#your nightly thoughts asher

[ashersanity]

- “S..Shit..! Just fucking stay like that..! Just like that, you stupid slut.!”

Y’know I think about big brother Whitney a lot..

content warning! incest, step-cest?, somnophilia, non-con

Thinking about him, frustrated and horny, nothing is really getting him. No matter how much he sifts through the pages of those dirty, raunchy magazines stolen from his dad’s drawers, maybe the old cassette tapes with over the top porn, clearly outdated in this day and age, flickering screen idly gazing back at him. Nothing is enough, nothing is actually getting it up for him, well, till he sets his sights on you. Stupid bitch that you are, snoozing away with your body comfortably tucked away under the covers, gripping at your pillows sheets as if you were calling for daddy and mommy.

How could the bully resist such a face either? Lush lips slightly parted, eyelashes fluttering gently in their wake with your chest slowly rising up and down, in sync with each and every one of your breaths taken. Good for you. Big brother’s here to keep company, push the fucking thoughts that’s been nagging at the back of his mind away. With a low grunt, he settles himself on top of you, not bothering to be gentle about it either, knees planted to each of your side, your blissful sleeping expression facing his crotch. How cute. Don’t even get to see his rock hard erection in his pants, jutted against your cheek as he slips a hand past his waistband, freeing his aching cock in much need of stimulation.

Starts off.. mostly tame, rubbing a hand over his leaking slit before finally gripping at the hard length, stroking it, fucking jerking himself off right in front of your face and you don’t even suspect a thing. How the fuck aren’t the slicked, wet sounds of his cock being roughly stroked not waking you up? God knows why but the delinquent doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of it, picking up the pace as he feels himself nearing climax, pumping his cock full of you.

Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing or just that fucking expression of yours, peek of your wet tongue against your lips, visualizing how that same tongue could be sucking on your big brother’s fat cock instead. That’s all it took, groaning out a curse under his breath as hot, white strings of cum spurt out of his cock, messily landing across your pristine skin and staining the sheets beneath.

…Yeah.

What a goddamn surprise you’ll be waking up to tomorrow.

Make sure to brush your teeth, you stupid slut.

[sea-side-scribbles]

Solas wakes up in the strange new world of his own making and it terrifies him. Ridden with guilt, he joins the Inquisition and begins his lonely research in order to correct his mistake.

He doesn’t expect to find consolation in the presence of a human who wields ancient elven magic without knowing it. Who is way too gentle for an elgar’thanelan, but doesn’t know that either.

Solas, for his part, doesn’t know how to stay away.

Dorian wonders if the mysterious elf just enjoys playing with a Tevinter. He wouldn’t expect anything else.

_____________________

Chapter 1- 13 | Right after uthenera, Solas is found by a Dalish clan. This goes well until it doesn’t. (Basically my excuse for world building and hilarious misunderstandings.)

Chapter 14 | Solas joins the Inquisition.

Chapter 20 | Dorian appears in Haven.

Chapter 21

Solas didn't notice the Herald and her party leaving Haven at midday because he spent that time in the fade, solely for research reasons of course. Later, when he left his dwelling place again, he moved very carefully, inspecting the buildings across from him. To his relief, he sensed nothing out of the ordinary. His nightly endeavour might as well have been a dream.

Then he made his way through the village, curious to find out what happened. Who that man was. Looking around, he saw people flock the tavern, a clear sign that evening fell already. He considered to have a meal there himself, so he could overhear their conversations. As he navigated through the room, his gaze found Varric – the red garment would always stand out – and his fellow readers at their favourite table. Surprised to see the dwarf back in Haven, he went into their direction.

Varric caught him first. “Hey, Chuckles, you're still alive?”, was his odd greeting for him. “Obviously”, Solas answered as he stopped in front of the table. “Why do you ask?” “Because the Herald looked for you everywhere. She wanted to take you along this time.” “Cassandra almost knocked your door down. 'Solas, if you are in there, answer me now!'”, Vanilla described in a perfect imitation of the accent. And temper. “I thought she's actually going to tear the house down, but something stopped her. Made her fly backwards.” She threw her arms up to emphasize. “Oh, to be a mage and secure your door like that”, Recruit cooed.

The group had fun while Solas swallowed his frustration. He missed the chance to go with her simply because he lost control over himself. It should never happen again. “I hope she was not harmed by my spell”, he pressed out. “Nah, she's fine”, Varric waved him off. “Hurt her pride, probably. She left with the new party again. That woman never takes a break.” “But seriously, where have you been?”, Asher wanted to know. Solas' ears lowered. Avoiding everyone's eyes, he answered: “I am afraid I must have been too consumed by my research. I did not hear her.” An awkward pause followed, in which Vanilla and Recruit tried to hold back their laughter and failed and the others didn't know how to react. Gambler, Lady Marielle and Bodkin pretended to be focused on their dices. Asher just silenced.

“What happened in Redcliffe? Did you bring the rebels here?”, Solas went on to the more important matter, looking at Varric. The dwarf took a deep breath. “Er, not yet. First, we just discovered an even bigger pile of shit.” He paused to drink his ale while Solas' nerves almost popped. “What does that mean, Varric? Did the Herald accuse them to be the attacker of the conclave?” Varric let his mug fall back on the table with a thud. His features darkened. “Something awful is going on there”, he muttered. “Fiona didn't even remember she invited us back in Val Royeaux. When we met her again, she had already pledged the rebels to Tevinter cultists. They promise to protect the mages, but for real, they're just trying to conquer the world again or something. Always the same with Tevinters.” Solas felt the news like a kick in the guts. “But how...?”

“The void do I know. Their leader, a Magister named Alexius, well, he's just the usual, full of shit, but his son is a good soul. He gave us a hint that we're in trouble and arranged a meeting with his friend who's a former apprentice of Alexius. He told us what Alexius is working on to restore the glory of Tevinter. Guess what it is?” He actually paused for Solas to guess. Solas shook his head as he pondered. “Something to reconnect with the Old Gods? To destroy all creation?” “Nah, even better. Time magic.” Solas furrowed his brows. “Time magic?” “U-huh. We've seen it already. The rifts in Redcliffe actually altered time, slowed things down and sped others up. Don't ask me exactly how this works, but the Tevinters already used it to get to Fiona before us. We needed a good plan, that's why Ellana decided to come back. Now they're going to surprise attack them with a group of Leliana's spies. I hope it's not too late, whatever that means now.”

Solas silently processed this information, rubbing his temples. Now he regretted even more that he wasn't there. “Do you know anything about time magic, Chuckles?”, Varric went on. “That's why Cassandra was so fierce about talking to you. She thought if anyone would know something about this, it's you.” So the Seeker had finally remembered him and requested his knowledge. This could've been a triumph if the topic wasn't so dire. “I must admit I have never heard about it before”, he said quietly. “Huh....I guess it's all on Sparkler then.” “Who?” “Dorian Pavus, the apprentice. He went with them.” Solas suspected that he knew that person already. “Is he trustworthy?”, he asked perhaps a bit too urgently. “So far, I think he's genuine about saving his old mentor from himself, so as long as he's helping with that, he's fine by me.” Solas sighed. The least he needed now would be a Tevinter spy at his heels.

At the journey to Redcliffe Castle, Dorian did his best to appear in good shape, after secretly downing a healing potion before their departure. The Inquisition's party turned out to be quite some piece of work even without an aching backside to care for.

The “Seeker of Truth” openly frowned at him whenever the chance occurred. She obviously kept her resentments against “another Tevinter.”

Vivienne de Fer was the sort of person he knew from home – always searching for the nerve to hit. She thoroughly studied him the entire time, most curiously, as a Grand Enchanter of a circle that agreed to keep her kind in chains. She would've been more fun if he wasn't actually trying to hide an obvious weakness. While pretending to not care, she commented on his health conditions, (“The Southern climate doesn't seem to do you well, my dear. My deepest condolences.”), corrected his posture on his horse, addressed his lacking amount of experience in the wilderness – very amusing, coming from her – and the dark rings under his eyes, all this during casual smalltalk.

Meanwhile, there was a Qunari in the group, a Ben Hassrath, with the descriptive name “The Iron Bull”. He spared Dorian the entertaining comments, but still seemed to examine him with his side glances. Considering the multitude of observations a Qunari spy was said to make from superficially mundane things, there were many options: Did he analyse the textiles of his robe to figure out where he came from, which market he bought it and - most importantly, how heinous his character was judging by how he wrapped the ensemble around his body? Did he check on the poor state of his hair since the lack of needed products in Ferelden? Did he search for the spot that hurt the most when he would hit it with his giant axe? Or did he stare at him for a completely different reason?

The thought popped up in his head. If he could continue what he had already started, abandon all caution and his self-esteem and later drown the after effects in cheap Fereldan wine. It would feel just like home. If he could even manage yet. He could hardly blame Bull, if that was even his intention and not the wish to chain him up and sew his mouth shut. If Dorian was honest to himself, right now, he felt more comfortable thinking about the second option.

After a while, he noticed the Herald's look on him and found disappointment in it. Seemed like the healing potion didn't quite cover everything. That or she just didn't like Tevinters, what would make sense for a Dalish elf.

To his luck, she had her hands full with Sera, an elven rogue, who refused to be serious about anything, laughed an schemed with Bull, shouted “now kiss” at Cassandra and Vivienne, when Madame began another conversation about the Seeker's fortitude, openly spoke about her sexual preferences, so that Dorian wondered if she was making fun of it – what else could it be? - and as a highlight, showed Vivenne her naked arse and then climbed on Bull's shoulders, cackling.

It was definitely not what Dorian expected from the Inquisition with the Herald of Andraste in their midst. But at least he didn't feel too exotic as a Tevinter. He was sure that for an outsider, he'd fit right in.

They made him think that someone like Solas would match this group as well. The mysterious elf was the other reason why Dorian couldn't quite focus on conversations. Solas occupied his mind as he tried to recall what happened that night. He hadn't seen him again after that, he might as well have been a very convincing desire demon who now looked elsewhere for a victim. The option sounded less ridiculous than his own memories. A glowing elf – nonsense! Unless that was normal for elves? He knew their eyes glowed in the dark, like cat's eyes. But their entire body?

Meek glances at Ellana in the evening proved that theory wrong. Sera didn't glow either. Did elves have to be, well, in a certain mood for that? There'd surely be Tevene essays about the matter if that was the case. Of course, Dorian didn't dare to ask. Didn't ask about Solas' existence in general, fearing he'd have to explain why he cared. He sat alone at the dying camp fire at guard duty, staring into the darkness and missing the light. Lacking the required wine, his mind kept spinning around the same thoughts over and over again.

The events in Redcliffe left their marks on him. Alexius couldn't be reasoned with. He attacked Ellana - and Dorian, trying to save her, was sent with her into the future. Reappearing one year later, they faced the terrible outcome of their absence. Everything happened too fast for Dorian to truly wrap his head around and in hindsight, he knew it saved him from panicking. But the danger had been palpable, the possibility to be stuck here forever in the dungeons full of red lyrium, exposed to their heat and pulse as the world outside burned. He just moved on, clinging to the only plan he had, to find Alexius' amulet and travel back to the past.

In the dire situation, Ellana and him worked together as one. Suddenly, it didn't matter who they were, they had to trust each other. Dorian had the inscrutable feeling that she warmed up to him. She had always been indifferent about his charm, but now she began to melt, giggled quietly at his remarks and even retorted. Of course, it could have been her method to cope with the horrors around her. In any case, they worked their spells together and their auras found a harmony they could both hold onto.

Ellana wasn't he only person he began to see differently. On their way through the dungeon, they were lucky to find the other members of their party who had been imprisoned for an entire year. The red lyrium had taken a toll on them, but despite that, they stood strong, even the childish rogue. In the end, every single one of them gave their life so that Ellana and him could travel back in time and undo the future. They didn't remember what happened, but Dorian did, thinking that they might be just the right people for the Inquisition.

He travelled back to Haven as a different man, knowing that his former mentor was now a prisoner in Redcliffe and most likely to be executed. Despite everything, he was glad to be back from the horrible future and to have proven his worth. Now that the group knew he saved their Herald and thus the world, the bickering stopped. And Ellana still laughed at his jokes. Solas didn't seem to be much of an obstacle anymore. Dorian was sure he'd overcome whatever scenario he would face in Haven.

[mindficlds]

LOCKDOWN closed, news announcement.

The studio is filled with it's usual bright light. Outside, the city is illuminated with fire & car alarm flashes, and with no help from the random power outages preventing city lights from lighting roads. Darkness is sprinkled all around the city because of these outages. Award-winning news anchor William Asher had signed on to be the chief anchor to this small, single-town news station simply for his love of the news.  Given that he was a fae among men — a changeling to be exact — he had always been well aware, for the most part, of the goings-on of the supernatural realm; stories he would never be permitted to report on lest he ruin his career. Here in Evergreen Parrish, he finally got to report on the actual truth - or so he thought.  There was this thing called The Council. Asher was a man who had once gone over the police department and governor's office to reveal the truth. Try that with The Council and at the least you will find yourself living in another town with no memory of the life that you had made for yourself, nor the ones you loved.  The light was radiant, but not more radiant than the anchor. Asher forced one of his best smiles for the millionth time. “Good evening Evergreen, this is your Chief Anchorman William Asher here bringing you your nightly new updates. Evergreen Parrish is under lockdown.” His smile tightens with tension but he tries to distract this with the reassuring twinkle in his eyes, harnesting the power of his developing eye wrinkles to appear friendly. “I repeat: Evergreen Parrish is presently under a lockdown. No one is to leave and no one is to enter. If you or a loved one do decide to leave, The Council can not be held responsible for any memories lost, nor can it be expected for them to assist with the restoration of said memor--” Screams can be heard from the hallway, so distracting and piercing that it suddenly makes the lights above seem blinding & burdensome. The news anchor’s handsome face squints with discomfort and looks away from it, his first instinct to look at his assistant with an accusatory glance, as if this is all their fault. Asher lifts a finger up and begins to speak to them in a tell-off tone — body language much unlike the image that he is known for— and then the news is suddenly cut off. Soothing jazz music plays in it's place.

[ashes2asher-park]

Another Night, Another Fight

Who: Asher, Kinsley, Sage, and Jasper Where: The Park Residence About: Another nightly stressed encounter for Asher and his wife and son. Triggers: PTSD, Nightmares, mentions of injuries, shots and scars from surgery on his leg, pain medications.

Asher walked through the front door of the three bedroom ranch style house. Hanging his keys up in the area designated for keys. He slides his jacket off, hanging it up. When his eyes met Kinsley’s he all but held a sheepish smile, but it was met with a weak one back. “Sorry-- there was an issue at the club, had to deal with an unruly customer. I didn’t mean to miss dinner again,” he uttered as he moved forward. Kinsley usually had dinner ready for him for when he got out even if it was at two in the morning, so when he missed it especially with it being so late he knew she would be slightly upset. She all but nodded before going back to folding the laundry. “Here-- let me do that, you must have homework,” he offered out as she shook her head. “You smell like a chimney, Ash I don’t want it all over Sage’s clothes,” he sighed a bit as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay-- I’ll shower and do it afterwards,” he offered again, trying to help out the best he could. “Please, let me do something I feel bad with these late nights,” she just shook her head a bit and sighed. “Kin--” she nodded firmly moving to stand, grabbing her work books. “Okay-- if that’s what you want,” he nodded curtly as he watched her walk to the kitchen. A small sigh leaving his lips.

He made his way to the bathroom to take a quick shower, though he got lost in his head a bit, mind wandering some he got out about ten minutes later than he wanted. Drying off and changing into some basketball shorts, walking from the bathroom, he peered into the kitchen to see Kinsley with her nose in a book. Settling on the couch, he began to fold Sage’s clothes. Much to his surprise though the four year old wandered from his room eyeing his father a bit too cautiously.

“You’re not doing it like mommy,” he whispered. “Do it like mommy!” Asher was a bit taken back by the outburst. “I can do it like Mommy-- you want to show me?” The four year old shaking his head firmly. “Well Mommy has to get her school work done and she can’t, come on bub show me,” he shook his head more before stomping his feet. “Like mommy!” he could hear the sign coming from the kitchen as Kinsley came into the living room. Jasper’s door opening as well as he peered out. The male knowing best when to keep to his own world cause he knew a fight was about to start.

“Kin I’m sorry--“ he muttered softly. “It’s fine,” she hoisted Sage up into her arms entering the kitchen again. The boy staring his father down as he disappeared around the corner. Asher all but threw the t-shirt in his hand against the wall before rubbing a hand over his face, giving a shuddered breath. It hadn’t been fine, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the husband card down or the father one either and it was exhausting Kinsley further now that she had school. Before hand the fights where silent, ended with “It’s fine,” and that was it, but lately it followed to the bedroom, more so there were times Asher took up roost on the couch to give his wife some space.

Jasper all but felt bad for his brother at this point as he came from his room, picking up the shirt, he sat on the couch, silently folding it to show Asher, eyeing him some as if to tell him to follow. Doing the same with the other clothes. He didn’t converse with the eldest Park sibling, and Asher never felt more grateful for the youngest Park. They got the basket done in time, and Asher stood to take it with him so he could put the clothes away. Jasper following to show him. “Sage like’s his stuff to be with it’s matches--” he uttered. Nodding Asher put it in, following Jasper to his room handing his clothes off to him before going to their room and putting the rest of it away. Sitting on the bed afterwards he moved to grab his pain medications, taking a couple as his leg seemed to be extra stiff from work that night. Mid swallow Kinsley walked in eyeing him with a small sigh. “I thought you said you were going to quit time-- they make you drowsy and irritable,” she uttered, eyeing him. “I know I did, but the pain is bad today,” he muttered as he moved his leg a bit more. He hated to look at it, the scaring from the blast and surgery left an ugly sight on his leg that made him all but remember the day that nearly killed him. Taking a sip of water from the bottle next to his bed, he settled in fully, eyeing his wife as she moved around to get ready for bed. “Your PTSD is worse when you take them, it seems your nightmares are just god awful, isn’t there something else they can do?”

Asher sighed-- looking away a bit as he shook his head. “We’ve talked about it-- nothing helps with the pain when it gets closer to getting my shots, I can’t help it, I’m trying Kin but it hurts so bad,” he muttered. “I--I know, I just, I wish there was something they could do,” she whispered feeling bad for her husband. The whole situation was less than ideal for either of them and while as of late it had been hard and awkward, she really did care for him.

“We’ve exhausted many options and at the end of it this is what it is till something better comes along. I’m doing the PT, I’m getting the shots, and I’m doing what I can to hold out but being on my feet all night doesn’t help,” he uttered softly looking to her. “Can’t you ask work to give you accommodations at least? Like a chair? Or more breaks?” Asher really wasn’t willing to do either of those, he was new to the job and coming in with restrictions would be less than favorable he thought. “Kin-- I don’t think you understand, this is a really decent paying job, and Nathan put the word out for me, I don’t want to come in with restrictions, a bouncer shouldn’t have that, it’s only really bad like one week out of the month,” he assured. “On those weeks I can sleep on the couch,” it wasn’t like he wasn’t doing so already a handful of times already. So not to disturb her.

“You sleep on the couch as is, most of the month--” Asher sighed some rubbing his face more. “So why is it an issue now then?” he muttered out getting a bit agitated. “It-- It’s not, I just, you want to make this work and I do but we’re basic strangers in this house, sleeping on the couch doesn’t help that,” she whispered harshly. Eyeing him as the fight seemed to start to brew so easily. “Yeah but I just keep you awake with my nightmares. I’m doing this so you can get a good nights sleep for your classes. It’s not like I don’t want to sleep in here-- it’s my bed too,” he muttered out again. Looking away down as his face seemed to get more discouraged. “I know-- but it doesn’t fix the issue, if anything we’re becoming more distant!” Her voice raised a bit before she settled. “Well none of the options work for you Kin, I’m trying-- but if I sleep in here my nightmares keep you awake and you’re already exhausted with Sage and school, so tell me what the ideal situation is!” he muttered back eyeing her once more.

“I--I guess there is none,” Kinsley stated, and Asher nodded curtly with a small sigh. Moving to sit up and grab his pillow and blanket from the chair. “I’ll be back in here in the morning before Sage gets up,” he uttered softly. Feeling deflated, defeated even. “Ash--” she whispered as he peered back to her. “Just-- sleep well,” she murmured tiredly. There was no stopping him he was just as stubborn as he ever would be and think about her and Sage above all else because that was the type of person he was. Asher moved forward pressing a small kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll sort it out-- I’ll pick up more therapy sessions or something, okay? It won’t be forever,” he assured rubbing her arm. “I love you,” he stated peering into her eyes. She nodded some with a weak smile. “I love you too--” she stated. Kissing his cheek. “I will see you in the morning,” he grabbed his phone and water. Walking out of the room.

Once he got the couch set up, Asher settled under his blanket, staring at his phone some, scrolling through a few things before the medication started to take a hold of him and he was drifting off to another restless sleep. He woke up a few times that night in cold sweats and panted breaths, doing his best to fall asleep again. Though each time was that much harder. Waking up sluggishly the next morning to wake Kinsley up, who brought Sage into the room to sleep with Asher so he could wake his dad up when he got up. She herself leaving for school. The same routine happened once more, Asher woke up when Sage began to move, they both ate breakfast in silence, Jasper awoke soon after and him and Sage watched Cartoons till Asher took Sage to Daycare, heading to his therapy session soon after. Picking his son up after that and dropping him off with Jasper before heading to work. It was almost mind altering the same as it had been for the last month. Still having a routine kept Asher stable even if it was nearly on point with no

[erijonarexhepis-blog]

IT’S ALL HER FAULT

SEASON ONE, EPISODE TWO ////// PART TWO

Part one, Part three

The Keating six were called to Annalise's house the next morning. They're sitting in the living room area, reading. "Breaking news on the Lila Stangard murder here," the reporter says. "Police just released the medical examiner's ruling that Ms. Stangard's death was indeed a homicide. This comes a week after she was discovered deceased in a water tank at her sorority house, Kappa Kappa Theta."

"Want to know the best part about that?" Asher asks but doesn't wait for an answer. "Those corpses crap themselves. So the sorority girls were drinking their friend's poop."

"A girl was murdered. There is no good part," April tells him.

Wes walks in. "Hey, is professor Keating in?" Michaela shushes him. Wes turns to the tv.

"Mr. Gibbins," Annalise comes out of her office. "Did you do what I asked?"

"Uh, yes," Wes walks up to Annalise and hands her a file.

"I-I did. But I actually found a discrepancy between what's in the supplemental report versus what's in the prosecution's murder book."

"What kind of discrepancy?" April looks up from her notebook and watches Wes and Annalise.

"A name. The murder book says the hunting knife was found on the front lawn by officer Jake Dorsey.... but the supplemental report said it was found by Officer Chad Mullens."

"That certainly is a discrepancy. Good eye, Mr. Gibbins. I'm impressed."

"Dorsey. Jake Dorsey," the officer introduces himself to the court. April is watching from between Wes and Asher.

"Really?" Annalise asks. "So, you're not officer Chad Mullens?"

"Your honor, I'm not sure what Ms. Keating is insinuating here—"

"I'm not insinuating anything," Annalise cuts her off. "I'm just reading from the supplemental arrest report, which says that officer Mullens found the hunting knife, not our witness here."

Annalise takes the paper and walks up to Dorsey. "Or am I misreading the name, officer Dorsey?"

Jake takes a look at the paper. "Uh... no. Says officer Mullens."

"An officer who I recently found out is under investigation for drinking on the job, which explains why your boss might want to keep his name off of the official arrest report." Annalise walks back to her table. "Maybe even changing his name for yours."

"Your honor, can we recess?"

"After we get the knife thrown, we attack the motive. Any thoughts?"

"I had one," Laurel says but gets cut off by Michaela.

"Prosecution's going to use Marjorie's best friend to say that she wanted to divorce Max, which would have eliminated his inheritance per the prenup and thereby giving him motive to kill. I looked into discrediting the friend, but I couldn't find anything just yet."

"I can make that happen," Connor speaks up. "Why don't I help?" He asks Michaela.

Annalise is standing in front of the blonde woman. "Mrs. Taylor. You claim that your best friend Marjorie spoke to you about divorcing Max nearly a year ago."

"Yes," she answers.

"Even though you wrote the following toast at their anniversary party about two months ago." Annalise picks up a file from her desk and reads it, "I haven't seen two people more in love since the captain and Maria performed their first dance in front of the von Trapp children."

"Doesn't sound like a couple about to divorce to me," Annalise adds.

"How in the hell do you find this crap?" Michaela asks Connor.

"You'll never know," he tells her.

"Impressive," April notes.

"The alibi's next. Max claims he was out for a walk when the murder occurred, so we need a neighbor who saw him. Frank... take who you need."

Frank looks at Laurel for a moment. "You two— prom queen and doucheface. Come with me." Asher seems offended by his new nickname, but April loves it.

"It was around 8:30 when I took out the trash that night. Right after our nightly family dinner."

"And what did you see while you were outside?" Annalise asks.

"A man was walking on the other side of the street."

"And did you recognize the man?"

"Well, it was very dark that night, but I think it's very possible that it was my neighbor, Mr. St. Vincent." Frank gives him a nod.

"First off, I would like to point out that Marjorie's death was messy, the stab wounds were inaccurate, and they hit bone. Considering Max has hunted all his life, he knows how to kill. It couldn't have been him, but rather someone inexperienced. Second off, by studying Max and his behavior, I have every reason to believe that his first wife's death wasn't an accident— which I'm still looking into."

Annalise gives her a slight nod. "That's a good observation. You let me know what you find out."

"I will, professor Keating."

"The prosecution has rested, so the first witness to take the stand will be Max's daughter," Annalise tells her students. "I need someone to write up the prep questions."

"I'll do it," Lauren speaks up.

"Frank's Girl. Good. Have them on my desk by midnight."

///

April walks into her apartment, holding a yellow package and a bottle of Jack Daniels. She closes the door before making her way over to the couch. The package is light, and April is relieved that it has arrived. And knowing what's inside makes her feel at ease.

She opens the package and takes out the file that's inside. The file is in French, and thankfully April is fluent.

April takes a sip from her drink as she frantically takes notes and looks through the files.

There are papers scattered on the table. April takes a short break before getting back to work.

She pours herself another glass. And she chugs it down.

///

[hotvideo]

THE BOSS’ SON (1978)

BACK WHEN I THOUGHT THERE WAS A FUTURE FOR ME IN THIS RACKET, I USED TO PULL ALL-NIGHTERS ON IMDB, CONNECTING THE DOTS BETWEEN THE ACTORS, DIRECTORS AND FILMS THAT COMPRISED WHAT I CONSIDERED TO BE A SECRET HISTORY OF AMERICAN MOVIES. THIS IS HOW I HAPPENED ON WRITER/DIRECTOR BOBBY ROTH. MY OFFICIAL INTRODUCTION TO HIS WORK WAS A FLICK HE MADE IN THE EIGHTIES CALLED HEARTBREAKERS, WHICH HAS, IN MY OPINION, A LOT OF JUICE. BACK IN THE SEVENTIES, ROTH WAS ONE OF A NUMBER OF YOUNG FILMMAKERS EMERGING ALL OVER THE COUNTRY, CATS LIKE CHARLES BURNETT (KILLER OF SHEEP), DAVID BURTON MORRIS (PATTI ROCKS), ROB NILSSON (SIGNAL 7), EAGLE PENNELL (THE WHOLE SHOOTIN’ MATCH), AND PENNY ALLEN (PROPERTY).  FOLLOWING IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF GRAND WIZARDS LIKE JOHN CASSAVETES, THIS LESS-CELEBRATED CLASS OF FILM MAVERICKS HELPED LAY THE GROUNDWORK FOR WHAT WE NOW KNOW AS AMERICAN INDEPENDENT CINEMA. THE FILMS WERE MADE ON A SHOESTRING, A COLLABORATION BETWEEN BEARDED, BRA-BURNING BOOMERS. SOME WENT ON TO HAVE SUCCESSFUL CAREERS IN AND AROUND HOLLYWOOD; THE OTHERS, WELL, DIDN’T AND NOW TEACH FOR A LIVING. JUDGING FROM THE VIDEO “MASTER CLASSES” IN DIRECTING HE’S SELLING VIA HIS WEBSITE, I’M GUESSING BOBBY ROTH IS ONE OF THE ONES WHO TEACHES FOR A LIVING.

AFTER HEARTBREAKERS, I VOWED TO SEE MORE BY BOBBY ROTH. I FOUND A USED VESTRON TAPE OF AN EARLIER FILM OF HIS, THE BOSS’ SON, ON eBAY. FRANKLY, I DON’T KNOW WHAT HE DID BEFORE, BETWEEN OR AFTER THESE TWO FILMS, BUT I THINK BOTH ARE INCREDIBLE; ROTH SEEMED POISED TO BE A STRONG NEW VOICE IN AMERICAN FILM. THE BOSS’ SON IS A SOCIAL DRAMA THAT DEALS WITH SOME OF THE HARSH REALITIES FACING THE AMERICAN LABOR FORCE IN THE 1970s. IF MEMORY SERVES, THE TAGLINE ON THE ORIGINAL ONE-SHEET READS SOMETHING LIKE: IF BLUE COLLAR KNOCKED YOUR DICK IN THE DIRT, GET DOWN AND BOOGIE WITH THE BOSS’ SON. IT’S THE STORY OF A RICH KID WHO RETURNS HOME AFTER COLLEGE TO WORK FOR HIS FATHER, A SELF-MADE MAN WHO GOT RICH IN THE CARPET BIZ. POPS IS THE AMERICAN DREAM INCARNATE. HE STARTED FROM NOTHING AND NOW HE’S GOT THE ROLLS AND THE BIG HOUSE IN BEVERLY HILLS, AND ALL THE HEALTH PROBLEMS THAT COME WITH THAT. BUT INSTEAD OF JUST SETTING JUNIOR UP WITH A COZY JOB AT THE COMPANY, POPS DECIDES TO MAKE HIM ONE OF THE FACTORY PROLES. THE KID’S BEEN MOLLYCODDLED ALL HIS LIFE, THE PRODUCT OF A POST-WAR, SUBURBAN JEWISH UPBRINGING, AND HE’S GOTTA LEARN SOMETIME WHAT THE WORLD’S ABOUT.

FOLLOWING A TITLE SEQUENCE COMPOSED OF HOME MOVIE FOOTAGE MOST LIKELY GLEANED FROM ROTH’S OWN CHILDHOOD, THE BOSS’ SON OPENS TO A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN SINGING SHOW TUNES IN THE MIRROR. THIS IS MOM (RITA MORENO, WEST SIDE STORY). SHE’S DRUNK AGAIN.  BETWEEN SIPS OF SHERRY, THE BEVERLY HILLS HOUSEWIFE ENTERTAINS HER MEXICAN HOUSEKEEPER (LUPE ONTIVEROS, REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES), WHO, OF COURSE, SPEAKS NO INGLES.

AT DINNER, POPS (RUDY SOLARI, “EVERY TV SHOW OF THE 1960s/70s”) TELLS JUNIOR (ASHER BRAUNER, SWITCHBLADE SISTERS) WHAT HE HAS PLANNED FOR HIM. TOUGH LOVE, BABY. THE KID’S A COLLEGE GRADUATE AND HE’S NEVER WORKED A DAY IN HIS LIFE. POPS IS ABOUT TO CHANGE THAT. HE’S GONNA SEND HIM OUT ON THE BIG TRUCK WITH A SCHVARTZE NAMED CHARLES (HENRY G. SANDERS, KILLER OF SHEEP) TO LEARN THE BUSINESS FROM THE GROUND UP. POPS IS A BIG-HEARTED GUY, BUT HE’S LOSING HIS SHIRT. HE DOESN’T NEED THE TSOURIS OF RUNNING A BUSINESS ANYMORE, AND HIS PLAN IS TO LEAVE IT TO JUNIOR. THAT IS, IF JUNIOR CAN PROVE HIMSELF TO BE A LEADER AND ONE WHOM THE WORKERS RESPECT.

JUNIOR AND CHARLES DON’T HIT IT OFF IMMEDIATELY, AS THEY COME FROM TOTALLY DIFFERENT WORLDS. JUNIOR CAN’T SHAKE HIS ENTITLED ATTITUDE AND CHARLES IS JUST A WORKING STIFF, TRYING TO STAY HARD AND KEEP THE CLOTHES ON HIS BACK, JACK.

“I’d never take anything from your father that I didn’t have coming to me.”

THE MEN LOAD AND UNLOAD HUGE ROLLS OF CARPET FROM AN OLD TRUCK. IT’S BACK-BREAKING WORK, SOMETHING JUNIOR’S NOT ACCUSTOMED TO.

THINGS ARE TENSE AT THE FACTORY. CARPETS ARE FALLING OFF THE TRUCKS AND OLD MAN ROSE IS ON THE VERGE OF BANKRUPTCY. POPS’ RIGHT-HAND MAN, BUDDY (JAMES DARREN, GIDGET GOES HAWAIIAN), A SHORT-TEMPERED FUCKHEAD WITH FRANKIE AVALON HAIR AND A DIFFERENT PLAID SPORT COAT FOR EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK, SUGGESTS THEY HIRE AN OUTSIDE GUY TO COME IN AND FIND OUT WHO’S DOING THE DIRT. POPS ASSURES BUDDY IT’S BEING HANDLED.  

WHEN THE OTHER WORKERS TREAT JUNIOR LIKE A NARC, HE ASKS THE OFFICE MANAGER, AL (FOLK MUSIC LEGEND RICHIE HAVENS, WOODSTOCK) TO LET HIM GO ON A RUN BY HIMSELF. 

SOME FUNKY LITTLE INCIDENTAL MUSIC CUES PLAY HERE AND THERE, JERRY GOLDSMITH-ON-A-BUDGET SMOOVE.

JUNIOR DELIVERS SOME SHIT TO A TOUGH OLD BROAD IN THE BACK OF HER STORE. SHE GIVES HIM HER CARD AND TELLS HIM TO CALL IF HE EVER COMES ACROSS ANY SPARE CARPET. ON THE RIDE BACK, THE REAR OF THE TRUCK FLIES OPEN WHILE JUNIOR’S DRIVING AND A BUNCH OF SHIT FALLS OUT INTO THE STREET, NEARLY CAUSING AN ACCIDENT.

WHEN JUNIOR GETS BACK TO HEADQUARTERS, HE’S LIVID. HE YELLS AT AL IN FRONT OF THE OTHER GUYS, INCLUDING A JIVE-ASS WHITE BOY (CHRIS MULKEY, PATTI ROCKS). AL, REALIZING WHAT’S AT STAKE MAKING WAVES WITH THE BOSS’ KID, PLUGS IN HIS DEFERENTIAL SIDE AND KOWTOWS TO THE LITTLE MAN.

LATER, IN THE COFFEE HUTCH, CHARLES TELLS JUNIOR THAT AL’S GOT A LOT ON HIS PLATE AND SIMPLY FORGOT TO HAVE THE TRUCK REPAIRED, WHILE THE TRUTH IS THE WORKERS HAVE BEEN AFRAID TO BRING UP THE TRUCK’S MAINTENANCE ISSUES TO OLD MAN ROSE, WHO’S ALWAYS CRYING ABOUT THE RISING COST OF TEA IN CHINA.

JUNIOR GIVES CHARLES A RIDE HOME, AND CHARLES INVITES HIM TO STAY FOR SUPPER. WE GET TO SEE HOW CHARLES IS LIVING -- NOT VERY LARGE AND, PRESUMABLY, ON A LAYAWAY PLAN. WE’RE INTRODUCED TO CHARLES’ WIFE, AN UNHAPPY MULATTO NURSE NAMED EVIE. THE MARRIAGE APPEARS TO BE ONE OF CONVENIENCE, LIKE THEY’RE PARTNERS IN A CORNER STORE CALLED MAKING DUE. IT’S HERE THE ACCOUTREMENTS OF CHARLES’ WORKING CLASS DOMESTICITY -- FOR INSTANCE,  A PLASTIC CUBE THAT HOUSES FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHS ON EACH OF ITS PANELS -- TAKE ON A GREATER SIGNIFICANCE. THIS IS SOMEONE’S LIFE.

EVIE IS RUDE TO JUNIOR, REFUSING TO COOK SUPPER FOR THE WHITE BOY. ONCE JUNIOR’S OUT OF EARSHOT, CHARLES CONFRONTS HIS WIFE, EXPLAINING TO HER HIS PIPE DREAM OF MOVING ON UP AFTER JUNIOR TAKES OVER HIS FATHER’S COMPANY. SHE CALLS HIM A FOOL. CHARLES PUTS HIS FOOT DOWN: IT’S HIS HOUSE AND JUNIOR STAYS.

EVIE HEATS UP SOME CANNED SPAGHETTI AND WHITE BREAD FOR THE TWO MEN, THEN PREPARES TO LEAVE FOR HER SHIFT AT THE HOSPITAL. JUNIOR THANKS HER FOR THE MEAL AND OFFERS TO CLEAN UP. EVIE JUST SHAKES HER HEAD. 

AFTER SUPPER, CHARLES DEMONSTRATES HIS NIGHTLY RITUAL OF DRIFTING OFF TO SLEEP IN HIS BELOVED LA-Z-BOY CHAIR.

“I puts me on some music, roll me a number, lay back and just drift away, jack.”

I LOVE THIS SCENE.

CHARLES INVITES JUNIOR TO TRY ON THE CHAIR, LIKE THEY DON’T HAVE COMFY FURNITURE WHERE HE COMES FROM. JUNIOR ASKS CHARLES IF EVIE MINDS HIM BEING SO FREE, OUT ALL HOURS AT THE AFTER-HOURS, PLAYING HIS MUSIC FOR THE PEOPLE.

“She’ll never quit me  cos she know I always come through. I say ‘Hey, baby, you know all that runnin’ around don’t mean nothin’, and it don’t... it just be my dick getting hard. Look here, if I see a little girl who’s new in town, don’t know nobody in the city, I says ‘Hey, stick with me, baby, cos I got a line on a good thing goin’, but right now let’s boogie... cos I love me some Pointer Sisters! But if I go to the nickel and dime, don’t ask me for a quarter. Cos how much a dollar cost anyway?”

 RIGHT ON!

THE MEN DELIVER A SHIPMENT TO OLD MAN ROSE’S PAD. CHARLES HAS NEVER BEEN TO THE HOUSE BEFORE. JUNIOR TELLS HIM TO WAIT IN THE FOYER, WHICH, WELL, SAYS A LOT.

CHARLES SAYS SOMETHING STUPID ABOUT THE ART ON THE WALL. THE SPANISH MAID SHUFFLES IN, TALKING THAT PIGEON LANGUAGE OF HERS RAPIDAMENTE. SHE LEADS JUNIOR TO THE GARAGE, WHERE MOM AND HER FRIEND, ACADEMY AWARD-WINNING ACTRESS PIPER LAURIE (THE HUSTLER), ARE WAAAASTED. WHEN MOM SEES CHARLES, SHE HAS THE COMMON MINI-FREAKOUT THAT WHITE PEOPLE HAVE ANY TIME A BIG STRAPPING BLACK MAN ENTERS THEIR CAR AND ATTEMPTS TO REMOVE THEM FROM IT. AGAIN, NICE WRITING BY ROTH! MY MAN! NORMAN JEWISON AIN’T GOT SHIT ON THIS GUY! MARTIN RITT? EAT MY ASS WITH SOME CRACKERS! THE MEN CARRY MOM OUT OF HER BENZ AND INTO THE BEDROOM, WHERE SHE PASSES OUT. PIPER LAURIE FLIRTS WITH CHARLES; HE WOULD TOTALLY HIT THAT IF JUNIOR AND HIS MOM WEREN’T IN THE ROOM.

JUNIOR’S EMBARRASSED BY HIS MOTHER AND THE DEPTHS BY WHICH EVEN BORED BEVERLY HILLS HOUSEWIVES WILL GO JUST TO GET GOOD AND GASSED IN THE AGE OF ELECTRIC CAN-OPENERS.

TO HELP GET HIS MIND OFF THINGS, JUNIOR INVITES CHARLES TO JOIN HIM FOR A NIGHT ON THE TOWN. THEY GO TO SOME SWINGING HOUSE OF SPIRITS, WHERE CANDI STATON’S COVER OF THE BEEGEES SONG “NIGHTS ON BROADWAY” IS PLAYING WHEN THEY MAKE THE SCENE. JUNIOR SEEMS TO KNOW EVERYBODY IN THE JOINT. AT THE BAR, CHARLES ORDERS A COURVOISIER ON THE ROCKS, WHILE JUNIOR, KEEPING IT LOW-KEY, ORDERS A CUERVO GOLD NEAT WITH A LIME. SUDDENLY, THE BOSS’ SON BECOMES A STEELY DAN SONG.

CHARLES GETS JAZZED AND CUTS IN WITH SOME BLONDE SHAKING HER STUFF OUT ON THE FLOOR. BOOGIE FEVER. THIS IS PRESUMABLY THE BEGINNING OF A VERY LONG NIGHT OF DEBAUCHERY. SADLY, WE DON’T GET TO SEE ANY OF IT.

THE NEXT DAY, JUNIOR AND CHARLES ARE VERY LATE TO WORK.  

THEY GET THE STINK-EYE FROM BIG AL, WHO GIVES JUNIOR A PASS AND CHARLES A TALKING-TO, BROTHER TO BROTHER.

JUNIOR JOINS POPS AND BUDDY FOR A DAY AT THE COUNTRY CLUB. AFTER SOME GOLF, THEY DINE AT THE RESTAURANT, WHERE BUDDY AND JUNIOR BUTT HEADS OVER BUDDY’S INSISTENCE THAT THE DRIVERS ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MISSING CARPETS.

BUDDY USES THE WAITER AS AN EXAMPLE WHEN MAKING A LONG-WINDED POINT ABOUT HOW LOW-PAYING JOBS ESSENTIALLY MAKE WORKERS MORE PRONE TO STEAL FROM THEIR EMPLOYERS.

THE FACT THAT BUDDY’S RIGHT DOESN’T CHANGE THAT FACT THAT HE’S A COCKSUCKER WHO USES POPPERS WHEN HE MAKES LOVE TO MEN IN PUBLIC RESTROOMS.

ON THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS. CHARLES GETS SNUBBED BY ONE OF THE REGS ON HIS ROUTE, WHO DOESN’T LEAVE HIM WITH A CUSTOMARY BOTTLE OF BOOZE FOR CHRISTMAS. IT’S TRUE. IF YOU’RE A COURIER OF ANY KIND AND IT’S THE HOLIDAYS, YOUR REGULAR CUSTOMERS ARE SUPPOSED TO LEAVE YOU A LITTLE SOMETHING (OR VICE VERSA). JUNIOR DOESN’T GET WHAT ALL THE FUSS IS ABOUT.

OLD MAN ROSE HAS A MEETING WITH THE FELLAS TO EXPLAIN THAT THERE AREN’T GONNA BE ANY CHRISTMAS BONUSES COMING. TIMES ARE TOUGH, YOU KNOW. I RESPECT EMPLOYERS WHO GIVE THESE KIND OF PEP TALKS, DIFFICULT AS THEY ARE TO STOMACH; LEST WE FORGET THE MORE POPULAR ALTERNATIVE, WHICH MOST OF US UNDERPAID SLOBS HAVE GROWN TO ACCUSTOMED TO IN THE YEARS SINCE THE BOSS’ SON, WHICH IS, OF COURSE, NO EXPLANATION AT ALL... JUST THE OLD SHUT-UP-AND-BE-HAPPY-YOU-STILL-GOT-A-JOB.

NICE SHOT OF JUNIOR WITH HIS YOUNGER SELF.

JUNIOR COMMISERATES WITH KEN, THE SADDEST, GUILTIEST LOOKING GUY IN THE BUNCH, WHO IS TOO BROKEN UP TO ATTEND THE STAFF PARTY. HE HAS TO GO HOME AND FEED HIS EIGHT KIDS. HOW ABOUT THEM APPLES? AND HE AIN’T EVEN MEXICAN!

NOT THAT HE’S MISSING MUCH. EVERYONE’S DEPRESSED. THEY HOLD THEIR TINY PAYCHECKS AND MOPE AROUND. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

CHRIS MULKEY SLIDES IN LIKE A PUNK AND TELLS EVERYONE HE’S JUST BEEN FIRED FOR BEING A WISE-ASS LITTLE PUNK. HEY, THIS AIN’T PATTI ROCKS, PAL. HIT THE BRICKS!

JUNIOR CONFRONTS BUDDY ABOUT FIRING CHRIS MULKEY. BUDDY SAYS HE FIRED CHRIS MULKEY COS CHRIS MULKEY’S A WISE-ASS PUNK, AND ANY PUNK WHO TRIES THE SAME SHIT IS GONNA GET THE SAME TREATMENT. FINALLY, TO ACCENT HIS POINT, BUDDY SPRAYS SOME BINACA IN HIS MOUTH LIKE A TRUE G.

WHILE JUNIOR’S GRILLING BUDDY, CLEO, THE ONLY CHICK WHO WORKS THE FACTORY LINE, STARTS BITCHING OUT THE GUYS IN THE OFFICE FOR NEVER STEPPING UP AND DEMANDING A BETTER WAGE.

JUNIOR CATCHES THE TAIL END OF CLEO’S RAP AND FOLLOWS HER OUT TO HER VW BUG TO AWKWARDLY ASK IF HE CAN BOOGIE WITH HER BODY AND OFFICIALLY SCRATCH BROWN SUGAR OFF HIS BUCKET LIST. I HAVE NO IDEA WHY JUNIOR HAS CHOSEN CLEO, WHO, LET’S FACE IT, LOOKS LIKE A LESBIAN FOLK SINGER. BUT, HEY, THIS IS AMERICA. WE INVENTED DIFFERENT STROKES. ANYWAY, CLEO TURNS HIM DOWN. SHE’S GOTTA GO HOME AND FIX HAMBURGER HELPER FOR HER KIDS.

“Now look’a here, lil whiteboy, I’s seen ‘em comes and I’s seen ‘em disappear, and nobody does it better than a Texas steer.”

ON THE LOADING DOCK, CHARLES ASKS JUNIOR IF HE’LL TALK TO HIS FATHER ABOUT PROMOTING HIM TO A SALES POSITION. JUNIOR TELLS CHARLES THE GODAWFUL TRUTH: HIS FATHER WILL NEVER PROMOTE SOME RAGTIME SOUL BROTHER TO A RESPECTED POSITION AT HIS COMPANY, AND NEITHER WOULD JUNIOR.

OUCH.

OVER TAKEOUT CHINESE, THE ROSE FAMILY PERFORMS ITS VERSION OF CHRISTMAS. 

MOM’S DRUNK ON PLUM WINE. SHE TELLS POPS TO TELL EVERYONE THE LATEST DEPRESSING NEWS.

IT SEEMS OLD MAN ROSE WENT DOWN TO THE BANK TO GET A LOAN, IN HOPES OF FLOATING THE BUSINESS UNTIL THE DOWNTURN ENDS, AND WAS DENIED.

THEN BUDDY REVEALS HE’S PLANNING TO LEAVE THE COMPANY FOR SOMETHING MORE SECURE. AFTER THAT, EVERYONE AT THE TABLE JOINS IN THE CLASSIC JEWISH AMERICAN PASTIME OF YELLING AT EACH OTHER.

JUNIOR STORMS OUT WITH HIS DATE, WHO HE PROMPTLY DUMPS BACK AT HER PARENT’S. THEN HE TAKES TO THE SAVAGE STREETS, TROLLING FOR COOZE. NEXT STOP, DARKTOWN USA.

JUNIOR SHOWS UP AT CLEO’S PAD. SHE TELLS HIM HER FEELINGS HAVEN’T CHANGED IN THE SIX HOURS SINCE SHE SAW HIM LAST, BUT THAT HE CAN SACK OUT ON HER COUCH IF HE SO WISHES.

JUNIOR TAKES CLEO UP ON HER OFFER. BUT HE CAN’T SLEEP BECAUSE THE VINYL COVER ON HER COUCH MAKES TOO MUCH NOISE. HE DECIDES TO GIVE CLEO ONE LAST SHOT AND GOES IN HER BEDROOM TO LEER AT HER BENEATH THE COVERS.

JUNIOR HAS A MOMENT OF CLARITY, WHEN HE DECIDES TO LEAVE THIS POOR WOMAN ALONE. BUT JUST AS HE MAKES TO LEAVE, CLEO TURNS TO HIM AND ASKS WHY HE DIDN’T JUST WHIP IT OUT AND DO IT, BABY. JUNIOR LEANS OVER AND KISSES CLEO ON THE FOREHEAD AND SAYS GOODNIGHT.

ALL THE GUYS FROM THE FACTORY MEET UP IN SOME PARK TO PARTY. CHRIS MULKEY PULLS UP ON HIS KAWASAKI, CHARLES SITTING BITCH.

THIS IS A GAME WE USED TO PLAY CALLED HOOPS FOR HEADS. EVERYBODY MEETS IN THE PARK AFTER SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS, WITH SOMEBODY BRINGING A CASE OF BEER AND SOMEBODY ELSE BRINGING SOME GRASS. EVERYBODY GETS GOOD AND RIPPED AND READY TO SLAY ON THE COURT. ALSO, EVERYONE SPORTS REALLY BRIGHT ATHLETIC WEAR SO NO ONE GETS LOST TRYING TO FIND THE HEAD.

CHRIS MULKEY DOESN’T LIKE JUNIOR. THIS IS BLATANTLY OBVIOUS WHEN THEY’RE PLAYING BALL BECAUSE HOOPS IS ONE OF THOSE PRIMAL GAMES WHERE YOUR TRUE FEELINGS FOR YOUR OPPONENT WILL COME TO THE FORE, IT SIMPLY CAN’T HIDE; THE OBJECT IS TO USE ONE’S BRAWN TO INTIMIDATE AND CONQUER.

IT ISN’T LONG BEFORE EMOTIONS GET THE BEST OF THESE TWO DUDES AND THEY START FIGHTING. MOST GUYS AREN’T GONNA JUST WAIL ON THE BOSS’ KID, BUT CHRIS MULKEY DOESN’T GIVE A FUCK, HE’S ALREADY FIRED.

LATER, A BRUISED JUNIOR COMES HOME AND CATCHES POPS BURNING THE MIDNIGHT OIL. OBSERVING THE AGONY OF POP’S SITUATION  CAUSES JUNIOR TO FEEL A RARE MOMENT OF LOVE FOR HIS POPS.

THE NEXT MORNING, JUNIOR GOES TO WORK EARLY AND NOSES AROUND THE OFFICE, WHERE HE FIND A PICTORIAL TIMELINE OF THE ROSE COMPANY.

THEN JUNIOR BUMPS INTO THE NERVOUS GUY, KEN, WHO’S MAINLINING FOLGERS LIKE IT’S GOING OUT OF STYLE.

CHARLES ASKS HOW JUNIOR’S CHRISTMAS WAS.

“[Santa Claus] skips the Jews.”

“Well, I guess he figures every day is Christmas for you folks.”

L.A. STILL LOOKS LIKE THIS. ONLY THE CARS AND THE PEOPLE HAVE CHANGED.

AT ONE STOP, JUNIOR AND CHARLES GET WORD THAT THEY NEED TO PHONE THE OFFICE, SOMETHING’S UP.

CHARLES GETS ON THE HORN. HE GETS THE DEETS ON A RUN TO RECOVER AN AWOL TRUCK.

THE BOSS’ SON REALLY NAILS THE PROSAIC GRIME OF L.A. LIKE FEW FILMS DO.

JUNIOR AND CHARLES HAPPEN ON KEN’S TRUCK. THERE’S COPS ON THE SCENE, WHICH IS NEVER GOOD. SOME CHICK’S TAKING PICTURES FOR HER CAMPUS PAPER.

WHEN CHARLES ASKS ONE OF THE COPS WHERE THE DRIVER (KEN) IS AT, THE COP NONCHALANTLY SAYS KEN BLEW HIS HEAD OFF.

THE COPS WANT JUNIOR TO INSPECT THE PAPERWORK IN KEN’S TRUCK AND ENSURE EVERYTHING’S KOSHER.

JUNIOR TELLS CHARLES HE’LL DRIVE KEN’S TRUCK BACK TO THE FACTORY.

WHEN CHARLES AND JUNIOR RETURN, ALL THE WORKERS ARE SITTING AROUND THE OFFICE. THE FIRST THING ANYBODY ASKS ABOUT IS THE CLIPBOARD WITH ALL OF KEN’S ORDERS AND INVOICES. SOMETHING AIN’T RIGHT.

CHARLES VOLUNTEERS TO UNLOAD THE REST OF THE CARPET THAT KEN DIDN’T GET TO.

IT’S THEN JUNIOR REALIZES ALL THE DRIVERS ARE IN ON THE ACTION, THEIR COVER BLOWN BY KEN’S SUICIDE.

JUNIOR STORMS OUT OF THE OFFICE. CHARLES FOLLOWS HIM AND THEY HAVE A VERY OVERWROUGHT EXCHANGE ON THE LOADING DOCK. THE RAIN HAS STARTED AND THIS MIGHT AS WELL BE AN ELIA KAZAN MOVIE FROM THE FIFTIES. GOD, I HATE SCENES LIKE THIS.

JUNIOR WALKS AWAY FROM CHARLES, WHO YELLS SOME WEAK-ASS SHIT GUYS LIKE TO SAY TO OTHER GUYS WHEN THEY WANT TO MAKE THEM FEEL LIKE ASSHOLES FOR WALKING AWAY. 

CHARLES KNOWS HE’S FUCKED.

JUNIOR GETS IN HIS BMW AND GOES ON A SPIRITUAL QUEST INTO THE HEART OF L.A.’S DARKNESS WHILE A RICHIE HAVENS SONG CALLED “WHY DON’T YOU WALK AWAY” PLAYS.

... CHICKS WITH DICKS WORK THE LONELY STREETS...

...AND THE 3rd STREET TUNNEL (BLADE RUNNER, LESS THAN ZERO, ET AL) PROVIDES ITS USUAL HALLUCINATORY OPTICS.

JUNIOR ENDS UP AT ANOTHER QUINTESSENTIALLY L.A. VENUE FOR EXISTENTIAL ANGST, THE ALL-NIGHT BURGER STAND, WHERE WEEK-OLD SLABS OF PASTRAMI ARE OVER-SALTED AND SOLD AS-IS TO SAD SLOBS ON THEIR WAY HOME FROM THE BAR.

WHEN JUNIOR GETS HOME, HE FINDS HIS MOTHER UP MAKING COFFEE. A LOT OF OLD PEOPLE LIKE TO DRINK COFFEE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT BECAUSE, HEY, THE CLOCK IS TICKING AND THEY’D RATHER STAY UP.

JUNIOR TELLS HIS MOM THE DRIVERS HAVE BEEN STEALING FROM THE COMPANY.

MOM TELLS JUNIOR HE’LL HAVE TO TELL HIS FATHER, EVEN THOUGH IT’S GOING TO KILL HIM.

SO HE DOES.

OLD MAN ROSE MAKES THE DRIVERS SIGN SOME SORT OF LETTER OF RESIGNATION AND/OR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THEIR WRONGDOING.

ONLY BIG AL IS SPARED, MOSTLY BECAUSE THE BALLJAZZ IN HIS GOLF PANTS IS KINDA UPLIFTING IN SUCH A GRAVE MOMENT OF SADNESS AND REGRET.

RUDY SOLARI KILLS IT AS OLD MAN ROSE. I BUY EVERY WORD HE SAYS. JUST A MENSCH, THROUGH AND THROUGH. I HOPE BOBBY ROTH WAS SATISFIED WITH SOLARI’S PERFORMANCE, AS THE CHARACTER, I’M ASSUMING, IS WRITTEN VERY CLOSE TO HIS OWN POPS.

POPS TELLS JUNIOR IT’S TIME TO GO HOME.

OUTSIDE, THEY’RE ACCOSTED BY CHARLES, WHO BEGS OLD MAN ROSE FOR HIS JOB BACK. POPS TELLS HIM HE CAN’T HELP HIM. IF I WASN’T SO ANXIOUS TO FINISH THIS MOVIE, I’D WRITE SOME KIND OF EPITAPH FOR CHARLES. (OK: STOP SPLOOGING ALL OVER THAT PRECIOUS TONE POEM KILLER OF SHEEP, YOU CINEMA FAGS, AND DIG HENRY SANDERS’ ROLE IN THE BOSS’ SON.)

AFTER CHARLES GOES AWAY, JUNIOR TELLS HIS FATHER HE DOESN’T WANT ANY PART OF THE BUSINESS, HE’S OUT. POPS IS TAKEN ABACK, THE SHOCK QUICKLY TURNING TO ANGER. THE FLICK ENDS ON ANOTHER KAZAN-LIKE NOTE, WITH JUNIOR WALKING AWAY FROM HIS POPS, ENTERING THE DARK PARKING LOT OF LIFE AS OLD MAN ROSE’S VOICE RINGS OUT:

“Somebody’s got to be the boss!”

YEAH, WELL, THAT INSIGHT AND FIFTY CENTS WILL GET YOU A CUP OF COFFEE, POPS. THE END.

[toddmichaelrogers]

Letter To You

Typing this on a phone before the glow of a PS4 "welcome back to PlayStation" screen. It is almost 2 am, which is bedtime for this slept-a-lot-in-my-day heathen. I have many rituals in my life, and none were more surprised than I upon the realization. What is not a surprise is my nightly seance with a show now 25 years of age: Star Trek deep space nine. TNG was always my jam but when I was young my mother would never let me see the ending of any episode. We didn't even have a TV for what seemed like most of my childhood, and when one finally arrived, followed by another, and another I was lucky enough to have one in my shared room. My brother Asher put up with Star Trek the same way he put up with me. It was just going to be in his room and he has to deal with it. But my mother put us to bed the same time ever night. No exceptions. And this happened to be 30 minutes into every Star Trek episode to air. It destroyed me. It some ways the harm passed to my brother as well, who, to this day, still needs a tv to be playing for him to fall asleep ,the result no doubt of binging when the limits of static ecstasy were removed. But why am I writing you now? Oh yes. Today was a very good art day. It started with me hauling packages of Spell Saga to the post office. Then I went to the library to figure my way out of being stuck once more in the novel. This involved handwriting dialogue and reading excerpts from Robert mckees book: story. Something I have found helpful now for at least ten years. I have three protagonists in this chapter, so I made little notes and charts of what each of them wanted, and also (very telling) what each of them thought of the other. I of course already wrote out what needed to happen in the chapter. But being stuck, some of this was rewritten too. The whole thing is sort of a false second draft from scratch anyway, so finding my way tends to shift and change with each new (not new) chapter. I am in love with what I wrote today. It excited me considerably, and this is a rare and good feeling. Today I also finished the design of the first EFFORTS EP: May You Absorb All Evil. Then I created a fake sticker for the cover on a whim. Zach texted me at 1 in the morning last night and asked me to come over and record today. When I arrived I talked to Geoffrey over the phone, who declined the last minute invitation. He asked for selfies so I sent him a picture of my penis in response. I showed Zach the album cover, finished the design of the false sticker and we got to work recording the last song for the EP (the other two are tracked with drums, bass, and some vocals with guitar). 6 hours later we had a finished song called Pick Up Your Tinsel. It's good. And weird. I listened to it twice on the at home. Pick Up Your Tinsel is a song I wrote about two years ago. We actually recorded it in his bathroom, something we had been threatening to do for months. I like how it turned out. The song may be the last track of the EP, but more importantly, it serves as the emotional ending of the full length LP. Then Zach bounced the file into the net for me to grab, and I played him parts of the final song written for said LP. It was a good day.