#Gallows (Give Em Rope)

[rastronomicals]

1:56 AM EST January 28, 2025:

Harakiri for the Sky - "Gallows (Give Em Rope)" From the album Aokigahara (April 21, 2014)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

'Aokigahara' is the suicide forest located on Mt. Fuji's northwest face, so I'll call this actually rather bright-sounding material 'atmospheric' rather than 'depressive.' You know, just to balance the karma a little.

File under: Atmospheric Black Metal

[burden-in-my-hand]

"And once again I’m calling the rain, to wash away this dry fields of grief

To wash away my bones and all I’ve ever feared

-Harakiri For The Sky | Gallows (Give 'Em Rope)

[mrsunderhill678]

Hehe, guess who wrote more shit? Well, it’s not shit, but uhhh... Yeet

“Hope for the future is just optimism based in dead realities.” - West Von Sparrow

“He's claimed me as a butcher would a carcass, he's bled me dry and left me ta hang on this hook. I have been flayed of my soul, of my flesh, of my fucking humanity, guess I should'a learned he who rolls against the house, never holds the damn die.” - West Von Sparrow

“You may be a monster, but I'm just a little less than human, and that's what makes me, dangerous." - West Von Sparrow

“It's the break of a new dawn, and though the dusk took my last sunrise, I ain't giving in, cause after all, the sun doesn't rise only once. So when the night comes, just remember, bravery gets you through the night, love gets you through the day.” - Delilah Coraline

“It's beautiful, isn't it? When you find someone to share your world with?” - Evangeline Frights

“Guess I'm an oaf that's seen some shit, but so long as I'm her oaf, I bet I'll be fine.” - Crane Hemmington

“I haven't been in the trenches, but blood spilled is a war in of itself, thing is, you become the enemy.” - Crane Hemmington

“Everything that is yours, can just as easily be mine, possession of self is all you have, and even that can be taken.” - Ballith Greedpaw

“Life is the most precious thing to steal, is it not? Not only do you steal a life, but the joy the memories of the poor bloke you slew held in those who loved him's mind.” - Ballith Greedpaw

“Greed is such a twisted thing, and I suppose that is why I am tangled.” - Ballith Greedpaw

“If you want to speak in the language of what haunts you the most, you'll find yourself speaking the tongue of your mind.” - Damon Watkinson

“I, can do whatever I want, cause in a game with no consequences, why would I choose to lose? You don't reach the end of the checkerboard without the words, "King me," rolling off your tongue. You don't trap the other player's King without saying "Checkmate," so why would I get this far just to say, "Sorry?" - Damon Watkinson

“I have seen the truth, and a thousand lies, and perhaps, I am nothing more than one of the thousand.” - Damon Watkinson

“Our love is magical in the sense that it is beautiful in all it's simplicity and complexity.” - Gracie Hangers

“Life's been a struggle, of black eyes and bloody knuckles, the betrayal of false love and hopes, but whenever my heart falters and threatens to stop, I look into the eyes of my children, and find a reason to fight.” - Camille Trueblood

“I thought I fell in love, when all I really did was tumble off the fucking cliffside. God, I dived into those waters so willingly, drowned for a man who doesn't God damn care. All he's ever been is a false promise, and I guess those hurt more than lies, don't they? Lies are so easy to catch, but a false promise of love is so seductive, especially for a girl with... Nothing. All I had was my heart, and I guess he took that too.” - Jenna Coleburg

“The sun always fades into the night, you're guaranteed to spend some of your days in darkness, but that ain't what matters. What matters, is that you fight through it, and come out God damn smiling. It's what I did, ain't the strongest man of all, the one that comes out of hell still smiling? Or perhaps, the one who walks into hell, smiling.” - Carter Gariah-Smith

“I was swung from the gallows for sumthin' I never would'a done.” - Carter Gariah-Smith

“Just because something is damaged, don't mean it can't deal some.” - Carter Gariah-Smith

“Funny, huh, how in these thirty odd years of mine, I knew her for three, and if you think about it, those were the only three years I lived.” - Avelice Bevelriks

“I lost everythin', really, Sandy, my darling wife, she was my rope, and I guess ever since she snapped I just been floatin. It's cold in these hands of mine, these memories of her. I'm tryin' so desperately ta hold onta em, but they're slippin, they are. Her smile, her laugh, it's all faded. Don't even remember the sound of her heart no more. Though... I can still see her, in my daughter. Her eyes, her laugh, hell, even her smile or the way she sits. Sometimes it's hard lookin' at my daughter, some days it's like I'm lookin' back at Sandy's ghost.” - Casimiro Boeheken

“I've seen the devil's dreams, where young men die by young men's hands, where boys turn ta men and mothers ta widows.” - Casimiro Boeheken

 “Got a noose round my neck, and the floorboards are creakin' underneath me. Either I can cut the rope, or let them floorboards give way, cause either way, I'm free.” - Casimiro Boeheken

“Everything we do has a song, a melody, a voice. And I can hear the song in his smile, harps and echoes of angels, but I can hear the tinge of pain that haunts him.” Marinda Weathers

“I live to love, I live to lift up those around me and tell them, "You're strong, you're brave, and God, are you beautiful, live life like a butterfly, flutter those wings and fly. Because life is short, and you, are loved." - Marinda Weathers

“Day in day out, I fight, I win, and I move on. That's life, these days. Days pass, but I don't.” - Garret Weathers

“Everyone loves the angel with broken wings, huh? Cause they fight the hardest to get their wings back, only to realize, they're the savior of nothing, and they're ripping their own damn wings.” - Garret Weathers

“We can fight the dark, punch it square in the jaw and tell it to back off, cause the dark's only got place in our life when it's lightin' up the stars, and we ain't here to stay in the shade.” - Bob Weathers

“He who won't accept all of ya, don't accept ya at all. The bravest thing you can ever do is be you in the face of the man who hates ya.” - Bob Weathers

“My lullaby sings of secrets I cannot possibly understand, and my heart plucks the chords of joys forgotten and tragedies resurfaced, such a melancholy tune, this melody of my scars.” - Beatrice

“It's like Amethyst and Wanda are my lighthouse, constantly guiding me home. Even if I'm drowning I can see their light from underneath the waves.” - Gracie Ace

“Perhaps I ain't got no stars leadin' the way, but I got my heart givin' me direction. Sure, it's scarred, and God is it battered, but it's flutterin' them wings with everythin' it's got, and me? I'm still pumpin', blood's still coursin' through my veins, so I'm alive, and by every God, I'm fuckin' kickin.” - Crystal Bones

“It's kill or be killed, and I guess we just ain't dyin.” - Alfred Godsel

“In the eyes of many, I'm a hero, but in my eyes, all I see is a man with a gun, who pulled a trigger, and ended a life, but still somehow managed to make the most egregious of sins look like a hero's doin. How the hell did we manage to make spillin' blood somethin' noble?” - Alfred Godsel

“I've lost a lot, but I'll save my grievin' for the livin', for those who've managed to die before they ever hit the dirt.” - Alfred Godsel

“They say dead men tell no tales, but when I come knocking, oh, you'll be wishing that was true, you can pray to every god you know, but that won't save you, no one can. Because he who you silenced, have ripped the stitches from their mouth and out tumbled your secrets, right into my ear.” - Celestia Cloven

“At first I thought it a curse, the whispers of the dead, but not anymore... Not anymore. They speak to me their secrets only so they may find rest, and so he who wrought him demise, may be brought what they deserve. And I, am what they deserve.” - Celestia Cloven

“Belief can be either beautiful, or oppressive, it's up to the morals of the man who believes to create the damn definition.” - Jakobi Warcoat

“Until the fires of this revolution swallow us whole we will shout, we will cry and weep, cause freedom ain't so quietly taken away.” - Jakobi Warcoat

“You wanna kill us, go ahead? Show us just exactly who, you, are. Cause we already know, all yer doin' by killin' us, is provin' us God damn right.” - Jakobi Warcoat

“I've been running all night, trying to find myself, but sometimes I feel... Lost. But maybe that's not a bad thing, you know? The lost boys found a purpose in Neverland, after all.” - Gayle Flint

“I've got scars, and God do they show, the markings of a lonely child lie on my wrist, and they hardly compare to the ones in my heart and my mind.” - Emma Flockheart

 “If a warrior isn't a woman who's been through hell but came out a better person, than I don't know what is.” - Emma Flockheart

“My father was the one who built the crumbling pillars of my heart anew, but now, without him, I'm crumbling, God, I'm crumbling.” - Juno

“Some days, I feel perfectly comfortable in my body, and other days it feels like a cage and I wish I could just scratch at my skin until I tore my way out.” - Juno

 “No matter where you run, or where you hide, your mind gives you up to your demons every fucking time.” - Juno

“You can't explain love, just feel it, and trust it.” - Lynsey Aldallen

“You have the strength of a thousand lions, you shed your mane, and traded it for the hunt, and as you were always meant to, you led the pride, with your claws and your strength, the remnants of your mane fluttering behind you. And that's beautiful, to be brave and vulnerable all at once.” - Lynsey Aldallen (For context, she’s talking about her sister, who’s trans)

“My mother rescued me, I rescued her, she's my hero, but sometimes, we have to fight for our heroes, because their strength falters. And when it does, it's up to us to save them.” - Lexie Rebhan

“I'm already swingin', I reckon, these gallows were made for selfish men like me, I imagine everyone'll cheer. All hail! All hail! The wicked man is dead, strung by his neck, payin' for his sins with the devil. It's damn well the fate a man like me deserves.” - Ron Jameson

“So oh gravedigger, vengeful angel of death, put me down as you would a wolf wearin' the single dead sheep's wool in the flock, watch me bleed. Cause that's what I did to you. I caused you're pain, I caused mine, just be lucky you don't have to live with me... Cause I do.” - Ron Jameson

 “I was born to be damned, as they say, they speak of me in such terrible ways, history is written by the victors, the patrons, the saints, never by she who made it.” - Selena Wolfmoon

“All who burned me at the stake only had to live with themselves, but I, I have to live with the actions of every single one of them, and, worst of all, I have to live with my death. The scalding of my flesh and the charring of my bones, the screams of my two daughters still haunt me. They way Eldridge begged and howled, or how Autumn cursed at those who damned her. And all I could do was howl in grief as we burned away, but I imagine we were lost, just as tears in the rain or stars upon the waking of the sun.” - Selena Wolfmoon

“I like to say I'm tough, but it ain't because 'a what I look like on the outside, but who I am on the inside. You could be strong as all shit and still be a weak man. All you ever gotta do ta be weak, is push another down, and all it takes ta be strong, is helpin' a man up.” - Elwood Sparrvitz

“I 'ave been made anew by the love I been showed and given, my heart no longer beats 'a regret and pain, but for my lovely wife and children. Cause if your heart don't beat for no one, what's life worth?” - Elwood Sparrvitz

“To be completely divine is as inhuman as it is to be entirely damned, entirely broken or whole, we are never one hundred percent, we are many pieces, smelling of ash and smoke, and the fire that created it.” - Diaze Calico

“Savagery suits her like a well tailored suit, or a ball gown on the most royal of queens. She is savagery, she wears blood like wine on her teeth, and your pain like the finest of shawls, and in the end, she shall wear that shawl of your scars and dance before you in it, she shall make a mockery of your death, for that's all you ever were.” - Diaze Calico

“You can believe that hell is not where you'll go, but that's the greatest lie the devil ever spun, that there was an option other than her, that there was a loving God watching us.” - Diaze Calico

“The wicked doth not sleep, they doth not live, only breathe this blood on their breath.” - Diaze Calico

“Out of all this pain I've been through, I've found that even if bullets had flown that day, and planes had been torn from the sky on burning wings, it was in my sleep, when my mind was at rest, that I felt the most bloody chaos.” - Duke Benson

“I should've died the day a bullet pierced me fucking skull, but all that's left is this scar on the Earth known as Duke bloody Benson.” - Duke Benson

“I'd ask for a prayer or an amen if I thought it'd saved our damned souls, but a single prayer won't save a man who's sinned.” - Duke Benson

“A prayer won't save a man who's lost his fucking faith.” - Duke Benson

“With a foe as cruel as myself, I was bound to bloody lose.” - Duke Benson

“Bury me six feet deep, mate, deeper if you can, because I am a soldier, a sinner, a beast, not a bloody man.” - Duke Benson

“Reckon me 'ands are as stained as the soil wifin' da trenches.” - Angel Benson

“Inside me is a boilin' angah, at da world, at dis pain, myself and anyone in point blank range. I imagine me angah's shot me point blank, left the man I was fokin' bleedin', dead from a single shot.” - Angel Benson

“I've always condemned what I can't fokin' understand. So if I fear meself, wot does that make me, aye?” - Angel Benson

“You know wot's fokin' funny? You don't 'ave ta fight in it, ta be bloody broken by it. You could be livin' untarnished boi it, next thing you know, a soldier's knockin' on your fokin' door. War breaks all. They who fight, and they who bloody don't.” - Angel Benson

“Raise a glass ta da sinner full 'a anger, raise a glass for the poor bastards and blokes war touched, cause all who 'ave known her embrace 'ave known pain no loving God could create. But never, mate, NEVER, raise a glass, to the bloody Bensons.” - Angel Benson

“When I'm finally in da dirt, where I belong, da world will keep spinnin', the sun will rise again, as it shall sink, and though it may rain, da world won't weep a single fuckin' tear, for da man known as Jerry Benson, cause mate, why should it?” - Jerry Benson

“Us soldiers, we're cheered for, celebrated, but dey care only for da actions, not for da man.” - Jerry Benson

“As I've learned, 'e who tastes death will find dat da aftertaste is an eternal stain on one's tongue. Da tang of iron and blood is all dey'll ever fuckin' know.” - Jerry Benson

“God created us to love 'im, and expected us ta be more selfless den he.” - Jerry Benson

“War don't change a man, no, it kills him, and replaces the soldier with itself.” - Mordakai Benson

“He who runs with the wolves is bound ta be ripped inta the moment he stops runnin', no wonder there's blood on my teeth.” - Mordakai Benson

“War don't give a damn who you are, what kinda pain you been through, it'll putcha through more while promisin' glory! That's the picture they paint. Soldiers woopin' for victory and glory for all who fight, but they always forget he who catches the fuckin' bullet.” - Mordakai Benson

“The only thing you and I got in common is that we were made by God, difference is, I was forgotten by him.” - Mordakai Benson

“Don't raise no glass for this soldier, don't pour no wine on my casket, cause I'm the lamb that strayed from the flock, only ta learn he always wore a wolf's fur.” - Mordakai Benson

“I’m one dead dream away from blasphemy.” - Calliger Cougar  

“They say life is short, Tommy, that it goes by in the blink of an eye, so why ain't we fucking dead yet? I blinked a hundred times, and I'll blink a hundred times more. Cause no matter what they say, it don't go by in the span of a blink, or like a bullet speedin' through the air. It's slow, and God damn miserable, this here ward is proof of that.” - Ben Stilts

[wrestlingisfake]

Bound for Glory preview

Eric Young vs. Rich Swann - Young is defending the Impact Wrestling world championship.  This is only Swann’s second match since suffering a legit knee injury in January.  He returned to the ring for  a five-way title match at Slammiversary on July 18, where he eliminated Young.  Eric “reinjured” Swann’s leg to cost him that match; when Swann was forced to “retire” on August 4, Young assaulted him again.  Since then Young has gone on to win the world title, while Swann has been doing a whole “come out of retirement for revenge” storyline.

It’s funny to think about how these guys are headlining this show, considering that most fans would probably remember them best for being lost in the shuffle at WWE.  But this is Impact’s level, and it has been for years.  Just because these guys would be working a dark match on Smackdown doesn’t mean they can’t have a compelling main event here in a much smaller pond.

The basic “Rocky movie” approach to booking this feud would be to have Swann overcome adversity to conquer his most dangerous rival and finally win the big one.  But Impact has a long history of trying to outthink that logic, and I have a long memory of them swerving away from big coronation moments.  It was only a few months ago, in fact, that they were building up Ace Austin for an inevitable run on top, and then they just...didn’t do that.  So Swann might win, or they might tell a story that he has a lot of ring rust to shake off before he beat Young.  Nevertheless, my gut still says Swann wins the title here.

Alex Shelley & Chris Sabin vs. Doc Gallows & Karl Anderson vs. Ethan Page & Josh Alexander vs. Ace Austin & Madman Fulton - This is a four-way match for the Impact tag team title, currently held by the Motor City Machine Guns (Shelly and Sabin).  Per standard four-way rules, the only way to win is by pinfall or submission, and the first man to score a fall on any opponent wins the match and the title for his team.

The North (Page and Alexander) held the title for just over a full year as various other teams broke up or drifted away from Impact, so they got to be able to say they cleaned out the division.  Then Sabin and Shelley came in as the wily veterans to get a big push (which is sort of ironic when you consider their history with this company).  Austin and Fulton came together earlier this year as a “rising top heel and his enforcer” act, but they ended up as a tag team when they began feuding with the Good Brothers (Gallows and Anderson).  All along, there’s been a sense that the Machine Guns are just keeping the titles warm until they put over the Good Brothers.

I could see any of these teams getting the title, but it’s pretty clear Gallows and Anderson are top attractions in this company, so one way or another the title picture is going to revolve around them.  One interesting wrinkle is that the Good Brothers plan to work for both Impact and New Japan, and New Japan has a tag team tournament coming up, leading into their biggest show of the year.  If I’m Don Callis, I want to send Gallows and Anderson to Japan for a couple of months to soak up that exposure, and I’d want them do it while wearing Impact title belts.  I’m probably getting ahead of myself with that speculation, but since I’ve got no other clear way to pick a winner, I’ll let that be why I’m going with Doc and Karl.

Deonna Purrazzo vs. Kylie Rae - Purrazzo is defending the Impact women’s title.  Kylie earned this title shot by winning a battle royale on July 18, the same night Purrazzo won the championship.  Since then Kylie has won the Warrior Wrestling women’s title, but that belt isn’t at stake here.

It was just about a year ago that Kylie debuted here, coming off a surprisingly abrupt exit from AEW.  It’s always felt like Impact wanted to do a slow build to her as the face of the women’s division.  And yet, Impact has also given Purrazzo a strong push since her debut in May.  Each of them would be my pick to win against any other woman in the company right now.  But against one another, it’s real tough to choose.  Feels like almost every match on this card is a pick-’em, which is a good thing.

I’m gonna go with Kylie to win just because she makes me happy.

EC3 vs. Moose - Moose has spent most of the year as the self-proclaimed “TNA world champion,” but EC3 stole his belt and I’m not sure what happened to it and I’m not sure either guy still cares about it at this point.  EC3 gained his widest exposure to fans in his NXT/WWE run, but Impact viewers know he really made his name in this promotion, back when it was called TNA.  “EC3” literally stands for “Ethan Carter III,” from when his gimmick was that he was the (kayfabe) nephew of longtime TNA owner Dixie Carter.

The story is that after EC3 was laid off from WWE, he decided he had to exorcise his old failures, which I guess are symbolized by Moose carrying around the belt he once held.  So EC3 started interfering in Moose matches and stalking him and playing cryptic videos for him and other weird stuff.  This has been going on since July but EC3 has yet to wrestle for Impact in all that time.  Aside from a couple of indie shows, and some ROH stuff that hasn’t aired yet, this will be his first match in 2020.

Back in July I assumed that EC3 would sign with Impact.  Then when I heard he was doing stuff with ROH, I figured it was a side project before he fully committed to Impact.  But after three months with no Impact matches, I’m starting to wonder if his Impact deal is a one-and-done.  Actually, the fact I’m wondering that helps the match, since if I was sure he was sticking around, it’d be super obvious that he has to beat Moose.  As it is, I’m still leaning toward EC3 winning, but that little doubt in my head will keep it interesting.

Eddie Edwards vs. Ken Shamrock - I lost the plot on this one, but as I recall Edwards had a vicious feud with Sami Callihan in 2018, and then Shamrock had a vicious feud with Callihan earlier this year, and now Shamrock and Callihan both hate Edwards for some reason.  Incidentally Shamrock is being inducted into Impact’s hall of fame this weekend, so it’s kind of weird that they decided now is the time to turn him heel.

I think the easiest way to sum both of these guys up is that neither of them knows when to quit.  They both look grizzled and stopped-giving-a-fuck, which makes them scary in the way that convicts in movies seem scary.  Now that I think about it, I’m surprised it took so long for this match to happen.

The x-factor here is Callihan, who will undoubtedly be interfering on behalf of Shamrock.  I don’t know who the hell Eddie can get to counteract that; usually when he needs backup it ends up being his wife Alisha, which works better than you might expect but still not all that well.  I guess if Davey Richards was going to return, this would be a cool way to set it up.  But failing that, I don’t think Eddie can win this match.

Rohit Raju vs. Chris Bey vs. TJP vs. Jordynne Grace vs. Trey Miguel vs. Willie Mack - Raju’s “X division” title is on the line.  This is being billed as a “six-way scramble match.”  I tend to think that’s just a cute name for a standard six-way match, where whoever scores the first fall on any opponent wins the match and the title.  Of course, in WWE a “scramble match” was a specific stipulation where whoever scores the last fall in a specified time period is the winner.  But I think if Impact was trying to bring those rules back, they’d have made a bigger deal about it, and I would have heard something about it by now.

The backstory here is that Bey was getting a big push and beat Mack for the title, and Raju started lobbying to be his henchman.  This led to Bey vs. Raju vs. TJP, with the idea that Raju would help Bey against TJP, but Raju went into business for himself and won the title.  So now everybody is gunning for Raju, including Trey for some reason I forget, and I think Grace just got thrown in there to make it more interesting.  Basically, Raju was a prelim guy before any of this happened, and he’d be the underdog against any of these opponents, so you’re supposed to think he’s doomed in a match against all of them.

I’m a tad surprised Grace is involved, because it wasn’t all that long ago that it was Tessa Blanchard as the woman chasing the X title, and then the world title, and that didn’t work out so well.  Then again, Tessa’s gender was hardly the reason that run fell apart, so maybe Impact is determined to do it again until they get it right.  Thing is, if you want to seriously present a woman winning a men’s championship, you want the champion that puts her over to be stronger than Rohit Raju.  So if they’re gonna do it, I’d say they should do it later, with Grace challenging one of the other guys for the title one-on-one.

Anyone could win this match, but it’s a real old trick to have the most hated heel be the biggest underdog, and then he steals a win after his opponents destroy each other.  So I’m going with Rohit to retain.

20-person “Call Your Shot” gauntlet match - This is a timed interval gauntlet match, similar to WWE’s Royal Rumble.  Two participants start the match, and each additional participant enters at regular intervals.  (I don’t think they’ve said how long the intervals are, but I’m guessing 90 seconds or two minutes or something.)  For most of the match, a competitor can only be eliminated by leaving the ring over the top rope and placing both feet on the floor; however, once all but two wrestlers are eliminated, the rules change so they can only lose by pinfall or submission.  The last person left in the match is the winner and earns the right to a title match against the champion of their choice.

So far Impact has confirmed eleven participants, seven men and four women:

Acey Romero, of the XXXL tag team

Alisha Edwards, whose last singles victory in this company was in 2018 against AEW’s Rebel/Reba

Brian Myers, formerly known as Curt Hawkins in WWE

Havok, aka Jessicka Havok in the indies

Heath, formerly Heath Slater in WWE, with the gimmick that he hasn’t yet secured a contract to work for Impact

Hernandez, once a rising star in TNA, now some sleazy guy backstage with a giant wad of cash

Larry D, Romero’s partner in XXXL

Rhino, the former ECW/WWE star who’s been trying to help Heath get signed

Taya Valkyrie, probably best known from AAA and Lucha Underground

Tenille Dashwood, formerly Emma in NXT and WWE

Tommy Dreamer, the ECW legend, who has been feuding with Myers

The order of entry is supposed to be random, but the results of an October 20 match slotted Hernandez as the last entrant and Rhino as the first.  The added stipulation for Rhino and Heath is that their jobs are on the line: If either of them wins, Rhino stays and Heath is signed, but if neither of them win, Rhino is fired and Heath can’t keep coming around asking for work.

It feels like this match has to end with Rhino or Heath winning, to pay off that storyline.  In fact, I could easily see it being a deal where one appears to be eliminated, and hides off-camera until the other is thrown out, and then Josh Matthews can play Michael Cole being all shocked that there’s still hope.  It feels so obvious that I’ve seen speculation that Heath needs to turn on Rhino right after one of them wins, to keep it interesting.  But I think we’re all overlooking the alternative, where they’re both kicked out of the company but nevertheless keep appearing in comedy skits for weeks until they get some other chance to earn contracts.  Personally, I’d just keep it simple and have Heath win leading to Heath and Rhino challenging for the tag title.

Dez & Wentz vs. Cody Deaner & Cousin Jake - This is being advertised for the pre-show.  Dez (Desmond Xavier) and Wentz (Zachary Wentz) are, along with Trey Miguel, the stoner team of the Rascalz.  Cody Deaner has been Impact’s resident redneck good-ol’ boy on and off for years.  Jake is better known on the indie scene as Jake Something, the current Black Label Pro champion.  Between the two teams, I think Impact is more committed to pushing the Rascalz, but this is another one where it could really go either way.  This whole show has been really hard to predict.  Let’s hope it still seems unpredictable after it’s over.

[izzy-b-hands]

The Last Place to Rest

I don’t know exactly what this is, but it happened. I just finished the Good Place and listened to a lot of blues, maybe that had something to do with it? Idk. 

Anyway, a bit of original writing that I didn’t plan on doing today, but I couldn’t get it out of my head until I had it written down. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“Still swinging?” 

“Still.” 

The ground is cold beneath them, barren dust that drifts on the breeze, forming dust devils when the breeze whips into a frenzy. The devils dance across the ground around them. 

It stretches on for miles. 

“Awful long time for him to still be swinging.” 

“Sure is.” 

They share an apple, and a knife, cutting off slices and passing them back and forth. The dirt, brown and grey, has permanently stained their suits. 

“Think we should stop him?” 

A shake of the head. “You know we can’t. Gotta stop all on your own.” 

“I know. But we’re the only ones that ever stick around for the newbies. Seems wrong to let ‘em flail so long.”

“Isn’t wrong or right anymore,” A bit of the apple slice, a shrug of the shoulders. “Just is.” 

The sun sets, and rises, and sets, and rises. They finish the first apple and then a second and a third, each one appearing in one of their hands as soon as the last slice is swallowed. 

“If he don’t stop soon-” 

“Then that is unfortunate, and we’ll have to keep waiting.” 

“Hal-” 

“Don’t!” Hal interrupts and stands, tossing him the apple and the knife. The apple he catches, but the knife just misses and stabs the dirt beside him. “It is what it is. We could go. We don’t have to stay.” 

“I know,” The knife is wiped as clean as it can get on his trousers; after a while the grit adds as much flavor as anything else. “But you don’t want to go.” 

Hal sighs, and sits, a hand reached out for the apple. “No. I don’t, Sachin. I don’t know what else there is here. And I don’t know that I want to find out any time soon.”

“What do you want to do then?” 

“I want this jackass to stop swinging,” Hal says, and points to the gallows with the knife before cutting off another slice of apple. “I mean, really.” 

“Maybe he doesn’t know?” 

“Know what?” 

Sachin shrugs. “That he’s done for. You said it took me at least two hours before I stopped. I didn’t want to believe it at first.” 

“Yeah, but that took you two hours. It’s been two days. I thought, by now, surely...” 

The body still swings, back and forth, like a pendulum. Not the erratic jerks of a body still dying, but one as if pushed by the breeze, or as if one trying desperately to escape the noose before the fall. 

“Who’s going to stop us?” Sachin asks. “And even if there is ‘someone’, what more can they do to us?” 

“I guess I don’t know.” 

Sachin climbs the stairs to the gallows, and reaches out with a tentative hand. The bodies never look dead. But then again, they never will, here. 

“I’m going to stop you now,” he says softly to the man’s face, with its closed eyes and pale lips. “I hope that doesn’t...break anything? I guess. I don’t really know what’ll happen.” 

He bites his lip. “But it seems a cruelty to leave you like this. Eventually, we all gotta come to terms with it. Least I can do is help you get to that point.” 

The drop to the ground wouldn’t be far, but it’s far enough to make him careful as he grabs the man’s legs, stopping him. 

Hal watches from the ground, a slice of apple halfway to his mouth. 

“I don’t think it-” 

With a thud, the rope slips, the man drops from his hands, and falls to the ground beneath the gallows. 

They pause, and stare at one another. 

“Well. He stopped swinging,” Hal shrugs. “You want me to check on him?” 

“No, I can do it, let me!” 

Sachin is down the steps in a rush, dust hanging around him, disturbed with his every step. 

But the man is up before either of them can get to him, crawling out from underneath the gallows. 

“No rush,” Hal murmurs. “Take your time...” 

The man shakes his head. “Me?” 

“Your name, is what I’m after,” Hal continues. “That pause was for you to say it, friend.” 

“What is this?” 

Hal blinks. “That’s not a name, but alright. Only so much time for manners, in eternity, I suppose.” 

“Eternity?” 

Hal rolls his eyes. 

“Be nice,’ Sachin hisses. “You didn’t know either, at first.” 

“I got here before you! 1307, after-” 

“Please, ignore him for the moment,” Sachin interrupts, moving to help the man stand. “I’m Sachin. Welcome to...” 

He gestures broadly to the wasteland, grey and brown and dusty and ongoing and his smile falters. “Here.” 

“Yes, but where is Here?” the man asks.

“Somewhere,” Sachin replies. “As far as we know. Now, I should tell you-” 

“Apple!” 

“Oh, look at this one,” Hal teases. “A regular Einstein. Very good, this is an apple. You can split the next one with us, if you like.” 

“This is Hell,” the man says confidently. “Because of the apple, the sign of the first sin, and-” 

“It really isn’t that deep,” Sachin tries to interrupt, but the man is a steam-train derailed. 

“I was doing good; I don’t deserve this! Who knows what you two did, but I know what I did, and-” 

“Son,” Hal says softly. “Both Sachin and I like apples. Simple as that. You can bring your dive suit to this puddle, but that doesn’t mean there’s anywhere for you to dive into it. It just isn’t that deep. Got it?” 

The man stops. “Cam.” 

“You are?” Sachin asks.

Cam nods. “But if this isn’t Hell, then it must be something, somewhere else. It can’t just not be, that isn’t how things work.” 

“You know you’re dead,” Sachin says slowly. “Oh thank goodness. One less thing to worry about telling you.” 

“I mean, I doubt it,” Cam scoffs. “I bet this is where you go during comas. That branch I had tied my rope to broke, and man do I hate that my tour guide was right about that, and now I’m in a hospital in Nepal or something, in a medically induced coma while they let my body heal. I’ll be awake in moments.” 

They watch, and sit, as Cam flops onto the ground, eyes screwed shut. 

“...are you just gonna keep laying there?” Hal asks after an hour. “Because I hate to break it to you-” 

“Don’t lie,” Sachin says as he takes the four millionth apple they’ve shared that epoch (or maybe millennium, it’s hard to remember sometimes, when time doesn’t fully exist anymore.) 

“Okay, he’s right. I absolutely do not hate breaking this to you, because frankly, you seem like an ass. But if you’re right, and this is for people in comas, then mine is way overdue to be over. Can’t be in a coma since the 1300s.” 

Cam opens an eye. “1300?” 

Hal shrugs. “That’s the last set of years I can sort of remember, so I figure I was alive for some of them. But I don’t know anything about the ones that followed, so I must have died before then.” 

“And you?” 

Sachin shrugs as well. “1986ish? Give or take another year or two. I know I didn’t see the 90s.” 

“Cocaine?” Hal asks.

“That isn’t all people did in the eighties,” Sachin says with a roll of his eyes. “But yeah. Don’t take that as a stereotype of everyone who died then, though. I just had bad luck, and a bad batch, and now...” 

“I didn’t die by hanging,” Cam says, sitting up and pointing to the gallows. “So what is that about?” 

“Everyone,” Hal says. “Has to figure out they’re dead. Took us ages to figure this out, by the way, lots of research.” 

“He means we’ve seen a lot of people make it here,” Sachin interjects. 

“Same difference,” Hal waves away his words. “You hang there and swing until you figure it out, then you drop, get one of these lovely suits, and move on to...” 

“You don’t know?” 

“We don’t,” Sachin replies. “We’ve always stayed here. Like a welcoming committee.” 

“That...is incredibly fucked up,” Cam mutters, staring down the gallows. 

“So is a lot of this,” Hal says. “So was a lot of stuff in life. Why should this be all that different. And who knows, maybe you’ll find something better out there, the further you walk. Personally, I’ve accepted that it probably isn’t any better, so I don’t see why I should go wandering the empty plains for eons for no good reason.” 

“What about you?” 

Sachin avoids his eyes. “Just decided to stay put with Hal. We’ve gotten to know each other fairly well. We get along decently. It feels...easier. With company.” 

“Okay,” Cam says. “But you’ve got to understand something.” 

“Oh, Jesus,” Hal sighs. 

“Yes! Exactly. Can I talk to him?” 

“You still don’t fully get it, do you?” Sachin asks delicately. “As far as we know...” 

“No religion was particularly right, or wrong. Maybe they exist further out there, but we’ve never seen Jesus, nor any other religious figure come round,” Hal finishes the sentence as a bit of apple juice drips down his chin from his latest slice. “So no, there isn’t anyone to complain to. At least, not right here.” 

Cam stamps a foot. “Am I just supposed to go now?” 

“That’s what everyone else does,” Sachin replies, taking the apple and knife from Hal. “Your suit just appeared, so here. Put it on before you go.” 

“Why a suit?” 

They shrug in unison. 

“Do you two know anything about this place? Or is it all just apple eating and being useless?” Cam scoffs as he doffs the T-shirt and cargo shorts, blood-covered, that he’d arrived in. 

“Not being useless,” Sachin murmurs. “We help people. Try to, at least.” 

“This is hardly any way to spend the afterlife,” Cam smirks. 

“I think you had just best go,” Hal says, and stands again in front of Cam. 

“Is that a threat? I’m dead, what good is there in threatening me?” 

“We may not know a lot about this place,” Hal replies. “But we know this spot. We know what it is to be here for years upon years upon years upon years. It humbles you. Now, you got a nice suit, and all of eternity to learn how to be less of a-what’s the term, Sachin?” 

“The one we learned from the young lady prior to Cam?” 

Hal nods.

“Fuck boy?” 

“That,” Hal says. “And an asshole, and a general jerk, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn something about this place.” 

Sachin nods. “He’s right. We’ve seen some wander back here, on occasion. Just as rude as they day they got in.” 

“Their eyes are gone, for they’ve seen all and nothing at the same time,” Hal whispers, pulling Cam close by his collar. “They still scream, and claim injustice and no fault of their own. And eventually, they filter into just screams among the dust devils.” 

“We still hear them, at times,” Sachin says. “You get used to it. But it doesn’t sound good. I don’t think I’d want that to happen to me.” 

“Stop it,” Cam shudders, and pulls himself away from Hal. “You two...you’re just trying to scare me. I’m finding Heaven. I will, and then you’ll both be sorry.” 

“The smallest man can fall down the biggest mountain, who has no purpose other than to exist, and claim it is the fault of the mountain rather than his own stumbling and careless steps,” Sachin shrugs. “We tried, Hal. Come sit, I think the next apple might be Granny Smith this time.” 

Hal returns to his spot by Sachin, and accepts the comforting arm around his shoulders. 

“I-” 

“Go.” Sachin’s eyes are cold and angry, and he doesn’t blink until Cam is off in the distance, barely visible, the dust forming a wall as his running kicks it up. 

“I hope that tour guide doesn’t get in trouble because of that ass,” Hal sighs. “He didn’t do anything wrong, but just watch; he’ll be the one that suffers for that willing mistake, even after he told him not to tie his rope like that...” 

“Well,” Sachi replies. “Hopefully he’ll be fine. But whenever he gets here, we’ll have to tell him he did a good job trying to keep Cam safe. We can do that, at least.” 

“We can,” Hal says, but Sachin sees the tears before they’re wiped away. “Granny Smith?” 

Sachin holds up the latest apple. “Indeed. First slice is yours.” 

The wind whips and swirls the dust around them into a frenzy, and without a word they take off their jackets and pull them over their heads, leaning together to form a sort of tent, one hand left outside to hold its respective jacket in place, skin bloodied by the gravel and debris. 

But they smile, and share their apple. 

The next one will be better. 

And there will always be another one, on the gallows, swinging. 

[magnificentsix-blog]

YOUR CHARACTER IN 5 QUOTES

TELL US YOUR FAVORITE QUOTES FROM YOUR CHARACTER. GIVE US AN IDEA OF WHO THEY ARE BY FIVE THINGS THEY’VE SAID.

❝The name's Nisha! Ms. Kadam if you're nasty!❞

❝ Haven't been this excited since that animal shelter burned down! ❞

❝ God, I'm bored. Wanna choke someone, or get choked. I try not to be picky. ❞

❝ Times like this, a girl dreams of violence. ❞

❝ Nisha here. Available for mercenary work, S&M, and birthday parties. ❞

BONUS from Borderlands 2:

I'd like to remind you folks not to cut down anyone hangin' from my gallows. They're there as a warning to the rest of you, and, well, as entertainment. So the next time you see someone gaspin' for air from a coil of rope, you just let 'em swing in the breeze.

Sheriff here. Remindin' you once again to invite all your bandit friends to Lynchwood – really. It'll be a lot easier to take care of you all if you're in the same place. 

[xoleahbeanxo]

Halloween Short #8

The Legend of old DeWinter

Sometimes stories are legends; other times their just tales,

Some are told of fun and others to inspire us not to fail,

This is a story of one man’s struggle on his chosen trail.

When I was a boy, my pappy found me picking on a boy so weak,

He hollered, “Boy what’s wrong with you, for the sake of Pete?”

He jerked me up by my collar, sharp, until our eyes did meet.

There was no time for an explanation, my hind-end he did blister,

I think he might have been crying, while he muttered and he whispered,

“Fool boy is going to bring down the wrath of Jesse DeWinter,”

I sniffled hard, wiped my eyes, and sat on crooked cheek,

“Pappy, what are you saying?” I asked; my voice all meek.

“Sit there, boy, and listen well. I’ll tell you a tale, so bleak.” 

Farm life is hard especially when the law won’t stop coming around,

Jesse DeWinter and his family struggled to bring life from their ground,

When there were no crops to have, Jesse was forced to hunt flesh by the pound.

Coins in his pocket, iron in his hand, DeWinter is coming to take your life,

Bounty hunting is bloody work, leaves a soul teetering on the edge of a knife,

Outlaws by the score, money for their souls, none were brought back alive.

Jesse DeWinter’s family was fed; they were happy and fair,

Until the lawmen came around and took more than their share.

Not again, Jesse did vow, their suffering was more than he could bear.

With a shot to the chest, one in the eye, and for the lawyer, one in the ear,

Bounty hunting is hard but when you’re hunting lawman there’s nothing to fear,

He’d make them suffer; he’d make them pay, for harming what he held dear.

It didn’t take long; a posse of folks did gather and rode out hard,

To Jesse DeWinters’, where they lay siege to him and his farm,

He was caught and forced to watch as his family was burned in the barn.

He could hear them screaming, crying, and pleading,

It was the type of thing that sets rational thoughts fleeing,

It caused Jesse DeWinter’s heart to go cold, hard, and unfeeling.

The trial was short and no one wanted to hear what he had to say,

He was rushed to the gallows to carry out his sentence, right away,

His final words to the lawman, at the lever, was, “You will pay,”

 The lawman smiled and pulled the lever hard,

The wooden bottom dropped out and he fell sharp,

His neck snapped, the rope had done its part,

 Rope was taut around his neck as he swayed to and fro,

Jesse DeWinter, hang ‘em high, his soul was sent to roam,

His deeds were ill, for all the right reasons to save his family’s home.

 They cut him down, tossed him out to be carted,

Lawman said. “DeWinter’s fetid soul has departed,”

“Ride him out and bury him in a grave unmarked.”

 Lawmen, lawyers, and politicians give their backs a firm patting,

Beer was shared, cigars were smoked, and town folks were amassing,

All too happy to celebrate poor Jesse DeWinter passing.

 The wind blew cold, the fire light flickered, a voice did bluster,

“Bathe yourselves in sin, sing and dance in luster,”

“Know that DeWinter is coming and hell that he mustered.”

 Lightening crashed, the rain came down, a ghostly form did hover.

The party stopped, the drinks ran dry, and the celebration was over,

Folks screamed, toppled, and ran for fear of him coming closer.

 “Run if you want, hide if you must, but you’ll never get away,”

“Pray to your gods; beg of all your demons; but it won’t sway,”

“DeWinter is coming, a pound of your flesh is what you will pay.”

 Away they ran, fast as they could, home to lock their doors and latch their shutters,

They were racked with fear, afraid to look, his lingering chill forcing them to shudder,

Their heart in their chest drummed out a dirge, while desperate prayers they muttered.

 They heard the wind howl, the clop of his boots with the jangle of his spurs,

He was through the door, onto the stairs; they could hear his haunting words,

“Dark is your heart, black in your soul, I’ll make you wish you never were.”

 A hollow shot rang out from DeWinter’s gun, ringing a Lawman’s bell,

Sending his soul tumbling down through the earth into an endless well,

A greedy skeleton man, in a cloak and hood, snatched him for the ride to hell.

 Lawmen and town folk, who took more than they deserved,

Turned a blind eye, plugged up their ears, leaving his pleas unheard,

Jesse DeWinter visited them all and gave them what they earned.

 When all was said and done, scores of bounties he claimed,

In the deal he’d struck, when lawmen sent him to sway,

All of them souls who’d done him wrong, was a fine price to pay.

 Grim sneered. “You cannot go beyond, for you’ve been damned eternally,”

DeWinter tipped his hat, “That’s fine with me, I just want them back, you see.”

It was his family he wanted returned, so they may be together for eternity.

 Grim Reaper was all too pleased to pay this fee,

And he gave Jesse DeWinter back his family,

So that they may haunt those who prey on the weak.

 So if you think hurting folks is all in good fun,

I suggest you and yours better start to run,

Because the DeWinter and his family will come.

 From that day on, when I felt the devil’s words,

Pushing and urging me to do ill-will or worse,

I can hear the jangle of them old rusty spurs.

 And I know DeWinter is coming.

[gunhandsam]

I forgot my birthday.

I'm thirty now.  My birthday was a few months ago, and I spent it away from the only person I've ever truly cared about.  I had tried going home, to our home, just to check on things.  Maybe rest, take in the fleeting hints of her scent in the sheets and hope for a pleasant dream or two.

I couldn't even step on the tattered welcome mat, let alone open the door. My gut heaved as my hand reached out for the knob and threatened to reject what little food I had managed to choke down that morning.  My bones ached with a constant cold and dull throb, somewhat like the after effects of an adrenaline dump.  Fingers sliding over the worn metal conjured up memories of the two of us, of her, strolling home after a day of wandering or a night at the drive-in.  The contentment as she pressed against me, my arm over her shoulder or hand in hers, the giggling and teasing and smirking as we both hurried out of our clothes, perhaps aided by the other.  It was all too much, the memories crashing over me in waves, threatening to break me down and leave me crumbled on her step.

So, naturally, I determined the best course of action was to crawl into my little hole outside of town and treat myself to a swift libation.  Or several.

I mean, that's ok, isn't it?  It's not the Prospector.  Emma asked me to stop going there so often as apparently people were talking, and while I personally could care less of what some teetotaler thinks of me; their prudish thoughts of judgement and contempt fired from their eyes as they looked down at us less wholesome people, sight of us skittering in the dark obscured by their upturned noses, I still promised her I would spend less time in the local saloon.  

I promised her a lot of things.

Like... oh, I promised I'd keep her safe for example. 

That went well.

As did my decision to drink rapidly and heavily on an rebellious stomach and minimal sleep.

I found this strange.  I'm a well seasoned professional, after all.  One little bottle shouldn't put me on the floor, something is amiss.  I managed to claw my way across the concrete floor towards the bunk beds, when I heard a strange sound.  Something was gurgling... was it raining outside?  The previous owners of this little bunker had cobbled together some piping to gather rainwater and funnel it down into some cisterns, and if it rained hard enough, you could hear it.  This was different though, it felt more... direct. Focused.

More... personal?

Oh.

Well, that's different.

"Come closer.  Sit."

I was reasonably certain I was alone, as nobody really knows about this place... well, nobody alive anyway, and I distinctly recall being on my own when I entered and unscrewed my belated gift.  I was also in no condition to fight, so I did as the disembodied voice instructed.  Don't get me wrong; I can shoot fairly well drunk, but this was different.  All I was able to do was haul myself across the cold floor and slump against a steel bed frame.

"I meant on the bed.  But that is alright.  Should you stand, you may fall again and injure yourself.  And nobody knows about this place, correct? Nobody to come and help you?"

That voice was so familiar, and my head rang as I tried to pin it down.

"Right... there was a log on a terminal from the previous owners, some Desert Ranger types... the ones that didn't die slipped in with the NCR once that treaty of theirs went down... who are you?  Where are you?"

"Who I am is irrelevant, as are my whereabouts.  You, however, are very relevant.  And the things you have done since she left.  You have been a bad boy Samedi, have you not?"

The hairs on my neck stood stock still as my eyes cracked open.  They found me.  My old compatriots.  They tracked me across the country and waited for me to come tumbling down the hole, get good and drunk and helpless, so they could put one in my ear.  My hand groped for the gun on my hip, only to find an empty holster.

"I... yeah," I sighed, rubbing the leather with a finger tip.  "Yeah."

There was a soft chuckling to my side, low and smooth and deep.

"Not going to deny your true name?  Interesting.  Your weapons are downstairs on the table.  Waiting.  As I am.  Take your time.  Although... I am curious.  The trunk to your left."

I don't remember getting up, or moving for that matter.  But there I was, looking at the trunk in question.

"What about it?"

"It is not the trunk I am interested in.  The contents however..."

The lid popped open and I pressed it back down with an unsteady hand. This was getting silly, since when do things just open on their own?  The latch on the trunk was sturdy and well oiled, it shouldn't be able to spring open whenever it pleased.

"No?  Do you not want what is inside?  We both know what is in there.  How nice it feels against your shoulder, how your hand envelopes the grip... almost as if it was made just for you..."

I wanted to slam the lid shut.  Close the trunk, lock it, weld it, tip it upside down, sit on top.  I also felt a growing urge to hit something.  But what? There was nothing to strike that wouldn't leave my hand worse for wear.

"No.  No need."

More chuckling that echoed inside my head.

"Very well.  Downstairs.  No rush."

My hand lingered on the chest for a moment before I headed through the armory door.  Upstairs was home to weapon storage, munitions and components were down a level.

"Fancy yourself a collector?  Strange, you only have two hands, and you know how foolish it is to fill both with a pistol..."

"It'd be a shame to leave the walls bare," I grumbled, firing up a cigarette without a thought.  "It gives me something constructive to do.  Find something I don't have, repair it as much as I can, maybe toss on a mod or two, stuff it on the wall."

A deep hum reverberated off the walls of the bunker as well as my skull.  I could feel it in my bones and my eyes, and I fought down the terrible urge to vomit as I descended the stairs, as the act would surely leave me falling head over ass, showering myself with bile until I lay broken at the bottom. Sure enough, my usual guns were waiting for me, as was the bear.  

At least it wasn't wearing my hat or glasses anymore.

"Those are mine, alright. I suppose it's foolish to ask how you got down here..."

"A better question: Is a man the sum of his parts, or is he more than that?"

"I don't fu... I don't know.  I was working on a perfectly fine bottle of whisky when you came calling."

My response was met with more humming and a quiet chuckle.

"Yes, I saw.  Now, what if the parts change?"

A fancier revolver and a semi automatic rifle, .223 and .308 caliber respectfully.

"Does the man change with them?"

"I don't know!  Guns are just tools to me!  I use what works or what I feel comfortable with!  I might change 'em out if need be, but once I find something that works well, I tend to stick with it!"

"Temper, Samedi.  I do not mean to upset you.  I'm curious as to why you have the rifle down here, I thought you were not proficient with them?"

"Am I not allowed to try and learn something new?  Oh!  I should rephrase that to keep the theme going!  Is a man not entitled to better himself?! What is this all about, really?"

The walls seemed to press in against me and the pounding in my head intensified.  I shut my eyes tight and fought down the bile churning in my gut.

"Flattery will get you nowhere.  Mockery will take you places even you cannot return from.  Still... interesting that you chose this particular pistol."

"I... yeah, I suppose.  I managed to work up a couple of loads for it that give good expansion and penetration, better than the stuff I've seen for sale.  The longer than usual barrel adds velocity... why am I even explaining this to you?"

Another hum, softer than before, almost comforting.

"I am well familiar with your firearms, my friend.  Why would I not be? Surely you have noticed how observant I am of you.  However, a lesser man would make a crude joke following such a statement of penetration.  But given your recent... indiscretions with the tribal girl, perhaps you are not feeling a need to compensate for something?  Even more interesting is how willing you were to let her penetrate you, and to say nothing of how much you enjoyed it... ah!  I guess I am not above crass humor after all..."

I slammed a fist down on the table as I felt my blood begin to boil.  This had gone on long enough!  Maybe in my haste I had grabbed a bottle of absinthe rather than whisky, and now things were getting weird.  It happened, almost without fail, when I drank the stuff.

"It was either that or kill somebody again!  Maybe it wouldn't be somebody so deserving of it!  Maybe someone I just didn't like the looks of for whatever bullshit reason I came up with!  What do you want from me!?"

The room went frigid, and I could feel a terrible pressure over my chest.

"What I want?  Why, that is simple my friend.  I want you to stop feeling sorry for yourself.  You spent so long being your own worst enemy, and how many times did it nearly get you killed?  You need to start treating yourself better.  Sexual needs and wants matter not to me.  Wanton violence does not bother me in the least.  I only care that you are satisfied regardless of the path you choose.  A clear head results in an able body.  Do you not remember Quincy?  Your mind in a fog, cleared away as the rope grew tight, your breath hitching in your chest and your vision dimming as those on the other side took hold of you?  And when you were freed from the gallows, and your clambering out of the burning barrel, do you not remember how focused you were afterwards?  You certainly put on a display... what was it, nineteen?  Twenty people killed by your hand that night?"

That was it.  I was done.  The air in my lungs had long since escaped, and the room had begun to tilt and spin.

"Twen... twenty-three... fourteen men, nine women," I stammered, steadying myself on the table with a rubbery arm.  Whatever this was, I wanted clear of it.  I wanted to wake up in my bed next to Emma.  That's all I ever wanted.

"Impressive for a man that was mere minutes away from his end... amazing what you are capable of when you put your mind to it.  I fear our time however is at an end.  Before we part, I want you to say it."

"It?  What?  What do you want me to say?"  I was drawn to my hat.  I knew that if I had it in my hands, I'd be ok.  Things were growing dim and distant as I reached out, fingers brushing the brim before I collapsed on the floor.

"You know.  The thing you've been wanting to say ever since it happened.  Do not play dumb with me, Samedi."

I curled up by the table, clutching my sides.

"I'm..."

"Say it."

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I let her down.  I'm sorry I couldn't help her..."

I could feel a hand brushing my cheek, and the humming had become a quiet sigh.

"That is all I wanted.  You may hear from me again, I do not know when.  I do hope you are feeling better by then.  Please, do take care of yourself, Samedi. If not for yourself, for her.  As you know, without her, the alternative is... well.  You can figure it out."

"You may think you will not remember this night, but you will."

[rastronomicals]

2:45 AM EST February 2, 2025:

Harakiri for the Sky - "Gallows (Give Em Rope)" From the album Aokigahara (April 21, 2014)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

'Aokigahara' is the suicide forest located on Mt. Fuji's northwest face, so I'll call this actually rather bright-sounding material 'atmospheric' rather than 'depressive.' You know, just to balance the karma a little.

File under: Atmospheric Black Metal

[meteora-fc]

Crazy quotes from this weeks raw☆16/10/17

•"Hip hip hip nerd nerd nerd.“- Luke Gallows warming up his voice.

•"Abso-hoot-ly.”- Karl Anderson.

•"I wish we could have this guy physically removed from the building.“- Corey Graves about Enzo Amore.

•"Someone needs to get me an air sick bag.”- Corey Graves during Enzo Amore’s entrance.

•"He doesn’t have an on/off switch, he’s always stuck somewhere in the middle.“- Booker T about Dean Ambrose.

•"It really is too sweet to witness live.”- Corey Graves[the shit stirrer] about Finn Balor.

•"There’s a real possibility that after TLC Emma will have no use of her fingers and probably be dyslexic after Asuka kicks her a few times.“- Corey Graves.

•"He told me he wanted to beat up Roman Reigns, so I told him to do it.”- Braun Strowman about Curtis Axel.

•"He’s the kind of man where if you fell into a bear enclosure at the zoo, you’d pray for the bear!“- Corey Graves about Braun Strowman.

•"Give it to ‘em Braun!”- The Miz when Braun rammed Roman Reigns into the cage wall.

•"Monster or not that’s gonna hurt every man.“- Corey Graves about Braun Strowman being dropped on the top rope.

•"Give him another one!”- The Miz about Kane giving Roman Reigns a chokeslam.

[screamting]

Unconsolable (Roadtrip Vigilante continuation #1)

Gordon knows he’s never going to clear out Gotham completely. He knows you can’t put an end to all crime. He knows it’s a never-ending battle.

 For some reason, people don’t seem to talk about that with the police force. How of course there’s always gonna be crime. It’s not the fucking end of the world. When Pompeii went out, covered in ash, they had graffiti on the walls, and he’s sure when Gotham finally crumbles into dust, it’ll look much the same as Pompeii did.

 But every night, he lights a cig, blows it out into the air, and goes to work anyway.

 They’ll say the food programs should stop when people who are spending their money on drugs use it, and that disability access should be made inaccessible because some asshole might fake their way into it, but no one says cops shouldn’t do their job just because it’ll be a never-ending one.

 Funny how that is, sometimes.

-- 

Babs loves her computer. It’s a way for her to connect with the world in a way she’s had trouble doing now that she’s in a chair.

Gordon knows he’s a lucky motherfucker. He could’ve lost his daughter that day. He could’ve not been able to pay the medical bills. He could’ve not been able to buy his girl a good wheelchair. Not been able to afford a therapist. Not been able to guarantee Babs a job later in life. If she ever wanted disability benefits she wouldn’t be able to get them from the government--unless he hides all the money in his own bank and writes her down as non-dependant on his taxes. So instead he’s gotta save up a fund for her, and he has the savings and salary to do that . He can make sure she’s got a fighting chance if something happens. He took out fucking life insurance years ago, when his wife left him. After he lost his son. It’s all going to his daughter when he dies.

He’s not losing his daughter first.

So he never fucking tells Babs to get off the computer. He hears some of the other parents at the precinct or in the bars talking about how much time their kids spend on the computer and how awful it is, and Gordon’s just glad computers are easier for Babs to deal with than buildings without elevators or ramps.

There’s a lot of coffee shops she can’t get into, now.

There’s dentist offices she can’t get into, now.

So if Bab’s idea of a good time is getting on forums online and talking to strangers, then. Well.

At least she’s anonymous, and those strangers live too far away to ever come and ring the doorbell.

He… he’s honestly not good at looking on the bright side, though. He doesn’t see a lot of bright sides in Gotham. He doesn’t like Gotham, actually.

He kind of hates the place. Hates the rain and how his khakis always damp when he sits down, and there’s never any dry seats at the bus stops. Hates the gloom and how he doesn’t blame all those Gotham kids being on their computers all day with weather like this, with a city like this, with the cigarette butts left in the cracks of sidewalks where not even weeds will grow (and as he thinks it, he flicks ash off the end of his own cig, and misses the flowers that grew out of cracks in Chicago.)

(this city murdered one of his kids and tried to murder the other. It’s dumb luck Barbara’s alive. It’s dumb luck the worst damage is her spine.)

(He doesn’t walk a beat anymore. Not since his promotion, and he’s fucking glad for it. The less time spent on Gotham streets, the better.)

(...)

(but no one says a police officer should stop his job just because it seems overwhelming.)

He doesn’t like to watch the news anymore. He hasn’t for a long time. The politicians are all antichrists and the madmen are misunderstood angels, and the fine line between the two generally just means there’s a political madman with a good reputation that might actually be the antichrist. Gordon knows there’s a God out there, but he’s an alien it seems, and spews lasers from his eyes; same way there’s an underwater city somewhere, but they aren’t part of the UN and they are pissed about it. There’s a whole other world of aliens and martians and women who crush boulders between their fists and mechanical men, but not in Gotham.

There’s only one thing in Gotham, and it’s never been a god.

--

Understandably, Gordon is a bit confused when he sees the report on his desk.

“What the fuck’s a ‘Batman’?”

The guy across from him, Bullock, just lights up his cig-- cigar, not cigarette--and grins like he’s finally heard something funny.

(When Gordon first joined the force, he caught Bullock taking bribes. The only reason Gordon trusts him now is because when Bullock saw a reason to stop taking bribes, he stopped hard , and took some kind of glee in being an honest cop again.)

“Ain’t been watchin’ the news lately, Jim?”

“God no.”

“Hah! You’ve been missin’ out this last year!”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s that got to do with this?”

“Some masked vigilantes runnin’ round the plains got spotted in Gotham last night. Batman an’ Robin. Sure you never heard of ‘em?”

“Positive.”

“You’re missin’ out. Freak’s dragging a kid around with ‘im.”

While Bullock speaks, Gordon glances up to see Bullock’s face twisting into the toothiest grin around his cigar. It looks more like a grimace, when you know him. Some kinda sick amusement. That’s their version of gallows humor here, Gordon supposes, but his own face remains pretty well blank.

He’s saving his disgust for something more shocking.

“Won’t be our problem for long,” Bullock continues, blowing out a heavy cloud of smoke and closing his eyes. “They move on as soon as they’re spotted. By the time they run it on th’ news tonight, they’ll be gone. Might as well trash whoever they brought in or th’ D.A. will throw a fit. Th’ faster they get out, the better.”

Gordon sighs and pushes his glasses up onto his forehead and rubs his face.

He doesn’t understand what ‘whoever they brought in’ means, but he trusts Bullock.

He puts that report aside for later and moves onto the next one.

--

That night, Gordon flicks on the TV in his living room and watches it while the stair lift buzzes behind him--it’s just Babs coming down slowly on the hydraulics they’d gotten installed. It wasn’t a tall staircase, but that meant nothing when you were recovering from months in the hospital with a gunshot wound in your abdomen, your lower body newly paralyzed, and you didn’t want to stay on the ground floor where you’d once been attacked.

The lift hisses while carrying her chair down, but not enough to cover the sound of the news.

“...man and Robin were spotted last night in Gotham City up in Park Row, where the duo stood on the rooftops for long enough for a passerby to get this snapshot before they bounded away! Two store robberies were also allegedly thwarted by the duo last night, though there’s no report if any arrests have been made at this time.”

The police were going over witness reports and the security footage, of course there were no arrests.

“A social media sensation for over a year, Batman and Robin were spotted around cities from the midwest to Northern California, rumors of their deaths followed a vicious backlash after the realization that ‘Robin’ appears to be a young child of between the ages of eleven to fourteen. The Justice League has not responded to requests for comment at this-- ”

The hydraulics stop humming, and Babs wheels her way over to her dad, laptop on her legs and her hair up in a pony tail.

She leans over to kiss his cheek, and Gordon gives his daughter a side-hug in return, and they both grunt with the squeeze.

“You taking it easy tonight?” she asks, leaning back in her chair and nodding towards the TV.

“Eh,” Gordon says, shrugging and looking back at the screen. There was a grainy nighttime picture of the two. And yeah. That was a kid standing there, tall beside a kneeling, dark figure on the rooftop. “Takin’ it easy, maybe, but not relaxing too much.”

“Well, yeah,” Babs says, snorting. “You’re watching GNN.”

“I shoulda watched the election.”

“You shoulda watched the election.”

“Any new good shows I can watch besides the election?”

“Good one’s you’ll like? ” his whiz-kid asks, and he grunts and shrugs in reply. “Netflix has a good documentary out on the prison industrial complex.”

Gordon groans and let his head fall onto the arm of the couch. Babs laughs.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s try you out on Grace and Frankie.”

--

The next cycle of late-night news, Robin and Batman still aren’t gone.

Two days. Okay. They can deal with that.

There weren’t pictures this time--not of the duo--but Gordon knows they were still in the city last night. He knows for sure, and he’s--unsettled, a little bit.

He came to the station the next morning like any other day, opened up his office, and found a gangly pile of limbs behind his desk, under the window.

The gangsters were all still alive, thank god (whatever crimes they’d committed, he was sure it was understandable he’d rather they be tied up alive on his rug than tied up dead on his rug.) They were gagged and bound, and had little pieces of paper stapled to the ropes with lists of crimes and names and injuries.

All of them were wanted criminals. Most of the crimes listed on the papers were already known.

And fuck.

All Gordon could think about while the precinct went into a small civil riot around him was about the man he’d found tied up at his desk five years before, shaking and with a signed confession in his pocket, and how Gordon hadn’t known if he should call for help, or if it was a joke, or if his colleagues would murder him on the spot when they arrived there.

He wasn’t joking about the murder. He didn’t like it when people joked about killer cops and killing other cops. And their families. And anyone else who crossed their path.

(His son’s body hadn’t been recovered. His son lay dead somewhere in the cold dark of Gotham’s water.)

At least he didn’t have a whole precinct to suspect anymore.

By the first shout he’d made when he opened the door, Montoya and Allen were already there, hands on holsters, getting Jim behind them, and inspecting the scene. A moment later Harvey pulled him even further back, scowling and cigar burning acidic in the air.

“The fuck’s going on in here?” Harv asked.

The rest of the day felt lost in a haze of thick smoke.

(Five years ago, Tony Zucco was shaking and tears-all-down-his-face at Gordon’s desk, tied hands-and-feet, piss-stained, and all he would tell them about what happened before they put him away was that he’d met a Man.

Gordon’d dreamed of silhouettes for weeks.

Like the bullseye targets they used. That kind of simple male bathroom-icon shape. A dark figure standing off in the distance over all the murders of the day, like a foreboding god on the horizon.)

--

He went home. Bought a coffee at a café on his way back. Not his usual pitstop. Bought his daughter a coffee too. Frozen. Chocolate.

Gordon’s coffee was hot. It burned when it went down his throat, but it warmed his fingers and his gut until he almost felt human, despite the pouring rain.

He just tried to keep what Harvey said in his mind as he thought about those young thugs found tied up in his office.

They never stay in one place too long .

--

...Batman and Robin didn’t leave.

There were no more blurry photos of them standing over Park Row, and there were no more criminals in Gordon’s office as he walked in to find the window open and the curtains swaying in the early morning chill.

This time they were left outside on the corner.

Someone from the night shift had come out to go for a smoke, then run back inside in a panic; something about hostages tied up outside. She hadn’t had another word for the line of people lying out on the sidewalks, certain they were going to die.

Hostages.

( “It was Batman ,” one of them said. Gordon was on the other side of the glass. Listening to the interrogation. This one was young. Not many offences. By Gotham standard, the handful of breaking-and-entering robberies wasn’t much, but this last time, it’d been at knifepoint--“ I-I thought he was supposed to be gone by now .”)

By day three, their cells were filling up in holding far faster than any of them were used to, and they were running out of space. If things didn’t stop soon, they’d have to release some of the lower-level offenders just to try to make enough room, and without enough thought, that kind of action could spark outrage or break what fragile trust Gordon managed to build with the community. The GNN kept talking, kept repeating takes between election commercials and reports on the Batman Lookalike, because they’d all decided that this couldn’t be the real Batman and Robin, who never stayed in one place. It had to be an imposter duo inspired by heroism and child neglect.

(Regardless of whether or not it was a copycat Batman, Gordon just kept thinking about years ago, and Tony Zucco on his floor talking about how he’d almost been killed. Two days ago, and a line of hostages lying outside their precinct.)

In the end it didn’t really matter who was who, because Gordon’s cells were still filling up. They’d started posting an officer outside the precinct just to find the new drops as fast as they could before hypothermia set in, and when new ones weren’t falling from the fucking sky they’d be found on the roof, now, so--

So Gordon made a journey he always dreaded going on.

Gordon went to the D.A.

They needed trial dates, and they needed trial dates fast.

--

Harvey Dent was, overall, a… good guy.

…

Gordon was doing his best to be generous. Because it was apparent to him that Harvey Dent did really believe he was doing the right thing, and that he was taking the right path to do it.

But it was also apparent to Gordon that they did not see Eye to Eye on some things.

But, fortunately, neither he nor Harvey liked to drink.

It was the funniest things that could bond people. Like a family history of alcoholism.

(They didn’t bond too deep over that.)

Gordon got up to Harvey’s floor, got offered coffee from a private coffee machine in the waiting room right outside the office, and damn it he’d had a long day so he accepted that fucking coffee.

“Harvey,” he said, drinking. “We need trial dates.”

Gordon’s thinking Harvey Dent, the man with the biggest hateboner against crime in Gotham, would be thrilled to have quicker trial dates. But Harvey Dent, a man who has barbells in his office for when he just wants to lift weights when he’s tired of being an attorney , just frowns over the rim of his coffee cup and says, “No fucking shit.”

“A batty man’s already gathering all the evidence,” Gordon says, feeling the headache already coming on. But Harvey’s young, even though a lawyer shouldn’t really need it spelled out for him. “So unless you’re spending your late nights in a cape yourself, it’s time to do the late nights.”

He can’t deny that he’s a little bit watching for a response, but to be fair: Harvey Dent has the largest hateboner for crime in Gotham, and lifts weights when he’s bored .

Gordon doesn’t know where young folks these days got the energy.

Harvey just stiffens, glares, and starts, “I would never-- ”

Gordon drinks his coffee, pretty sure Harvey had at least thought about it since seeing the news. Two copycats is two too many.

“Yeah, yeah, you wouldn’t have brought a kid,” he says.

Harvey’s hackles go down.

--

Trial dates aren’t just a Gotham problem. In fact, they’re something of a US-wide problem. The constitution sets trial dates as at least 160 days after arrest, just so people can’t rot in jail for years without ever being proven guilty. Except that’s exactly what’s happening, and with the sudden felon influx, the jails are even more bloated with people who’ve never even been convicted. They were already running out of cells, and now they’re just crammin’ ‘em in like sardines.

People like Dent’s careers are based on keeping people in or out out of jail.

People like Gordon’s are made on arrests.

Gordon’s sitting on a kettle of jaded and crooked cops trying to get extra bucks between writing up real tickets, and Dent’s got a boiling pot of the young, idealistic, and easily-bribed, and they simply don’t have enough judges and lawyers to go through the crimes in Gotham. There’s too many bodies and too few people to process them. Dent’s lawyers don’t want to take cases they’ll obviously lose and take a hit on their careers. Gordon doesn’t want control over his precincts taken away by sheer inability to handle the flood. Neither of them want misdemeanors trapped in jail with felons and made to sit for three or more years before a trial.

So.

So they have to hash some shit out, between them. Commissioner of Police and Gotham County District Attorney.

They don’t have enough public defenders--lawyers who are paid to just fucking defend cases and don’t have to worry about losing so much since they’re already on payroll. They need to rotate prosecutors on the shaky cases that look like losses to not ruin anybody. They need more Judges to oversee cases. They need to lower bail and parole costs so they might get some bail and parole money, since Gotham celebrities are more interested in paying individual cops as they’re caught--not in paying the department. Hopefully bail’ll open up some space, too. They invest in ankle tags for the least violent confirmed offenders; the misdemeanor cases that are too old for juvie. Dent says he’ll talk with the judges about trying to find community service punishments for the tagged ones.

The ‘Batman and Robin’ criminals aren’t offered the option of bail, but that’s mostly for their own protection.

It's… expensive. Not as bad as it could be, but both he and Dent are trying to manage their budgets, and they're trying to petition the mayor for funds, but the mayor is in the mob’s pocket so the mayor is the only one who doesn't have to give a shit about money right now--

They get the first of the Batman and Robin criminals on trial. A mobster.

Gordon doesn't know who they're trying to send a message to, but someone tries to shoot Dent right there.

Right in the courtroom.

--

…

Jim Gordon waits on a rooftop. It's lit by a cigarette and a flood lamp. Overall, it's pretty well lit.

Beside him is a can of yellow spray paint. Washable. The rain will take it off in a day or so.

But right now, there's no rain, and Gordon is waiting and smoking.

He'd drawn the symbol on the roof an hour ago. The paint’s dried by now, but he still walks over it carefully when he gets up to stretch his legs; treats it like it's still wet. The flood lamp lights it up well. If someone's flinging themselves over rooftops at this time of night anywhere near the precinct, they'll see it.

It's cold, though. It's cold, and the floodlight is bright, but doesn't offer much warmth, even when Gordon stands right next to it. The wind’s going at his coat and his beard has frosted tips on it by midnight.

And Harvey Dent is in the hospital.

…

Gordon hears the footsteps before anything else, and turns to find a man-shaped shadow behind him.

…

The longer he looks, the funnier the outfit looks under the floodlight. But Gordon’s not laughing.

“This yours?” the man who is trying to look like Batman grumbles, pointing down to the painted bat.

“Yeah,” Gordon says, and let's his cig fall to the ground, and then steps on it. “I was hopin’ you'd notice it, actually.”

“Is there something you need, Commissioner?” the wannabe hero says, and if Gordon didn't know better, he'd say the guy almost sounded something like eager.

“Yeah,” Gordon says, and lights another cig, and prepares to go for his gun at the first sign of violence. “I'm gonna need you to get the fuck out of my city.”

--

It isn't Jim Gordon’s fault.

He never knew Gotham’s favorite son had finally, finally come home.

Jim’s own son never would.

Years and years ago: his infant son, James Jr., thrown off a bridge by someone who was supposed to be Jim’s senior officer.

This city ate his son. It tried to eat his daughter.

James Gordon hates Gotham more than any man on Earth could hate a place, but he still lives in it.

He wants to think Gotham can get better, but first he has to get some sort of order established.

Batman is fucking up any sense of order this city ever had.

[celebratorypenguin]

Fic: Press

Rating: PG-13 for language, drinking, and sadness

Summary: John was as angry as he could ever remember being, in a lifetime full of very good reasons to lose his temper. How dare they, these idiotic Americans, how dare they spin out his words and twist them into a rope to hang him with?

Notes: The subject is the run-up to the first Chicago press conference after the “Bigger than Jesus” debacle, when Tony Barrow convinced John to apologize and whatever he said was enough to bring John to tears.

I don't think he talked about money.

Of course, this is pure speculation.

Press

***

August 11, 1966 Chicago, Illinois Astor Hotel

"Fuck 'em."

John stood toe to toe with Brian, head lifted, shoulders back, his eyes flashing a schoolboy's defiance that was incongruous with the hard, mature edges of his face.

He heard someone say his name very softly. It could have been either George or Paul, who were flanking him, each with a hand on his upper arm. George's fingers were tight, restraining him, while Paul's were gentler, meant to soothe.

It was in that moment that John realized how hard his blood was pumping, because normally he could tell his friends' voices apart from across a roomful of nattering reporters, much less mere inches from his ear.

John was as angry as he could ever remember being, in a lifetime full of very good reasons to lose his temper. How dare they, these idiotic Americans, how dare they spin out his words and twist them into a rope to hang him with?

"We agreed to a press conference - again - but I never agreed to apologize and I just won't do it! I didn't do anything wrong!" John shouted, not for the first time that day. "This is their madness and I'm not going to apologize for their stupidity!"

He saw Brian's gaze shift to Paul. Supplicating. Make him see reason. In his peripheral vision he could see Paul shake his head. I've tried. I can't.

Brian's sigh turned into a harsh cough. John's breath hitched as he remembered that Brian had all but crawled out of his London sickbed to come to America and straighten out this disaster. And it was a disaster from start to finish, from the baying crowds and record burnings to the mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging preachers, all calling for Beatle Blood.

"John," came Ringo's voice from somewhere behind George, "don't you think it might help to, you know, put your cap in your hand and just--"

"No!" John whirled around, shaking off George and Paul, and jabbed a finger in Ringo's direction. "I'll be damned if I utter one word of apology for something that was never my doing!"

"Not that you apologize much when something IS of your doing," muttered George.

Seething, John rounded on George. "Fuck off!"

"No, John, YOU fuck off!" George retorted. His face, normally so composed, was twisted in an enraged grimace, and his sharp, white teeth glistened around a snarl. "Your fault, not your fault, no one cares! But you're the only one who can fix it!"

"Guys." Paul's speech had a trace of sibilance; his lip had swollen where he'd been biting it, for hours if not days. His complexion was chalk-white. "We can't do this now, okay?"

"Easy enough for you to say," John heard himself spitting at Paul. "It's not you they're planning to execute, is it?"

A sixth voice, one they didn't hear very often, crashed through the argument like thunder, and a hand landed squarely on his shoulder. "Lennon. With me. Now."

It was Tony Barrow.

John bristled at the demanding grasp. He glared at Tony, who glared back - a form of unspoken communication that Brian had never gotten the hang of - and shoved John forward. Glancing behind, John saw the other three rooted to the spots where they'd been standing. Ringo's face was almost a cartoon mask of confusion, George's was wrathful, and Paul looked ready to either cry or vomit.

So much fear and misery, all over a few sentences that were quoted out of context.

Tony and Brian led John from the corridor to a small conference room and motioned for him to sit at the table. Brian sat at his right hand, Tony opposite them.

"You're going to apologize," Tony said evenly.

Twisting in his chair, John lifted his middle finger at Tony and turned away from him.

"You're going to apologize," repeated Tony as he rose and walked behind John. "You can go in on your own, or take the other three with you - if they're speaking to you, and I wouldn't blame them if they weren't - that's up to you. But you're going to give an apology, and that's that."

John, his arms folded over the back of his chair, looked up at Tony and saw the firm set of his square jaw. "What do you think I should apologize for? The fact that these people don't seem to be able to read? Should I go in and apologize that they don't know how to think?"

"John," Brian rasped, "there's a lot at stake here. I don't think you understand the severity of the situation. This is not the time for a wisecrack."

"I think this is the perfect time for a wisecrack!" John raked a hand through his hair. "You're just trying to save the tour, aren't you? Save the money!"

Tony's face reddened. "Do you honestly think this has anything whatsoever to do with the tour, with business, anymore?"

"There's the matter of safety, too," Brian added, his eyes pleading with John to settle down, to see reason.

John wasn't having it, not this time. "It's not your ass on the line, here, Brian, it's mine, and I'm not going to sell out--"

"John, just shut up and listen for a change." Tony raised his voice, something John had never heard him do. Shocked, John sat up a little straighter. Tony leaned over him and locked eyes. "This isn't about the tour anymore. No one cares about the money. Did you know that Brian was willing to cancel? That he offered to buy out the contract, just so that you didn't have to come here?"

John hadn't known that, of course, and he stared at Brian as if he were a stranger. "Is that true?" he asked, his voice sounding unnaturally high and strained to his own ears.

Brian nodded. He put a hand lightly on John's arm. "If anything happened to you - to any of you - I'd never forgive myself."

"Any of us?" John snorted. "It's me the hounds are after! Just throw me in front of the crowds and let 'em lead me off to the gallows, is that the plan? Because if it is, let me tell you--"

"Shut it, Lennon." Tony leaned over John, eyes narrowed. "Yes, these are ridiculous people and they're backwards and ignorant. They also have guns, John, lots and lots of guns."

"And they're going to shoot them at ME!"

"What makes you think that their aim is any better than their reading comprehension? Sure, they'll be shooting at you, but what if they MISS, have you thought of what happens then? Half of them can't tell you boys apart, anyway. Are you planning to smart-arse your way out of watching Ringo take a bullet for you?"

John almost stopped breathing. Ringo...

"'He's too far away onstage to hit by accident,' you'll tell us," Tony continued, mocking John's nasal accent before returning to his own voice. His next words were even more shocking. "What about George, then? Are you willing to explain to him why he'll never play the guitar again, because you couldn't be arsed to apologize? Will you be able to look him in the eye when the shot meant for you blows his fucking hand off?"

Shivering wtih fear rather than cold, John curled in on himself. He shut his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears, his head ringing with George's phantom screams.

All because of me, my fault...

John felt Tony's hands on his wrists, forcing them apart. When he looked up at Tony, John's vision was blurred with hot tears. "Stop," he implored. "I'll apologize."

As if weighing the sincerity of John's words, Tony paused and looked at him for several long seconds. Then he dealt the final blow. "What if it's Paul? He's always right next to you, practically joined at the hip. You'll be sharing a mic one moment, and the next he'll be doubled over with his hands over his belly."

Oh, please, not Paul...

"No!" Gasping, John turned to Brian for help, but Brian's gaze was downcast, removed.

Tony plowed ahead. "D'you know that a gunshot wound to the gut is one of the worst ways to die? It's a slow death, an agonizing death, and you'll get to listen to him scream, you'll get to watch him fucking DIE, right there, but that'll be okay because your precious principles weren't compromised. He'll forgive you with his last breath, John, but he'll die because of you. Only because of you."

John buried his face in his hands. Tears spilled out from between his shaking fingers, winding a looped path down his wrists. To John, they felt like Paul's lifeblood spilling out in waves over his guilty hands, the scent metallic and earthy. He wanted to kneel, to pour every drop back into Paul's body but it was too late, too late, and Paul would never forgive him, would never KNOW...

"Stop it! Stop! I'll do it, I'll say anything, tell me what you want me to say and I'll do it," John stammered between painful, shallow breaths. He lifted his head and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the wall. His eyes were puffy, the rims blood-red, and his lips trembled uncontrollably.

At last, Brian knelt next to John and covered John's hands with his own. "Do you understand, now, John? I'd never have asked you if there had been any other way at all we could handle this."

Unable to speak, John nodded curtly. Brian patted him on the back, then rubbed small circles there until John's tears were spent.

"I can't..." John began, then cleared his aching throat. "I can't be responsible for...for anything happening. To me. Or to them." He looked from Brian to Tony. "I'll say anything," he repeated, more calmly now.

Seemingly satisfied, Tony helped John out of the chair and led him out to the corridor where Mal was waiting with the other Beatles. John mussed Ringo's hair affectionately. George's eyebrows were raised in surprise, but when John suddenly grasped his hand and squeezed it tightly, he looked so astonished that John almost burst out laughing.

Almost.

He glanced over at Paul, who looked almost as miserable as John himself. Paul tilted his head, his wide eyes asking what his lips could not: Are you okay?

No. I may never be okay again, thought John, but he loped toward Paul with outstretched arms and clasped him tightly for a long moment, dampening Paul's hair with a stray tear.

"What's that for?" Paul asked, his voice dark with emotion. "Steady on, Johnny, steady on."

John rubbed his wet cheek against Paul's jacket, then stepped back. "I'm going to apologize," he said as he looked at each of them in turn. His eyes lingered on George, who had been so furious with him for his stubbornness.

George rewarded him with a smile. "Good, then," were all the words he uttered, but there were entire sonnets in the loving tone.

Exhausted, enervated, John let his head droop. He stared dumbly at the carpet, trying to gather words that would release him, release them all, from this madhouse.

"When do we go in?" Ringo asked.

"You don't. I do," replied John, lifting his head just long enough to give Ringo a watery smile of thanks, then resuming his study of the carpet.

Then he saw a pair of boots right in front of him, and another, and a third. He looked up to see the other three standing so close that he could smell their different aftershaves.

"We'll go together," George declared.

John pressed his lips together, blinking fast to prevent a fresh flood of tears. There would be humiliation enough in the next half hour to last a lifetime. But if it would keep them safe...

"Ready, boys?" Brian asked, breaking into John's train of thought.

"Absolutely," Ringo and George chorused, smirking at the synchronism. Paul leaned against John's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "You're John fucking Lennon. You can do this. You can do anything."

Brian opened the door to the suite where the reporters were waiting. John took a deep breath. I'm John fucking Lennon. I can do this. I can do anything, he said to himself as he followed Paul into the lion's den.

*** END ***

[r2mg]

Harakiri For The Sky - Aokigahara (Full Album) 1.My Bones to the Sea 2.Jhator 3.Homecoming: Denied! 4.69 Dead Birds for Utøya 5.Parting 6.Burning from Both Ends 7.Panoptycon 8.Nailgarden 9.Gallows (Give 'em Rope) 10.Mad World (Tears For Fear Cover)

[rastronomicals]

8:28 PM EST December 4, 2024:

Harakiri for the Sky - "Gallows (Give Em Rope)" From the album Aokigahara (April 21, 2014)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

'Aokigahara' is the suicide forest located on Mt. Fuji's northwest face, so I'll call this actually rather bright-sounding material 'atmospheric' rather than 'depressive.' You know, just to balance the karma a little.

File under: Atmospheric Black Metal

[rastronomicals]

6:17 AM EST December 1, 2023:

Harakiri for the Sky - "Gallows (Give Em Rope)" From the album Aokigahara (April 21, 2014)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

'Aokigahara' is the suicide forest located on Mt. Fuji's northwest face, so I'll call this actually rather bright-sounding material 'atmospheric' rather than 'depressive.' You know, just to balance the karma a little.

File under: Atmospheric Black Metal

[rastronomicals]

4:49 AM EDT June 13, 2023:

Harakiri for the Sky - "Gallows (Give Em Rope)" From the album Aokigahara (April 21, 2014)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

'Aokigahara' is the suicide forest located on Mt. Fuji's northwest face, so I'll call this actually rather bright-sounding material 'atmospheric' rather than 'depressive.' You know, just to balance the karma a little.

File under: Atmospheric Black Metal