The Harder They Come', starring Jimmy Cliff as a ghetto kid who goes big time with guns; he shoots his way to the top. It's really cool. "There's an energy about 'Pressure Drop' that I love, the rock-steady rhythm. It's very loose, but at the same time it gets the point across." - Guesting on 'Pressure Drop' and on 'Can't Hear 'Em' (a reggae number of Stradlin's which features on the 'Pressure Drop' EP released this week, a month before the LP) is reggae star Mikey Dread, who worked with The Clash on their 'Sandinista' LP. Izzy met Mikey through bassist Jimmy 'Two Fingers' Ashhurst. "Jimmy saw Mikey play in Chicago and got hold of him the next morning. It turned out he was in the hotel right across the street from the studio we were using. We were just gonna do one song dub, but we ended up recording four songs with Mikey, for him. Jimmy and I played bass and guitar on them. Mikey did his rap thing on 'Can't Hear 'Em' and I think he sang some backups on 'Pressure Drop'. His guitar player did a reggae rhythm, real quiet, just a plunky, straight-through thing." Was Mikey surprised that a former member of GN'R loves and can play reggae? "I don't know but it was a trip working with those guys. Mikey had worked with The Clash before, so he must've been familiar with our style." So he didn't think that the way you speeded up 'Pressure Drop' was sacrilegious? Izzy smiles, "His first comment was, 'Y'know, man, this was a big hit in England'. I'm supposed to look him up when I get to New York. He's gonna take us to some place to get us some suits made - they do 'em overnight." - The whole of the 'Pressure Drop' EP has a raw feel evocative of Guns N' Roses' debut EP 'Live Like A Suicide'. 'Came Unglued' is as fast and lean as the obscure GN'R tune 'Shadow Of Your Love', while 'Been A Fix' has the hangdog vocals and fuck-off riff of late '70s Stones (it's also reminiscent of Aerosmith's 'I Wanna Know Why'). "Basically, I just wanted to get back to what really gets me off, just a basic rock 'n' roll band, a couple guitars, drums and bass. Simple. "The album's better, I would think, it's more mixed. The EP's just got three slammers on it, and a reggae song. The album's got a couple of acoustic songs, a coupla slammers, some basic rock tunes and one reggae song too. "The title of the LP came by accident in the studio. I was singing a backing track to something, and when I played it back it sounded like I said, 'Ju ju hound'. It doesn't mean much really." - Before Izzy began recording his album and EP, his name was linked with The Black Crowes, who at the time had not announced a replacement for Jeff Cease. So was he offered the gig? "I don't think so," Izzy shrugs. "When I left LA after I split from GN'R, I went on a road trip to New Orleans. From there I called my brother and he told me I'd got a fax from Rich in The Black Crowes. I had no idea their guitar player had split. "I stopped by Rich's home and he said, 'Maybe we should get together and write some songs'. I said, 'Let me take my stuff back to Indiana and get my house in order'. I love The Black Crowes, but because it was immediately after GN'R, I don't think I was ready to make any quick moves. I thought I'd just go and ride trials for a while. "I just wasn't interested in playing guitar at that time. I don't think I touched a guitar for about a month. I was getting off on riding, but, it got cold, Winter came, and I was sitting in a room with a guitar in the corner and it's like, 'C'mon, play me'! Once I started playing again I thought, this is the one thing that seems to make sense. "I started putting a band together in January. I was sitting in Indiana thinking, fuck, man, how do I find musicians? I couldn't just run an ad in the local trade paper. You wanna find somebody you can relate to, and the guys I got are all seasoned, proven. "I hooked up with Jimmy in LA. I'd known him for years, when he was in The Broken Homes. Once we'd got a drummer, Charlie Quintana, we'd recorded these basic tracks, so I asked Jimmy what Rick Richards from the Georgia Satellites was doing. Jimmy told me the Satellites broke up. This is how outta touch I am! "Rick's playing is so natural. I'll just throw out a coupla chords and he'll bounce stuff of it. He knows how to make it work." - Album and EP feature a number of guest musicians, including backing singers the Waters Sisters, who lift the chorus of 'Can't Hear 'Em' in much the same way that the I-Threes sweeten classic Bob Marley tracks like 'Could You Be Loved'. Barbara and Joy Richardson do likewise on The Black Crowes' 'The Southern Harmony And Musical Companion'. "The Water Sisters did 'Knockin' On Heaven's Door' for GN'R. Man, they can sing," Izzy adds with a smile, "but I can't see us going out on tour like that. I think we'll keep it real simple." Izzy's keeping everything simple these days. Guns N' Roses are no longer The Most Dangerous Band In The World, but they'll never be free of the controversy and all that bullshit. Stradlin' is, and he's happier for it. Simply, he's happy just to be back playing rock 'n' roll. It's all he ever wanted to do anyway.

[girlbookwrm]

MEMECEPTION:

THE MIGHTY PRE-ENDGAME REWATCH CONTINUES

happy galentine’s day. we did this, like, a week ago for The Roommate ( @goteamwin ) ‘s birthday and i just took f o r e v e r to type it up sorry

in my defense, it’s hard to meme-efy a movie that’s already extremely meme-eful. Hence, memeception. although tbqh if Guardians of the Galaxy is giving me trouble because it’s already making fun of itself, I don’t know WHAT I’m going to do with Thor: Ragnarok. Remember when GotG was the memiest Marvel movie? We were so young.

It is important to me that y’all know that because of cacw, whenever The Roommate and I see any kind of... title page? whatever? We bellow the word at top volume even if the font ISN’T inexplicably filling the entire screen. 

and so, I say to thee:

E A R T H ! ! ! 1 9 8 8 ! ! ! ! !

stealth reagan in the background to let you know it’s the 80s in case you were confused.

In What Sense is he like his father At All???

Honestly, to anyone who was surprised at Starlord’s actions in IW, they set up his tragic flaw right here. it’s page one. i don’t know why u were surprised.

B- grandfathering, but extra credit for difficult circumstances. u tried

Day Whatever, I Still Miss The Old Marvel Logo.

26 Y E A R S L A T E R

so, 2014 confirmed, for all the other timeline enthusiasts out there.

This is. The WEIRDEST gadget.

why is it like this

what is it doing

and how

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY

I love this scene because up until this point it could be literally any other marvel movie and then 

BOOM

it’s GotG, bitch. get ready to Have Some Fun.

also it pretty firmly establishes that Peter Quill is our protagonist, but he is No One’s Hero.

there are giant fucking eels here? what the fuck? what HAPPENED to this place???

stop trying to make star-lord happen, it’s never going to happen.

i have questions. 

specifically about Ronan’s whole. everything.

Is he literally sleeping in the blood of his enemies?

is it necessary to have all these people help him get dressed?

what is up with this Immortan Joe Esque powder tossing business

what sorry sucker gets to put THAT on their Kree Resume

“Ronan’s Makeup Artist”

seriously

what is his fucking deal. how did he get the name “accuser” and will Captain Marvel give us these answers?

anyway, moving on.

POOTER!

people DO NOT call you star-lord

Gamora is a real #Icon in this whole scene.

SUPERHERO LANDING!

love that Rocket’s entire plan is to put criminals in a literal bag

and that it’s foiled because Groot doesn’t get gender.

also, John C Reilly has some of the best lines in this movie and I think he deserves more recognition for that.

“I am Groot.” “That’s gonna wear real thin real fast”

WEIRDLY NO??? srsly how did they prevent that from getting old fast?

Me: was it witchcraft?

The Roommate: No, it’s just Groot.

can we appreciate that Gamora is One Of Us? like. She’s into that.

if you don’t know what I’m talking about i am not going to explain it

Don’t Worry About It.

the moment we all went ho lee FUCK ANDY DWYER??? YOU GOT RIPPED MY DUDE YOU GOT FUCKING HUGE

oh no they gave me feelings about Rocket

the real hero of this movie is that prison lady and her telenovela

good job drax u found ur light

Rocket’s Bedhead is An Entire Mood.

how can Thanos take you seriously with all that shit on your face you look ridiculous.

“my favorite daughter” DUDE NEBULA IS R I G H T. T H E R E.

 Rocket’s UGH face is also An Entire Mood

i love how the others are like. wanting to get out. but Drax just joins in for shits and giggles? like? he’s having a good time? wholesome.

“Oh. yeah.” Rocket is maybe explosion-sexual. which. ok yeah mood there as well.

I will never tire of the fact that the prison uniform prints their rap sheets on their legs and Quill’s is the shortest

like, it’s even shorter than Rocket’s. And let’s remember that Rocket is definitely less than 20 years old since he’s A Raccoon.

Rocket just casually putting bombs together just to have something to do with his hands.

Let’s pull this apart: No one is phased by the Jackson Pollack reference. They seem to know exactly what Quill is talking about.

Jackson Pollack is an alien. CONFIRMED.

oh hey it’s a dark elf

GROOT: CINNAMON ROLL, 2 GOOD FOR THIS WORLD 2 PÜR

“he killed my parents in front of me.” I mean. kkkkkkinda

The Gal Pal, who teaches English Language Learners: “Sticks up their butts” is actually a prime example of the ELL struggle and why English is hard to learn

Rocket one drink in is sad AND angry

oh yeah? how many friends do YOU have, petey boy?

We firmly believe that the Collector kept them waiting so he could do his hair. He truly is the Grandmaster’s brother.

oh hey it’s exposition time

wait is that the planet we were on earlier? is the power stone why it’s Like That? did they just leave the power stone there after it did that? it’s the reality stone all over again honestly what the fuck

whAT DO YOU STILL HAVE IT FORRR?????

seriously. “the accuser” is a hell of a name.

aw drax. don’t you hate when you realize that someone means more to you than you do to them.

it’s like bumper cars but there’s a winner!

spinal fluid is an extra gross way to drown

omg it’s the frog all over again SHE’S EVEN GREEN

Quill’s eyes here are red and that feels right but also I HATE IT

everyone thinks they’re Groot’s dad, when in fact Groot is everyone’s dad.

This whole argument/discussion scene is Solid Gold

12% of a plan

IT’S REAL

Rocket understanding everything Groot says

basically Rocket tbh

“To Give A Shit”

The Roommate: I feel like this is when Quill becomes Quill instead of the superhero Andy Dwyer imagined. 

wait did they say sakaaran???

freaking Glenn Close wth man

Random Extra #2056 has amazing hair and she knows it

Drax is having too much fun

Honestly I’m typing this up and in my notes it just says “And This Happened” and even I don’t know what I mean there

Honestly, they had to kill Yondu. He’s too powerful. Thanos wouldn’t have stood a chance

“Star-Lord” oh my god it’s happening.

the way peter slides around in this movie -- does he have ball bearings in his ass or what?

Groot’s Smile. TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD TOO PURE

“YOU STAND ACCUSED” OF? WHAT??

Bucky and Nebula would really get along. I hope they get to meet some day.

More Questions About Ronan “””THE ACCUSER??”””

did he spend the last few hours just like

“ugh he WAS familiar”

“where the FUCK do I know him from ugh ugh ugh”

“OH RIGHT! I DID KILL HIS FAMILY!”

“Their screams were pitiful”

“I should tell him that.”

WE! ARE! GROOT!

Did they not evacuate the city? wasn’t that a thing?

EYYYY THEY SAID THE NAME OF THE THING

oh buddy you need like. all the skin cream.

Gamora = Peter’s Mom?? REALLY? YOU JUST WENT AHEAD AND MADE THAT SUBTEXT... TEXT. ALRIGHT. YOU WENT THERE. OK.

So is Ronan... not mortal???

like, he says 

Anyway.

How much time has passed between the battle and this end scene? coupla weeks? months? What are we thinking? I need to know for timeline reasons.

[prabbling-blog]

... And Action! (Bill Skarsgard X Reader)

anonymous requested: Oi ! i really like ur writings and was wondering if you do bill skarsgard/pennywise stuff ? if you do can you write a oneshot where Y/N plays the older sister (like shes in her twenties or smth) of beverly and pennywise kills her ? but Bill Skarsgard (he plays Pennywise) has a thing for Y/N and really hopes to impress her but it kinda goes wrong in someway ? idek but it’s been a idea i’ve had for ages ! thankss !  

Warnings: Spoilers -? Maybe? IT is a horror movie so, murder and choking. Also brief brief brief topics of vomit.

Word Count: 1880

A/N: I’m fully aware this is one shot is a bit bizarre and definitely a specific niche (not one that I share necessarily) but I feel like I need to preface this by saying this is simply just for fun. PSA Bev Marsh doesn’t have an older sister Y/N’s role is purely for this work

Ever since Y/N got the call telling her she, Y/N L/N, was to play the part of Laura Marsh, her stomach still hasn’t unfolded itself. It was still all balled up in the pit of her lower abdomen, like she could hurl at any time. It had been there through the three months of filming they had done and she concluded that it would probably never leave.

Her character didn’t play much of a part in the loser’s club, but Y/N’s character was given her own story in the film. She was Laura Marsh, the real town ‘slut’  even though she often used her little sister Bev as a scapegoat. She hung out with Patrick Hocksetter and Henry Bower, and was usually one of Bev and the loser’s tormentors. Laura was a bitch by all standards of convention, even Y/N could admit, which was her death scene was supposed to be simultaneously terrifying and reliving.  

Y/N watched as the loser’s from her black chair as they played hand games and laughed together on the pavement. The blacktop was so hot! She thought, how the hell did they stand it? Y/N technically had only stopped being a kid three years ago (she was 21 now) but she still could never remember a time where she was so uncaring.

“Do ya’ know when they're gonna start already? Jesus lets just get on with the scene already!” The slightly squeaky voice of Nicholas Hamilton (Henry Bowers) abruptly asked beside her. Three months ago she would've jumped, but now she didn't even think about it. She heard a chair scraping against the ground and it groaned with the weight of Nick’s body. She turned and smiled at him, placing her thick and annotated script onto her lap. He was wearing an orange wife beater tanktop and Y/N could see redness on his shoulders beginning to form.

“Whoa I die in this scene! You want me gone that much, huh?” Y/N asked, feigning hurt as she chuckled lightly. It was the most unfortunate death for poor Laura Marsh, first she was kissed and then left by her boyfriend (which just so happened to be Henry Bowers) in the sewers of all places, then she was brutally ripped apart by a clown wearing his face. Y/N knew that the younger actor was anxious for his first on-screen make out (he had told her so time and time again) but she hoped the playful conversation would calm his nerves.  

Y/N was nervous too but for a different reason entirely. She was an experience actress, she had crossed all the necessary rights of passage, yet she was so nervous. Y/N had talked to Bill Skarsgard twice and she couldn’t shake her stupid, girlish crush. She hardly knew the guy for fuck’s sake! She had wanted so much to come from this movie, It was her first big production movie, but now she was most certainly gonna screw up. How the hell could she pretend to be terrified of the guy when she was secretly thinking ‘I want you to rub my mouth on your mouth’?

“No! No!” Nick assured, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not the death I’m looking forward to,” he whispered under his breath not so subtly. A few moments of hot silence followed before he reached over and grabbed the script from Y/N’s lap. He lazily fanned himself with it boyishly.

“You’ve got another coupla scenes after this so it’s not like you’re not going anywhere!” He joked as he tried in vain to cool himself off. His voice was shaking slightly and his laughs were constrained, like he wasn’t breathing in enough. Y/N cocked her eyebrow and waited for a few seconds before she made a lunge for her script. She, of course, missed it and hit her elbow on the wooden arm rest of his chair.

“C’mon why do you carry this thing anyhow? Everyone knows you memorized this thing cover to cover the instant you got it.” Nick teased stretching his arm away from Y/N as he peered at all of her highlights and somewhat embarrassing notes.

Y/N tried to crack a smile, but it was true, she did take it everywhere. How could she not? How else could she ensure she’d pull through? Besides was it so wrong for her to make sure everything went perfectly?

Nevertheless, she was beginning to suspect that Nick knew something that he shouldn’t, that sneaky little son of a bitch. She was about to reply with a typical snarky remark but she was interrupted by Andy (the director) shouting, “Y/N, Nick, and Bill - Scene 6 please!” Her heart sank as her body began to move without her brain’s consent. Nick had already jumped up and ran over to Andy enthusiastically. Meanwhile, Y/N’s thighs peeled up from her chair and she awkwardly waddled over to join them.

Andy took one glance at her before waving a makeup artist down and whispering in her ear. How ironic that this makeup artist looked like a scary clown herself, what with all that highlighter. The girl took a dry rag and began to dab Y/N’s face a bit, before she was pulled onto set by someone’s face she didn’t even get to see.

Nick grabbed Y/N’s hand and lightly guided her into position, awaiting Andy to shout “Action!” Y/N could still see the kids offscreen playing their hand games, but now one of them had begun throwing little balls of mud.  

“Alright! Is everyone in position?!” Andy asked looking around as if he were waiting for someone to point out a problem. He nodding to the man holding the slate, before loudly shouting “AND ACTION!”

Nick immediately pushed Y/N’s hips up against the walls of the sewers and she giggled obnoxiously. His lips roughly greeted hers in a strained, but very teenager, kiss. The kiss lasted only for a couple of seconds before he pulled away and wiped his mouth, following the script to a tee.

“You’re getting better.” He commented rudely and went back to give her another kiss. But Y/N’s character, Laura pushed his chest back, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Henry?” Y/N made sure to smack her lips together, to cock her head, and roll her eyes.

“It means that I thought sluts like you were supposedta’ be good at kissin’. But I guess sluts aren’t really known for their kissin’ anyways.” Again, Nick went in for a kiss, but Y/N pushed him back and feigned disbelief.  

Only open your mouth slightly, stop cocking your head, frown, stare, make your eyes water Y/N went through exactly what she had to do in the mirror time and time again, perfecting every part of her express- Crap, lower your chin and …. cry!

Nick glanced at her, though by now her character was balling. “You’re a fucking crazy bitch. You know that right? How much do you charge again?” He asked so sourly the words curdled in his mouth.

“Just get the fuck outta here!” Y/N yelled and she could see, out of her peripheral vision, Andy mouthing along to the words. Nick smirked evilly, before exiting the set and giving her an encouraging off screen thumbs up. Y/N slumped down and cried pathetically, just as it was written. But eventually she stood and stumbled around in the sewers, crying all the way. She could feel the presence of the camera over her shoulder as it followed her like a ghost. Abruptly, the sound of demonic laughter reverberated around the metal of the sewer hitting Y/N’s ears. Bill was too good at that. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand. Her character stopped walking and wiped her nose with the back of her cranberry colored sweatshirt.

A floating red balloon bobbed through the air as it came softly down to where Y/N was standing. It bobbed so peacefully (like the script had said), so her character tried to reach out to get it like a  young child. Perhaps poor slut Laura Marsh needed comfort too, Y/N pondered.

“AND PENNYWISE GO!” Andy shouted, marking where CGI would be used to create a horrifying, deformed hell version of Bill’s beautiful face. Y/N jumped and let out a throaty, raspy scream, the same scream she was hired for. She felt cold hands on her sweatshirt before she saw Bill, but once she did she couldn’t help to scream again. It was nightmarish, with his enlarged forehead and pointed smile.

The clown pinned Y/N up against the wall, which would’ve actually choked her if it had not been for the slight incline that let her tiptoes hang on. She gasped and sputtered, still crying and struggling pathetically. “HO HO HEHEHE!” The clown laughed in her ear and the sound shocked her so much that Y/N lost her footing, her toes couldn’t get a grip on the wet floor of the sewer. Bill was already so much taller than her at 6’4” that in order to deliver the lines properly, he had begun brought her up to his face. She gripped tightly onto his gloved hands as she coughed and began to feel a bit light headed as he continued to laugh maniacally.

Just kill me already! Y/N painfully thought, she would hate to be the reason for the failed take. But Pennywise, or Bill, never seemed to talk fast enough and Y/N was really beginning to feel the effects as she tried desperately to gulp in air.

“I - I,” Wheeze. “C-c-can’t-t,” Wheeze.  

Immediately like a switch had been pulled, she felt the pressure on her throat release as she fell to the ground into the disgusting water. She gulped in sweet air like she had never breathed before and Andy, god bless him, finally shouted “Cut!”

“Y/N! Are you alright!? I really didn’t mean to! I mean I thought maybe - but - I’m so sorry!” Pennywi- Bill shouted, helping her up by placing his hand on the small of her back. It was so odd hearing him be so gentle and polite while wearing such a terrifying costume. His eyes, which five seconds ago where full of such rage, now were softened and sad. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” Bill said exasperatedly and guided her over to where Andy sat, all the while she was still breathing in and out deeply.

“Y/N! Y/N! What happened!” Y/N heard the voices of the child actors as they ran over to inspect the situation.

“It was the heat you dufas!” One of the kids proclaimed obviously, as they patted her shoulder. But all Y/N could focus on was the sound of her heart beating as she panted heavily.

“I’m …  fine guys.” Y/N confirmed as she rubbed her neck tenderly. Now that she finally had air in her lungs, the pain of where Bill’s fingers had wrapped around her throat set in.

“I’m so sorry,” Bill repeated as he tried to give her kindest smile he could, buck tooth, blood drenched and everything.

[iffltd]

celebrating the 50th anniversary of the release of Robert Altman’s original film adaptation of the novel MASH a story about three Army doctors (a coupla years late)

Frame 1

PAINLESS: Shame Henry wasn’t here. He’d a thought it was a real radio program.

BANDINI: I thought it was a radio program--

UGLY JOHN:  We should send a letter of commendation--

PAINLESS: --to the Armed Forces Radio Network--

BANDINI:  Yes. Wonderful. It was the most uplifting program I’ve ever heard.

PAINLESS: It was climactic.

Frames 2 - 6

TRAPPER JOHN (to the Korean mess servers): Morning, ladies.

DUKE (to Major Houlihan): Well hiya, Hot Lips.

She swirls on him, her breakfast sloshing onto Trapper.

TRAPPER JOHN:  Oh my goodness, over my--

HAWKEYE (squeezing past her):  I’m sorry to touch you but I--

She storms away,,,,,

TRAPPER JOHN (affects a “fey” tone):  Well what’s the matter with her today?

HAWKEYE (similarly affected):  I don’t know. It must be one of those ladies’ things.

As Hot Lips pushes past those in line, Hawkeye and Trapper continue their “fey” mockery....

TRAPPER JOHN:  It’s not like her to act like this--

HAWKEYE:  No. I mean she’s made such a--

TRAPPER JOHN:  she’s a bitch.

Hot Lips struggles beyond agitated to get out of the Mess tent.

HAWKEYE  (losing the affectation):  I think she’s going to have a nervous breakdown.

TRAPPER JOHN (normal tone of voice):  She can’t even get out of the door.

Frame 7- 8

HAWKEYE (sits across from Major Burns with his tray): Morning, Frank.  Heard from your wife?

Hawkeye whistles his trill with a kind of breathless intensity.

Frame 9

Radar greets Colonel Blake as he returns, his jeep pulling to a stop and he climbs out....

RADAR:  Morning Colonel. You forgot your briefcase.

HENRY (like almost always, vaguely distracted):  Yes, I left it in the jeep.

RADAR (as he retrieves the briefcase):  You left it there.

HENRY (as he accepts the briefcase from Radar):  Yes, I forgot it.

As Leslie emerges from her tent....

HENRY:  Morning, Captain.

LESLIE:  Morning, sir.

HENRY:  I hope you didn’t have to-- (hands the briefcase back to Radar) --here take care of this--  (back to Leslie)  I hope you didn’t have to bother with those shirts.  It wasn’t necessary.

LESLIE:  Too late, sir. It’s a done thing.

HENRY:  Well, thank-you.

Sgt. Vollmer rushes up to Colonel Blake, salutes him....

VOLLMER:  Colonel, sir.  How was your visit, sir?

HENRY:  Great. The General wasn’t there.

VOLLMER:  Listen, about last night sir, there was just nothing I could do about it. Sir.

HENRY:  Nothing?

VOLLMER: Nothing.

HENRY:  Well, it couldn’t have been helped.

VOLLMER:  Thank you, sir.

As Leslie gives him a dirty look, Vollmer skee-daddles with his good luck....

Henry notices something in the Mess, turns there with Radar and Leslie....

HENRY:  What’s that?

HENRY:  Frank Burns and Hawkeye Pierce.  Very encouraging.

HAWKEYE:  A bunch of the boys asked me to ask you, Frank, what Hot Lips was like in the sack.

HAWKEYE:  Y’know, was she--

FRANK:  Mind your own business.

HAWKEYE:  No, Frank. Y’know, is she better than self-abuse?

DUKE:  What’s that all about? He gonna get some pointers or something?

TRAPPER JOHN:  No, Hawkeye’s gonna sign him up to make a personal appearance tour in all the camps in Korea.

DUKE: ‘Sthat a fact....

HENRY:  Wonder what they’re saying. Can you make it out?

HAWKEYE:  Does that big ass a hers move around a lot Frank or does it just sort of lie there flaccid?

HAWKEYE:  What would you say about that?

RADAR:  Hawkeye’s questioning the Major on a point of anatomy.

HENRY:  Very  good -- exchanging ideas.

HAWKEYE:  Would you say that she’s a moaner, Frank?

HENRY:  What is Burns saying?

RADAR:  Major Burns isn’t saying much of anything. sir. I think he’s formulating the answer.

HAWKEYE: Seriously, Frank.I mean, does she go UhhhUhhhhUhhh.... Or does she just lie there quiet and not do anything at all?

FRANK:  Keep your filthy mouth to yourself!

HAWKEYE:  Or does she go UH-UH-UH-UH--

Frank lunges across the table, throttles Hawkeye!

HAWKEYE:  GET HIM OFF ME!  GET HIM OFF ME!

DUKE:  What’s goin’ on, Frank?  That lesson one?

HAWKEYE:  FRANK BURNS HAS GONE NUTS!

HAWKEYE:  I’m wearing glasses, for God’ssake!

TRAPPER JOHN:  Watch out for goodies, Hawkeye -- that man’s a sex maniac. I don’t think Hot Lips satisfied him.  Don’t let him kiss you, Hawkeye!

DUKE:  Frank, we love ya!

OVER P.A.: Radio Tokyo PLAYS “Sometimes You Have to Say Sayonara”

DUKE:  Colonel, fair’s fair. If I nail Hot Lips and punch Hawkeye can I go home?

SCORCH:  Hawkeye!

HAWKEYE:  Yeah, be there in a minute.

SCORCH:  Hawkeye!

HAWKEYE:  Shit.

HAWKEYE:  Okay.  Hey, Seidman, get another guy. We gotta take this into the O.R. just on the stretcher.

(to soldier whose neck bleeds like crazy)

Hold on.  You’re gonna be just fine, fella.

(to Scorch)

Okay, I can’t move my hand.  Come on.

TRAPPER JOHN  (off-screen at another O.R. table to Hot Lips):  Have you got the cutdowns, darling?

HAWKEYE (to soldier):  You’re gonna go to sleep.  You’re gonna be just fine.

TRAPPER JOHN:  Hot Lips, let me have one of your sterile knives, please.

HAWKEYE (to Scorch):  I’m gonna need two vascular clamps.

SCORCH:  All right.

HAWKEYE:  And an arterial suture.  As soon as you give me the clamp, I want you to be ready to gown and glove me.  All right?

HAWKEYE:  Ready? Okay.

SCORCH:  Yeah.

HAWKEYE:  Here we go. It’s gonna spurt a bit.

UGLY JOHN  (works anesthestesia):  You got it?

HAWKEYE:  Aye, aye, baby.

HAWKEYE:  Clamp.

SCORCH:  Yeah.

HAWKEYE:  Okay. Gown.

As Scorch quickly fits him....

HAWKEYE:  Gloves.  Y’got that arterial suture ready?

SCORCH:  Yeah.

HAWKEYE:  Okay.

(to Ugly John)

 Ugly, move outta the way ‘cause  I’m looking around over there.

(as he gets to work)

Baby, we’re gonna see some stitchin’ like you never saw before!

P.A. OVERLAPPING into next scene:  Attention. Attention. This is from Colonel Blake’s office.

OVER P.A.:  The American Medical association has just declared marijuana a dangerous drug.  Despite claims by some physicians that it is no more dangerous than alcohol, that is no longer found to be the case.

LIEUTENANT DISH (to Trapper):  Oh really?   When did you get them.  (with stethoscope)  Let me try it on you.

Father Mulcahy ENTERS.

DUKE:  Hey!  Dago Reddo!  Just in time for cocktails.

DAGO RED:  No. No, I can’t, really.  Hawkeye. Hawkeye?  Can I speak to you?

HAWKEYE:  Yeah, sure.

DAGO RED:  No. Outside.

HAWKEYE:  What?

DAGO RED:  I have to talk to you outside.

HAWKEYE:  You all right?

(a familiar little dog rushes up to him)

Hiya, pup-pup.

DAGO RED:  Sorry to drag you away from the gang in there--

HAWKEYE:  What?

DAGO RED:  This will only take a moment. There’s a problem with Walt Waldowski.

HAWKEYE:  Painless?

DAGO RED:  Painless.

HAWKEYE:  Y’got a toothache?  He’s a good dentist.

Dago Red:  No, no, no, it’s not my problem. See, it’s his problem.

HWKEYE: What do you mean?  What is it?

DAGO RED:  Well, what is it.... That’s-- It’s difficult to talk about, you see,  because I learned about his problem in confession.

HAWKEYE:  And you can’t....

DAGO RED:  I can’t divulge--

HAWKEYE:  Can you give me a hint?

DAGO RED:  But I--

HAWKEYE:  Just an idea--

DAGO RED:  Well, no.  But I can tell you how serious it is.

DAGO RED: He and the boys were playing poker and one of the boys turned to him and asked for a ruling on one of the hands and Walt said, he said, “What does it matter?  It’s only a game.”

HAWKEYE:  Painless said “what does it matter? It’s only a game”?  Poker, only a game?

DAGO RED:  Yeah.

Hawkeye whistles -- only this time with amazement.

DAGO RED:  Yeah. That’s what I thought.

HAWKEYE:  i guess I better go see a man about a tooth.

DAGO RED:  Thank you. See I didn’t know what I--

HAWKEYE (as he leaves): C’mon pup-pup.

DAGO RED:  You see there are some....

DAGO RED:  There are some things absolution just....

[whydoiwrite]

i was the one who asked about cancel culture and i wasn’t trying to start an argument, swear. ive just been seeing some stuff on the devil blue bird app & even here about particular players to the point where i really think some shit people are saying about people / ‘cancelling’ people for is going too far

I didn’t think you were trying to start an argument. I’m the one who starts shit with my responses because while I could be politically/socially correct, that wouldn’t be real. Yes, people are trying to cancel certain players. No, it’s not going to be effective, but I don’t care because the intent is still there. I don’t understand why people can’t see things from others’ perspectives and accept that there are valid reasons for standing just like there are valid reasons for kneeling. And now I feel the need to repeat this for the 10,000th time, I believe they should all kneel, or all stay in the locker room, but... I’m also capable of understanding viewpoints that are different than my own. Just the whole idea behind cancel culture is stupid if we’re trying to progress as a society. And acting without empathy isn’t going to get us anywhere. You can’t change someone’s mind by yelling at them, and if you’re unwilling to understand where they’re coming from, there’s no hope. We all have different experiences and those experiences have to be acknowledged even when they’re not the experiences we’ve had or that we agree with. And that’s not excusing racism, because you can’t convince me that standing for the anthem = racist behavior even though I, personally, refuse to stand for the anthem.

And I’ll bring this up again, too. Put all these people who are bitching on social media in a stadium and play the anthem and I shit you not, they’re all going to be standing during that damn song like the hypocrites they are. Because 1 (one) lady knelt during the national anthem in Orlando and you can’t tell me there weren’t at least a coupla Horan/Sonnett/Ertz/O’Hara haters in there. I have yet to hear what any of the non-Black people who talk shit to/about me are doing that qualifies them as accomplices to the Black community. If they’re not accomplices, I don’t give a shit about their opinion re: people standing during the anthem because their intentions are hollow. I betcha I’m more actively anti-racist than the anons who have dropped into my asks.

(On a side note, these people also can’t separate their personal feelings from soccer.)

[praximeter]

Any stucky classics I can read. I am new to the fandom n all.

Hi nonnie! Welcome to the greatest fandom on earth. 😉 And thanks for writing in!

I sure do have some fic recs for you. Not sure what your jam is, so I’m gonna list out a couple of my favorites and you can go to town. Also, check out my fic recs tag! 

Classic Stucky Fic Recs under the cut! And also, you should definitely check out the Influential Fics for New Readers post over at @thestuckylibrary​.

to memory now I can’t recall by Etharei

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Additional Tags: Time Travel, World War II, Memory Loss, Time Loop, Alien Technology, Identity Porn

Summary: While on a mission storming a HYDRA facility, James Buchanan Barnes touches one of the many strange alien devices collected by the Red Skull. He does this, in fact, twice— in the past, and in the future.

Next thing he knows, Bucky Barnes is opening his eyes in the 21st century, which is full of great gadgets and coffee, and at least includes his old pal Steve. (And, inexplicably, a different Stark.) Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier finds himself in the middle of World War Two, helping Captain America hunt down HYDRA (which is at least familiar), pretending to be Bucky Barnes (which is not), and figuring out the very noisy group of soldiers who call themselves the Howling Commandos.

Comments: This is my one of my absolute favorite longfics in this fandom. It has everything: recovering!Bucky, time travel, tragic comparisons of Bucky’s past and current self, somewhat of a twist on outsider POV (in a weird way), and it is beautifully written and plotted.

This, You Protect by owlet

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Humor, I hope humor anyway, cursing, Protection, Strong feelings about coffee, slightly off-canon, Steve is sassy, sam is sassy, Bucky is sassy, Everyone has their sassy pants on, just accept that grilled cheese is the perfect food, old people are Team Bucky

Summary: The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

Comments: This is typically most people’s entry for the “if you read one fic from this fandom” contest. Funny, clever, sweet, and a totally unique take on Bucky’s post-TWS mindset. Great fun and great sequels.

Ain’t No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) by spitandvinegar 

Rating: Mature | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Drug Abuse, Homelessness, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Catholic Steve Rogers, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Artist Steve Rogers, Identity Issues, POV Alternating, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, because I am a desert pony that runs as wild and free as the wind, Period Typical Attitudes, Masturbation, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, original kid characters, a coupla goddamn kids, Pinkberry, Past Rape/Non-con

Summary: It’s six in the morning, and Steve is heading out on a run when he nearly trips over a bouquet of sunflowers on the front steps of his brownstone.

For a second paranoia takes over, and he kicks the flowers a little, waiting for them to explode. They don’t. They also came with a card, which he picks up. The front of the card has a tasteful picture of the Brooklyn bridge at sunset. It’s very nice and sedate, like the kind of card you would buy to give to your boss. On the inside someone has written a short message in big, shaky block letters.

I AM SORRY FOR SHOOTING YOU.

Steve sits down hard on the steps.

Comments: A really inventive take on Recovering!Bucky, with a super rich backstory and a daring characterization. 

4 Minute Window by Speranza (@cesperanza​)

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Surveillance, It’s Like Grand Central Station In Here, Brooklyn Boys, Power Couple, People Are Sick of Conceptual Art

Summary: “Look, if they catch me,” Bucky muttered, “they’re either going to kill me or they’re going to put me in a box with a little window and—Steve, I can’t.”

Comments: Okay, so if you don’t know @cesperanza​, you are in for a treat. Her characterization of Bucky is one of my absolute favorites - he is competent and cool, and she writes him and everything he does so convincingly. That’s the hallmark of a speranza fic: you believe every word of it, and it always feels real. It’s a totally immersive story that continues out into a delightful series. Honestly, you should read everything that speranza has written for this fandom - especially 20th Century Limited. 

Silent thunder, as of a thousand wings by kaasknot (@kaasknot)

Rating: Mature | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Angels, angel!bucky, Religious Imagery, (Now with bonus sacrilege), Angst, Pining, Consent Issues, Agency issues, Gore typical of wartime, Period-Typical Ableism, Racism and racial slurs, PTSD, Flashbacks, Period-typical ignorance of PTSD, attempted suicide, Here there be Google translations, Bucky Barnes is a dirty liar, Steve is a chihuahua with aggression issues, thor is not an idiot, Everyone’s a grade-A potty mouth, Torture

Summary: A theologian once said that angels are constructs of love and holy rage, and chained to obedience through both. Or maybe a theologian hadn’t said that. Maybe it was the Bright One himself, or just Uriel being grumpy.

But Bucky knows that he loves Steve, and he loves his taskmaster of a boss even as he gripes about him over beers after work, and he loves the dames with their red, red lips and smooth, soft curves (and he loves the guys, loves their strength and the tall, proud lines of them), and he loves old Mrs. Greene even when her rheumatism acts up and she turns mean as a wet cat. But he loves Steve most of all, and if Bucky is shackled to mindless obedience because of it, he calls it a good trade, because Steven Grant Rogers is the best person he knows. When it comes down to it, he figures his desire only adds a new dimension to a love that was already there, glowing hot enough to burn.

He was sent to Earth in a cage of mortal flesh to watch over Steve, and Bucky can do no less than love him with all his heart.

Comments: A great, creative alternative universe story that that takes a difficult premise and executed it perfectly. The changes made to canon are so smart and it maintains the urgency and emotion and tragedy of canon while transforming it completely. And the OCs are amazing.

i need a forest fire by tomorrowsrain

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Road Trip, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Reconciliation, Recovery, Past Torture, Fugitives, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Deaf Clint Barton, Fix-It, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, On the Run, Developing Friendship, Healing, Past Brainwashing, Talking, some humor hopefully, Character Study

Summary: "The past beats inside me like a second heart. These fragments I have shored against my ruins."

In which Tony Stark makes a reckless decision, becomes a wanted fugitive, goes on the run with the former Winter Soldier, and learns how to forgive. For his part, Bucky Barnes is just trying to hold himself together. AU, post-Civil War.

(sequel of sorts to après nous le déluge, but can be read alone)

Comments: Love, love, love this story because it’s got Stucky AND Tony & Bucky friendship as well as a really smart characterization of Steve and Bucky.

The Crucible by Dreadnought (@dreadnought-dear-captain)

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Psychological Trauma, Brainwashing, Teamwork, Science, Bucky Barnes-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, Internalized Homophobia, Bad Parenting, Intergenerational Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Past Bucky Barnes/Various Female Characters, Sexual Content, Medical Torture, Psychology, POV Bucky Barnes, Hydra (Marvel), Emotional Roller Coaster, Stockholm Syndrome, Introspection, Unreliable Narrator, Trust Issues, Lots and lots of psychotherapy, Homophobic Language, Period-Typical Homophobia, Heavy Angst, Vomiting, Gaslighting, Anxiety, Depression, Recovery, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, parasuicidal behavior, Therapy, therapy fic

Summary: Therapy's a bitch, but PTSD is worse. An in-depth character study of Bucky Barnes as he reconciles his years with Hydra in the wake of Civil War.

------

I don’t really know who I am. I do know that James Buchanan Barnes is dead. He’s a pile of bones at the bottom of a ravine. He’s a side bar in some other guy’s museum exhibit that might not even exist anymore. James Barnes would puke if he could see what he became. His parents and sister and friends would cry.

I don’t know what’s left over now, but I know it’s not good. And I don’t think it can ever be good.

Comments: This is the therapy fic. Dreadnought knows his stuff like nobody else and it hurts and it’s so good. You should definitely read this and then jump into his other fic, a WIP called Baghdad Waltz which will tear your heart out like nobody’s business. It’s a modern military AU, and 100% the best one ever written for this fandom.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Foreign Languages (standalone)

Summary: Rus always thought he was a pretty likable guy. Everyone in Underswap always thought so. So why was it Edge hated him so much?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Enemies to Lovers,Getting Together, Misunderstandings

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Rus took the wet dish from his brother’s hand and dried it carefully, making sure to get any damp places that would leave spots when they dried. On the counter in front of him were stacks of already dried plates sitting next to the glasses and Rus added the current one to join its brethren. Because despite what some people might think, and say, loudly and frequently, Rus could and did actually help out with the housework.

Okay, it was possible he played up the laziness whenever some people were here, come on, it was funny. That was the joke! And sure, he got some chuckles out of it, but in the end, the fact remained. He helped, thanks, he did have jobs, he put money towards the bills, and he wasn’t some lazy, good-for-nothing jackass sponging off his brother’s goodwill, he wasn’t—

“You can quit brooding about it now,” Blue told him. Rus looked down at him. The sink was at his bro’s level and unless Rus wanted to sit on the floor while he washed, they usually went with Rus at the drying end of the line. Blue rinsed another plate and handed it up. “They’re gone and they won’t be back for another week.”

“they may be physically gone, but i swear, their presence lingers like a rancid fart in an elevator,” Rus grumbled. He rubbed away the droplets of water with more energy than was probably necessary, but it was probably better the plates took the bulk of his irritation than where he really wanted to shove it. “the Fell brothers seemed to bring their version of trouble with them wherever they go.”

“What I don’t understand is why you let him get to you,” Blue sighed. He scrubbed at the casserole dish, attacking the dried-on bits and ugh, gross, there was another reason to be grateful he was tall. “I’m aware you two simply don’t get along, but you’re usually so much better than that! How can you ignore every other Monster in the Underground, all with a smile on your face, except him?”

Rus sighed, sagging against the counter. “bro, i dunno. he’s worse than the mating call of piece of styrofoam.”

That was a kind way of putting it as far as Rus was concerned. His undersized clone from murderworld was flat-out fucking obnoxious. Rus could handle insults, hell, when he was doing standup, Rus could handle any heckler from the stage with the finest level of panache. But somehow, that guy managed to find his very last nerve and pounced on it with the kind of accuracy that Robin Hood would envy.

Ignoring that shit was seriously above and beyond the call of duty. The only other option would be going out whenever they were over, but fuck that. This was his house, thanks, and Rus wasn’t getting chased out of it by some overblown copy of himself that needed heels to look him in the eye sockets.

Blue rinsed off a handful of silverware and handed it over. “Things are different in Underfell you know that.”

The forks jangled as Rus tossed them roughly on the counter, “so what, that gives him blanket permission to be an asshole?”

“No,” Blue pulled the plug and wiped his hands on his apron, “but it also doesn’t mean you have to rise to the bait every time.”

“why are you only bitching at me and not him?” Rus whined. Honestly, it was so unfair. Just because he was taller didn’t mean he always had to be the bigger skeleton. He tossed the rest of the mostly dried silverware in with the forks and flopped down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his bro from behind and hauling him in for a hug. Blue snuggled in obediently, but that wasn’t enough to save Rus from the scolding.

“Because he isn't my brother,” Blue said firmly. “You are. And if you're waiting on Red to reel him in, I'd suggest not holding your breath.” That was the fucking truth, Red never joined in on the fun, but he tended to sit back and watch the show with a smirk on his face. That was the Underfell brothers, wasn’t it, the asshole and the whole ass, and they shared the titles between them. “Now, promise me that you won't let him get to you this weekend.”

Rus grumbled under his breath.

"What was that?”

"I promise," he sighed. He really did hate letting his bro down. He let Blue go and sank back on his heels while he tried very hard not to sulk, because that only made his bro unhappy and didn’t solve a thing.

This wasn’t the first time Blue begged him to tone it down for a while, but fuck, it was like that asshole was deliberately needling him, seriously, he was begging for an insult. The real problem wasn’t that he couldn’t control himself, but the simple fact that Edge wasn’t gonna make it easy for him.

This past movie night was a case in point. Nothing but jibes, back and forth, from the second Edge walked through the door ‘till the moment he set those high heels of his back into the snow.

“Tell me, how many piles of filthy clothing did you need to wade through before you found that sweatshirt?”

“only two, edgelord, wanted to make a good impression. and how many emos did you have to kill to put together that outfit, good on you for getting all the dust out.”

“My apologies, I suppose having clothing that wasn’t scrounged from a vomit-inducing dumpster is offending your sensibilities. I’ll be sure to wade through some filth before our next visit.”

“shouldn’t be too hard in underfell, all you have to do is take a stroll outside.”

“Do you think so, I wasn’t sure you knew what a stroll was, considering that the couch cushions are sunken in your shape.”

And that was just what Rus remembered from the top of his head. If he could give Edge grudging credit for anything, it was that he was quick with a comeback. Too quick, and constant to boot. By the end of the night, Rus was seething and Blue was exhausted from playing monkey in the middle, trying feebly to keep the peace.

If Edge had ever pointed any of that shit on Blue’s direction, this wouldn’t even be an issue. Rus would’ve shoved their pointy asses back into the portal so fast, the void would be spinning. Whatever problem Edge had with him, though, it didn’t extend to Blue. They were chummy as hell, thick as thieves, whatever other fucking metaphor the undernet could spit out.

Seriously, though, if he’d been even the tiniest bit as rude to his bro, this whole movie night thing would’ve been dumpstered a long time ago.

Only he wasn’t. And he wasn’t to Papyrus either, or Sans, or any other fucking person he’d seen Edge interact with. Doc Jekyll was perfectly kind and polite to anyone else and only pulled a Monsieur Hyde whenever Rus was close by.

Seemed like Edge saved all his vitriol for him. Lucky lucky him.

Well, this movie night was gonna be different. This time Rus wasn’t letting that asshole get to him and that was final.

~~*~~

If Rus knew that ignoring Edge was going to be this amazing, he would have tried it months ago.

It started from the first moment they walked in the house, like it always did. Edge barely kicked off his boots when he called out, “Have you been wearing that same shirt all week, Swapshit? Are you experimenting on whether it’s actually possible to wear something to rags?”

“Guess so,” Rus said absently. He didn’t elaborate on it, didn’t ask whether Edge shook all the dust out of his ensemble before coming. He only stayed where he was, slumped on the sofa while Blue began the entire convoluted ritual of bringing out popcorn and drinks, chattering about what movies they were planning on watching today and what was for dinner.

Usually Edge would step in and help, but Rus’s lack of reply seemed to have thrown him for a loop. He wavered for a moment then rallied with, “Perhaps you let your brother wash it this week after all, since I doubt you’ve laid a hand on a washing machine in months.”

Rus only shrugged vaguely, and the look that flitted across Edge’s face, a weirdly twisted configuration of confusion, was some sweet shit.

He tried a couple more, adding to the clothes and lazy insults with a coupla digs about his intellect for seasoning and this time Rus didn’t even bother with the shrug. He was a tree in the wind, bending beneath the gales, and laughing it the fuck up on the inside. Now this was entertainment.

Sans seemed to have caught on to the deal and he only settled next to a scowling Red on one of the sofas, watching as Edge stood alone in the middle of their living room, fumbling for another insult for Rus to ignore.

Blue and Papyrus were always tall and smol balls of trying to get along, and when Blue gave him a look, Rus only looked back innocently. Hey, he was following his promise to the letter, not letting Edge get to him. If Edge was gonna get worked up into a froth about it, hey, wasn’t his fault.

Blue still looked like he wanted to give him a kick in the shin, but didn’t seem like he came up with a good excuse for it. He settled for accidentally/deliberately treading on Rus’s foot even as he said, brightly, “Here we go, popcorn and drinks!”

“thanks, bro,” Rus took his bowl and immediately started crunching the salty, buttery goodness.

That seemed to be the ammo Edge was looking for and he latched on quickly, snapping out, “Always have to be first in line, don’t you. Consider leaving some for the rest of us.”

Rus had to resist the urge to scoff, that wasn’t even a good one, boo, all the judges give ones, even the Russians.

“Here you are, Edge, popcorn,” Blue said with almost desperate cheer, thrusting a bowl at him.

That seemed to be enough to call for an intermission. Edge took his bowl of popcorn without so much as a thank you and went to sit between Sans and Red. The movie was an old one they’d all seen before and Rus snuck a couple discreet glances Edge’s way. He was glowering at the screen as if that laser gaze of his might kill all the actors and spare them this nonsense. Every once in a while, Edge sullenly ate a single kernel of popcorn and holy shit, this was the funniest thing Rus had ever seen, and if he laughed out loud now, he’d never get to see the end of the show.

He managed to jerk his eye lights back to the tv and kept the glances to a minimum, the better to savor it, hell, yes. Sipped on the Edgelord’s annoyance like the fine vinegary wine that it was.

Halfway through the movie, Blue paused it and picked up the half-full popcorn bowl, holding it up to ask cheerily, “Does anyone need a drink or refill?”

“I’ll take a glass,” Edge announced. Instead of waiting for Blue to bring it, he stalked over, arms crossed over his chest as he stood waiting, glowered at absolutely nothing.

That got some looks. Edge never drank soda, he always stuck with water. Hell, he’d sneered about the soda before, what was that one, something about Rus drinking so much soda that if he dared eat a Mento, he’d probably explode.

“Oh, uh, of course!” Blue recovered admirably. He poured out a cup and handed it up to Edge. Who took it with possibly the fakest looking fumble Rus ever saw, but there wasn’t time to even wonder what the fuck because the soda was less in the glass and more dumped directly on his head.

Stunned, Rus looked up at Edge through the sticky liquid dripping into his sockets.

“Oops,” he said, blandly. His eye lights were bright, a smirk curving up the side of his mouth. “My mistake.”

“you—” Rus bit off what he was going to say hard enough that his teeth clicked together painfully. He’d fucking promised, and he was keeping his promise, no cheap pleather knockoff clone was going to stop him. He stood up, slowly, and for one long moment he faced Edge. Without his boots on, Edge was inches shorter than him, staring up defiantly, daring Rus to say something, anything. Then Rus turned away and stalked towards the kitchen.

“Papy,” Blue called anxiously as he went through the door. Rus ignored it and went right to the drawer with the towels, wiping off as much of the sticky wetness as he could, ugh.

The door swung open behind him and Rus turned enough to catch a glimpse of black and crimson, too tall to be Red.

Rus wasn’t the fighter that Edge was, but he did have two things in his side. First, the element of surprise and second, he was pretty sure Edge wouldn’t actually hurt him. Blue probably wouldn’t be very happy about having to shake Rus out of the rugs.

That anger he’d kept banked all night under his sense of humor surged and Rus reached out and took hold of Edge’s soul with his magic, turned it blue with a cheery ting and shoving him back against the cupboards. Edge didn’t even struggle or try to fight back and somehow that was even more irritating, what the fuck was wrong with this guy?

Seemed like there was only one person to ask. Rus stalked over to Edge and stood in front of him, his soda-soaked sweatshirt clinging uncomfortably as he snarled out, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Edge had no right to look as furious as he did. “Me?” he spat, “What the fuck are you trying to pull?”

“i’m trying to end all this bullshit!” Rus snapped. His anger wasn’t sustainable, hell, Rus never liked being angry, and it drained away, leaving behind exhaustion. No one else ever got treated to the weekly roast, why the hell was Edge so damned focused on him. He didn’t know and couldn’t even care, let his magic recede so that Edge came down in a controlled slide, his feet back on the floor.

Only, Rus didn’t expect the way Edge’s expression changed along with it, from cold fury to…to…it almost looked like yearning, what the fuck--

“Finally,” Edge breathed, and Rus only stared dumbly as Edge stepped in close and kissed him.

Rus’d been kissed plenty of times before by other, fleshier Monsters and wasn’t that always a learning curve. Somehow this was even worse, mostly because he was cycling through various levels of shock, hands flailing as if he were trying to fly away from this whole awful night.

A skeletal mouth was something different, hard, sharp teeth pressed almost painfully to his own. Rus was pretty sure he only opened his mouth to ask Edge what the fuck he was doing, but the moment his teeth parted, he had an extra tongue inside, long and clever, curling around his own, and for one brief, baffling moment Rus found himself leaning into it. The mouth against his own knew what it was doing, tongue dipping inside, teeth nibbling teasingly, riding the tantalizing line of pain and pleasure.

It was the slightest prickle of those sharp teeth that reminded him of who exactly he was kissing, and Rus jerked away, stumbling back and covering his mouth with a humiliatingly shaky hand. “what the…why would you…what the fuck?!”

Looking to Edge for answers only got Rus more questions. He looked bewildered more than anything, maybe even a little hurt. He reached out, his hands settling on Rus’s shoulders. “But, you said—"

“let go!” Rus tried to lurch away from those grasping hands.

Edge did immediately and Rus scrambled away from him, not looking back as he fled out the kitchen door. The others were still on the sofas, but Red was sitting next to Blue now, of course he fucking was, probably kept his bro out here to let Edge chase after him for whatever the fuck that was.

His shoes were laying jumbled together by the front door and Rus stuffed his feet into them, ignoring the way his boney feet protested the rough treatment.

“Where are you going?” Blue called, distressed.

“someplace to get my dick sucked,” Rus snarled, ignoring the way his bro sputtered at his crudeness. He slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to shake clumps of snow loose from the gutters, the Gyftmas lights swaying as Rus started off towards Muffet’s, already reaching for a cigarette.

~~*~~

Hours later, Rus was still sitting at the bar, alone. Aside from a scattering of greetings when he’d come inside, everyone took one good look at him and let him be. The place was mostly empty by now, only a few regulars clinging on, most of them sitting alone, too, or may as well be, cause this wasn’t the hour for laughter and chatting. This was the time for drinking, and everyone here was getting to the task, tout suite.

Muffet was behind the bar, endlessly wiping the glasses. Aside from refilling his glass, she’d left him alone and that suited Rus’s mood just fine. He was engaging in a particularly useful coping mechanism known as ‘trying not to think about it’ and after three honey whiskeys, he was doing a pretty good job.

Behind him, Rus heard the door open, didn’t think much of it. Until the footsteps headed his way and the stool next to him got a new occupant. Red didn’t look at him, only gestured to Muffet and soon he had a drink of his own, something vile and sour, Rus would sure, to match his shitty personality.

Red looked down at his drink, tipping the glass this way and that in his hands. “i dunno what the fuck you’re trying to pull,” Red said, coolly, “but flaunting it when you’re fucking other people is over the line.”

“who i fuck is none of your business.” Rus drained his glass and held it out silently for Muffet to refill. He hadn’t actually intended to find someone to spend the night with, but the idea was getting more tempting by the second with someone trying to stuff up his ass what he should or shouldn’t do.

The entire bar winced as sharp fingertips scraped across glass, dark liquid slopping out over Red’s hand as his grip tightened. Red finally looked at him and his eye lights were burning like coals in his sockets. “it is when you’ve been leading my brother on for months!”

Rus choked on the mouthful of whiskey he’d taken, coughing it back out. “whoa, back that shit up, what?”

The heat of that glare didn’t drop a single digit, Red glowering as he snarled, “i’ve been keeping back. if you two want to play the long game, it’s no skin off my bones, but you’re playing a little too rough!”

Okay, maybe he’d had enough to drink for now. Rus set the glass carefully on the bar top and glanced at Muffet. Who was only polishing a glass and giving a great impression of someone who wasn’t hanging on to their every word. A quick glance around the rest of the bar got him a lot of matching nonchalant expressions and wasn’t that wonderful. Rus always loved being the best gossip on any given night. “red, i have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

That fiery anger dimmed, morphing into the same bewilderment he’d seen in Edge. “but…come on, you’ve been insulting him for months.”

“So?” Rus said, defensively. “he’s been insulting me!”

“yeah, exactly!” When Rus only stared at him in confusion, Red looked even more agitated, shoving his drink away. “you’ve been getting in each other’s faces, arguing and…” He slowed and trailed off, leaning to peer disturbingly close into Rus’s face, his sockets narrowed. “you really got no idea what i’m talking about, do you.”

“no fucking clue,” His whiskey-clouded thoughts were slow to catch up, but when they did, it was like a slap across the face, sharp and stunning. “you think I’ve been flirting with him??”

Red threw up his hands, “yeah!”

Rus could only shake his head, torn between being amused and appalled. Amusement was currently in the lead, of course Underfell would do things with a weird, assholish tilt. “red, we don’t flirt like that here. ask anyone.”

Red turned to look around the bar where everyone immediately found something better to look at. But every one of them was sitting peacefully, sipping a drink and munching on pretzels.

It made Rus remember the time Red dragged him to Grillby’s in Underfell, where a fight seemed to start every two minutes, attacks constantly flying and Rus was so nervous, he barely finished a single drink. Red seemed unperturbed the whole time, slugging the shots back, business as usual for him. The next time he invited Rus out, Rus decided he had about a hundred other ways he’d rather die than sipping cheap booze in the murder café.

Red was starting to get the picture, too, in high-definition. He looked honestly upset which was probably the most real emotion he’d ever seen in Red, his sharp phalanges clattering against his skull as he scraped a hand over it, muttering out, “ah, fuck.”

“that pretty much sums it up,” Rus agreed. He took another swig of his drink, may as well not waste it, chuckling to himself, “fuck. you both thought i was flirting…and he was flirting…back.”

Oh.

That…was actually not funny. At all. If Edge thought he was flirting by insulting him and he’d been giving it right back hard, going all out until Rus had been in a goddamn rage and—

It turned everything he knew about Edge on its head, meant he hadn’t been an asshole, the exact opposite, actually, he…he’d been…

Yeah. Fuck seemed like a pretty good summation.

Processing all that through his whisky-soaked head wasn’t going so well. Rus sank down, resting his head on his folded arms and staring blurrily at the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar.

Next to him, Red shifted uncomfortably, slowly turning the glass in his hands. “look, i’ll talk to my bro about this,” Red said haltingly.

Rus nodded distractedly. “yeah, okay. that…that’d be good.” Suddenly the bar seemed too hot, claustrophobically so. “i need to go.” He dug a G out of his pocket and left in on the counter, ignoring the way the other patrons gasped in shock. To hell with them, he wasn’t about to let Red start using his tab.

He stumbled out the door, the cold stinging against his hot cheek bones. Wandered in the direction of their house and kept going, until snow faded to slush and dripping water. He was in Waterfall in the middle of the night, echo flowers everywhere ready to repeat his woes to the next person passing through.

Yeah, how about no.

Rus sidestepped into a shortcut and his head might not be on straight, but he could find that secret bench blindfolded and backwards. One of the quietest places Underground, only the soothing rush of water around him. Nice and quiet, too quiet, nothing to distract him from the tangle of his thoughts and Rus flopped down on the bench while his mind started picking at it.

Edge had given back every insult Rus had ever given him, in spades. Which run through an Underfell filter made it sound like Edge had been an adoring suitor, gah, Rus wasn’t even sure there was a name for what knowing that made him feel. A wild blender-drink of emotion turned into a smoothie of confusion.

But that was almost business as usual. He’d always been confused and maybe a little hurt by Edge’s attitude. Why was he so friendly with his brother and so cold to him? Sometimes after movie nights he’d be lying awake in bed, wondering what the fuck he’d done to make Edge hate him so much.

Only to find out now that Edge didn’t hate him. At all. Maybe even the opposite of that.

All that whiskey was settling into his magic sourly and Rus rolled to lay on his side, breathing through a wave of nausea. His thoughts seemed trapped in a circular haze, repeating over and over, worse than the most persistent echo flower, and finally, he fell asleep staring at the lapping water.

When he woke, the amount of artificial light trying to pry its way into his closed sockets told him it was morning. Rus groaned and slung an arm over his sockets, but before he could drift back off came a prickling sense of awareness.

Someone was close by.

Cautiously, Rus lifted his arm and squinted out into the day to see Edge standing in front of him. At least he thought it was Edge, Rus wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Edge in jeans and a plain t-shirt, and his boots were simple with a low heel. None of the elaborate wardrobe he usually showed up in. With a sickening jolt, Rus realized that every time Edge came over, he’d been dressing up to see him. How did that make his typical hoodie and track pants seem, was the insult of not dressing up part of the flirting? Who the fuck knew.

The clothes weren’t the only thing different about him. Gone was the arrogant Captain who marched into their house on movie nights. This skeleton’s hands were tucked into his pockets, his expression bleak, like there was a deciding battle lost and now he was trying to deal with the aftermath.

“hnng,” Rus managed, groaning as he sat up. He cleared his throat, trying to work a little moisture into his mouth as he mumbled, “um. hey.”

Edge looked past Rus at the stony wall behind him with determined focus and said stiffly, “I’ve been made aware that there has been a misunderstanding.”

“yeah, a little.” Only a fucking lot.

He nodded tiredly, “My apologies. I won’t trouble you any longer.” Edge started to turn away and that was abruptly the last thing Rus wanted.

“wait!” Rus blurted. He reached out weakly and wasn’t even sure why, but somehow seeing Edge, arrogant, asshole Edge, looking so downcast, so damned broken, it…it hurt, worse than the hangover throbbing in his skull.

He remembered Edge coming over a few weeks ago to work on cooking with his bro. So patient and understanding with Blue, who could be a little overzealous at times, okay, maybe even a lot and Edge was never anything but kind to him, as kind as he’d been vicious with Rus and if he could swap that around, change it, flip it on its head and why not, they were in Underswap.

Edge hesitated, some unnamed emotion flickering across his face, and Rus added, coaxingly, “please? sit down, okay? can we talk while we’re both on the same page?”

He looked like he was considering making a break for Underfell, even glanced in the direction of the path. But finally, he sighed heavily and sat on the opposite side of the bench, spine held so rigidly he looked like he might shatter with a single touch.

They sat there with the sound of falling water around them, Rus struggling with what to say, fuck, he didn’t even know how he felt. His head ached and Edge looked so damned sad, and he’d seen those smiles of his before, usually directed at Blue or Papyrus, but still, he knew they were in there somewhere.

Maybe…maybe Rus could find one?

“look,” Rus ran a hand over his skull, fingers clattering against the smooth bone. “um, we’ve been flirting your way for months. maybe we can try my way for a change.”

Edge jerked, his head turning Rus’s way and his sockets wide. Guess that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. Haltingly, he said, “I’m not sure how but…I am willing to try.”

He sounded so damned hopeful. Rus’s soul twisted in his ribcage. He took a deep breath and reached over to take Edge’s hand in his, twining their fingers together. Edge’s phalanges were soothingly warm, slim and scarred.

“let’s start with this,” Rus said softly. The fingers around his own tightened cautiously, a thumb tracing down into Rus’s palm, making him shiver.

“This is nice,” Edge admitted. And there, there it was. He smiled, little more than a faint curve upward at the corners of his mouth that sent an unexpected flutter through Rus’s soul.

“yeah, it is,” Rus hesitated. Welp, in for a G, in for a bundle, “can i…?”

“Yes,” Edge said immediately. Probably didn’t even know what he was agreeing to and Rus smiled a little himself, helplessly.

They’d already had a first kiss, couldn’t get that back. Rus was hoping a second would be just as memorable, for a different reason.

He leaned in, carefully brushing his mouth over Edge’s. The teeth beneath his own parted in invitation and Rus took it, tongues gliding lightly together as Edge moaned shakily, his free hand coming up to clutch at the back of Rus’s neck, and yeah, okay. He could work with this.

One kiss became two, three, each one a little more desperate than the last and holy shit, he’d been cockteasing for months and hadn’t even known it. Or maybe some part of him had known, and Rus hated it for not cluing him in sooner because he wanted more of this, wanted to sink into Edge’s kisses, lose himself in this desperate eagerness, the urgent little noises that Edge was starting to utter.

Only, that would probably be a bad idea right out of the gate and Rus regretfully pulled away, shelved the temptation.

And almost snatched it right back up because Edge was unfairly enticing, teeth parted as he panted and a bright flush of crimson tinting his cheek bones.

Rus licked his teeth, watched as Edge’s eye lights followed that little movement. “i think, um. maybe we could go on a date. together.”

“If you can drag your lazy ass out of bed.” Slipped out, and Rus saw Edge wince, fumbling for a way to take it back. But hey, this was a language Rus thought he could learn. Maybe if they kept this up, they could both learn a thing or three.

“i can get moving when i’m properly motivated,” Rus smirked. “real question is can you get the stick out of your ass long enough to enjoy it.” Edge’s eye lights flared, nearly filling his sockets and by the Unnamed Angel, Rus must’ve been blind not to see that for what it was. Excitement, delight, eagerness, and shit, good or bad, this was going to be something, wasn’t it.

‘Enjoy it,’ Came from the solo echo flower sitting nearby, its ghostly voice encouraging.

Yeah, okay, Rus decided, cupping Edge’s face in his hands as he leaned in for another kiss. That seemed like a good enough place to start.

-fin-