#I will be back with more commentary bare with me fellas

[mazojo]

Min Ho is kind of an ass but he is a funny ass

[lunar-years]

Shockingly I've barely thought about the finale because I'm still reeling from last week, but just for my own head I wanted to lay out what the show basically must address/resolve in the final episode. Here is what I have come up with (with my added commentary for reasons):

obviously the big question is: Is Ted going back to Kansas? Personally I think yes. The side question, but for me the more puzzling of the two is: Will Beard go with him?

if Ted does leave, Richmond will have to be left in someone else's hands. I would hope we see Roy becoming manager?

the other big ticket item is Nate's return to Richmond and the apology moment between Nate and Ted. Which I am so very much looking forward to.

West Ham workplace allegations and Bex & Rupert's old secretary whose name I don't remember showing up at Rebecca's (presumably...an iconic Rupert takedown in the works!!!)

Roy/Keeley "I don't want to just be friends" interrupted moment. I personally fell they also have to address the Jamie factor of it all at this point, like I genuinely don't see a way around it that wouldn't feel weird after the events of Mom City? But perhaps that is only the shipper in me.

Rebecca's psychic plot...the one point we still need addressed is the "You'll have a family...you're going to be a mother" prediction right?

obviously the game itself between Richmond and West Ham and Richmond winning or not winning the league (If this is the last season, which feels 90% probable but hey they are still being weird about it...they had better win even though I think it's stupidly unrealistic, although technically possibly. If the show comes through (clown time) with a s4...I want them to come close but ultimately lose.)

Also here's some bonus things I feel very strongly should be addressed but I think it's semi-likely they just won't bring up if they're being lazy about it:

Beard/Jane DIVORCE (read: breakup)

Michael reappearance. I'd like him watching the match and then kissing his fella after their win please :)

status of the Michelle and the Dr. Jacob relationship. I guess they don't actually have to address this but the whole relationship is so questionable and I think an end to it would be good.

...Do we think they can fit all of this into an hour/hour and a half episode???

[mithrilhearts]

Spill all the juicy details about the dad squad scene in Dragonhearted.

Dragonhearted - Chapter 8 Dad squad scene, you got it! (Bungo, Bard & Thranduil)

- First time doing commentary on anything ever. Enjoy my rambling because I have no idea what I'm doing.

Commentary & scene under the cut

Bard pushed his way through the doors of the Prancing Pony, noticing just how quiet it was. The entire pub had been cleared and there in the middle of it all sat one regal-looking Elvenking. With Thranduil came a few other elves, and Bungo was already present as he sat quietly fidgeting at a table by himself.

“My lord Thranduil,” Bard greeted carefully. “I appreciate your patience while our guest here recovered from his cold.” Giving Bungo a small wave, Bard just took the opportunity to stand before the seated elf with a goblet of wine in his hand.

“I do not take threats against my kingdom lightly, but your request was hardly difficult to appease.” Thranduil tapped his fingers against the table at his side, the small clattering of rings barely grazing wood sounding like hammers in such a quiet pub. “Tell me of this dragon.” Thranduil looked so calm and cool that it was hard to get a read on the elf. He sat tall and proud and didn’t seem to show a single ounce of concern, but remained serious in tone. Any good king would take the threat of a dragon seriously.

I had a vague idea of how I wanted to introduce Thranduil into the story. I knew that he was going to be something of a key player when it comes to the conclusion of our story - no, he's not Gaston, and neither is Bard! Though let me tell you, Luke Evans was a DREAM for the live action. Anyway!

Thranduil was going to be more dismissive, I think in my original plan. Which, I don't plan a whole lot (which has changed a little bit over time), but I also have something of a backstory as to his interest in the dragon threat - which we will come to later in the story. I wanted to stick true to his character as being this regal and calm creature, a leader willing to listen to the concerns of others as it would impact his people. I know some people give Thranduil a lot of hate or depict him as a dick, but hey, not in here. Not TODAY.

Bungo burst from his seat and moved to stand before Thranduil, just in front of Bard. “To the north of your forests, sir! There lays a lonely mountain, and within is a beast! A hideous dragon with sharp teeth and claws and scales-”

“Bungo,” Bard interrupted, reaching forward and landing a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder to try and calm him. “Take it easy, Thranduil is here to listen, you need not rush. Just tell him exactly what you remember.” And hopefully, that sickness that had been plaguing Bungo didn’t muddle everything between reality and falsehoods.

One thick eyebrow arched slightly, bright blue eyes drifting between Bungo and Bard as Thranduil shifted in his seat. “I do hope you aren’t implying I am not aware of what lies at the borders of my realm,” Only slightly offended in tone, Thranduil eyed the halfling carefully while taking another sip from his goblet. “There hasn’t been a dragon in these parts for decades, Master Hobbit. I’m afraid you are mistaken-”

“He has my son! I am not mistaken, and if you, sitting there on your high horse, can't be arsed to look into it...I…” Bungo’s bold tone dropped, almost settling into something of a whimper. “Bilbo is all I have...please, you have to help me save him. The dragon is real.” Belladonna would have just marched upon that mountain herself and dragged that dragon out by the tail to fish out Bilbo safely. Bungo was not that brave, he wasn’t a Took, but he would do everything in his power to ensure he got the help he needed to save his only son.

Thranduil pondered this for a moment, eyes flashing between Bard and a few of the other elves who had accompanied him. He had a soft spot in that heart of his and considering he too only had one son in his life, a heartstring had been plucked by this hobbit. “Legolas, Captain,” A younger blond elf that resembled Thranduil stepped forward, alongside a redheaded elven woman clad in green. “Take a few of the scouts and head to the northern borders of Mirkwood. Report back on everything you see, but should danger be in your path, do not engage. If there is indeed the threat of a dragon, I will not have you face it alone.”

Oh, Bungo. Poor sweet Bungo. I remember when I first started this story that I was going to have Belladonna be the surviving parent, but then I figured the story would end as soon as it started. Can you imagine? If Belladonna had been the one to try and take a coin and Thorin got snarly with her, she'd just tear him in half. I knew I wanted a "softer" parent, less adventurous. Plus, I don't think we see a lot of Bungo in fics! Or so I've been told. He's been fantastic for me.

His pleas to Thranduil and Bard trying to ease him are just...ugh. All three of them in this room are single dads, they know the importance of their kids and care for them deeply in their own way. Bungo being desperate to start raising his voice to the Elvenking??? I have to think that that's the turning point in Thranduil's mind. Whether the accusation of a dragon is real or not, to ease the nerves of a panicked parent, how could Thranduil turn away?

This also gave me a great excuse to introduce Legolas and Tauriel, by the way! Will we see more of them?? Perhaps.

“My lord?” Bungo squeaked in disbelief.

The Elvenking was off his seat, the goblet out of his hand as he faced Legolas and Tauriel, stern in expression but not overly emotionless. He wasn’t made of stone, after all. “Do have care.” Raising a hand to his chest and clenching it into a loose fist, Thranduil bowed his head slightly, getting the same gesture in return from the two younger elves who had accompanied him. That was their dismissal, and despite how ridiculous this all sounded, it wasn’t as if Legolas or Tauriel would waste much of their energy in simply stalking the northern borders.

“Have patience, Master Hobbit. My son is quick on his feet. If there is a threat, we will know in due time.”

Bungo and Bard both looked a tad perplexed, but the hobbit fell into some grateful mumblings before grabbing a seat, leaving Bard a moment to pull Thranduil aside.

“Are you simply humoring him?” Bard asked lowly. It wasn’t his place to question Thranduil, but this wasn’t his first time dealing with the Elvenking either. “What if there is a threat-”

“Darkness looms in every corner, we deal with the shadows as they pose problems. I don’t see there being a dragon hiding up north all this time unbeknownst to me. However, if I can ease some of the halfling’s worries…” Thranduil trailed and Bard kept his mouth shut. It seemed there was a silent understanding within the room.

Thranduil only had his son, Bard only had his three kids, and to put Bungo’s worries at ease for his only child? The common theme was that any parent would do whatever they could for their child.

“Let’s hope your son comes back with good news,” Bard muttered, a sigh escaping his lips as he felt a large dose of uncertainty well up in the pit of his stomach.

Something bad was coming and he could feel it in his very bones.

Okay, we know how the story of Beauty and the Beast goes, so OBVIOUSLY, someone's gonna have some nervous feelings about this dragon talk of Bungo's as being real, right? Who better than the Dragonslayer himself? While he might not outright believe it all one hundred percent, he is more inclined to believe in Bungo than he is to humor him.

This is also the segment where, yeah, dad squad. All single dads just trying to make their way in the world. I've already made commentary to Monica (the requestor!) that I imagine Bungo has further interactions with these fellas even after the story is over. Dads gotta stick together, right?

This scene turned out a lot nicer than I had envisioned. I had originally planned for like, a straight up dismissal, not for Thranduil to even humor Bungo, but I feel this adds a little bit more something to the story as things progress - and it brings out a kindness in Thranduil, and puts all three of them on the same level. No one is more superior or inferior than the other at this moment. I love it. #DadSquad

[badgersighted]

PS5 Game Reveal Thoughts

Below the cut I’m gonna write a brief paragraph or sentence or whatever about each of the 25ish games that were revealed last night at the PS5 thing.

Don’t have much to say about this one; I never played GTAV, the series has never really been my thing, but I think it came out in 2013ish? I think the time has been and gone for re-releases and they should be working on the next game. Too much more and this’ll quickly become the new Skyrim/Todd Howard meme.

Okay so I never played Spiderman, but I did watch the cutscenes because I never thought I’d go out and buy it (before I later got it free with a ps4 pro). This is one of those games where, like, I’m not invested but I can both see the appeal and am happy for those who were waiting on it.

I think there’s diminishing returns on realistic racing games. Stuff was coming out on current gen that looked near enough realistic, so it gets excessively hard to tell the difference.

The first one that caught my eye. Despite the last entry being a bastardized, hollow remake that encapsulated everything the original stood against while missing two thirds of the content, R&C has a place in my heart and I hope they can actually get back to standard now they don’t have to work around a terrible movie.

My hot take here is that Ratchet has a wrench and his name is Ratchet. Girl Ratchet has a hammer, ergo her name is Chisel or something. I just wonder if this is a look at the future and Ratchet’s kid, or if it’s an alternate, gender-flipped dimension. In which case Clank would probably be the same because he’s a robot, but I fear for the possibility of Captain Qwark.

Legitimately can’t remember a gosh darned thing about this one. 

I feel like the trailer proved that Stray works better as a short film than a game, but I guess we never saw any gameplay to prove that assumption. I like the art direction and you get to be a little kitty cat.

Ellen Degeneres goes to space and the mind fucky wucky happens. I got some Prometheus vibes for this, but the only thing that really left a mark was the aforementioned Ellen jokes we were making on discord.

Fuckin love me some Littlebigplanet, so this was a welcome surprise. Odd to see that they’re not implementing a create mode (as far as we know) but I can see how impossible it is to both make a fully 3d create mode (see: LittleBigPlanetKarting) and also go up against Dreams which was made by Sackboy’s original home studio.

I have a soft spot for LittleBigPlanet’s story modes, though, especially the second game’s - so this will be a welcome addition for me. I just hope they reference the previous stories and don’t act like a plot is something new to the series.

This game feels born out of the hangover of games like Fortnite and Apex Legends, leaving it feeling at least one year outdated. But if it’s your sort of thing, more power to you.

So Kena was another of the more subdued, new IPs that I think a lot of people will have forgotten but I actually quite liked the look of it, or at least some aspects. I’ll always have a soft spot for ‘young girl with bow and arrow’ games but I also liked the art direction and the little puff ball fellas, as well as the bad guy seeming like a legitimate threat in a world that tricks you into thinking it’s all cute. The contrast serves the narrative in that regard.

So following a game I’m interested in is a game I could not be less interested in. Horrendous character design, pseudo-deep narrative that are a dime a dozen for indie tumblr bait visual novels. The logo and the fact they’re [barely recognisable as] dinosaurs presumably suggests this will end in a meteor destroying everything and, frankly, I have never rooted for an inanimate rock more in my life.

This 2d platformer took itself very seriously. I never understood Oddworld nor saw the appeal because its protagonist is very... not nice to look at. But more power to those who wanted a new Oddworld game.

I found this one kind of interesting, then the First Person gameplay kicked in and that very quickly faded. It’s a shame, really; the visuals were really good.

All I got from this is that it’s called Jeff, and it’s a low concept blend of the movie Gravity and Katamari. It’s one of those deep, arty games I’m just honestly too dumb to appreciate. Or maybe it’s false depth.

This is a weird one. I find it intriguing how a game can have so much going on on-screen, and yet none of it stand out. It really does feel like this game pulled inspiration from several places, but failed to embellish or add any value on top of it.

This is another one of those arty games I’m too thick to understand. I’d say it has slight hints of Journey in it, but I never played that so I can’t be certain.

Hitman reminds me of the Community Paul Rudd quote: “I see the appeal, and I wouldn’t take it away from anyone, but I’d also never stand in line for it.”

As much as a corporate Mario Odyssey knockoff as this game may seem, I’m honestly interested as I’m gagging for any Odyssey-adjacent content in my life. It looks like it could be mindless fun, at the very least.

Like JEFF and Solar Ash before it, I don’t know what this game is and I don’t think the trailer did enough to make me want to bother finding out. I liked the big cat dude, though.

Would the world suffer if it didn’t have the same set of games reskinned and rereleased each year, with a single number in the title changed? I never understood the appeal of sportsball games. Is it for the people too unhealthy or too lazy to actually play a sport? Why do they have to make one every year when there’s nothing new? It’s not like the sport has fundamentally changed in a year’s time.

So they had me in the first half expecting a Crash game reveal, I’ll be honest. 

But this is, oddly enough, the game I find most interesting of everything we saw here. I have no idea what the fuck it is, but I’m determined to believe there’s hidden meaning - that it’s a satire on Pokemon, that it’s a commentary on the phrase ‘you are what you eat’, that it’s a game that lulls you into a false sense of security and drops you in a horror game like Doki Doki Literature Club. Prove me right, Bugsnax.

I never played the original Demon’s Souls, so I can’t say much on the remake. I don’t even know if Demon’s Souls and Dark Souls are part of the same series.

Are we going to ignore that, fundamentally, this game’s unique selling point is that it has checkpoints?

Full transparency here, I had this game pegged as a Resident Evil game as soon as there was an old man in the trailer, and I’ve never played a Resident Evil game. I just associate old men in video games with horror, and Resident Evil is one of the first horror games that come to mind.

Looks like someone saw Death Stranding and thought “I can do that, too!” 

Yeah, well, you can’t.

Given the hype I saw surrounding this game, I feel like I should probably play the first one. I’m just concerned it might not be my sort of thing. It’s one of those things I want to like, but I’m not sure I want to put my money where my mouth is before being sure - so we’re stuck in stalemate. 

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found (chapter 13)

Oooo...lucky number 13 ;)

I was going to post this tomorrow but I have three online zumba classes to teach and I’m tired from just thinking about it

WARNINGS: language mostly

Tagging: @alievans007 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @hemmyworthy

It's six thirty in the morning when they make the short walk to Nik's hotel. Three hours remain before the catch their flight to Dhaka yet Tyler is already in 'go mode'. His senses are keen and work on overdrive; brain always operating two steps ahead. Long ago mastering the ability to carry on  conversations or what would be deemed normal business and behaviour, yet still being able to spot a potential threat. Eyes always scanning the street, looking for even the smallest thing that seemed suspicious. A vehicle  that slowly circled the streets or parked the wrong way  with an idling engine, carrying only a driver and no passengers.  Someone acting shady as they lingered on a front stoop or at a corner.  Their eyes shifting nervously, hands shoved in their pockets as they rocked back and forth on their heels.  Those that would walk slowly past you with a hoodie pulled over their heads and sunglasses on their eyes, not realizing that you'd already made them and their sideways glances had hadn't been as conspicuous as they thought.

  His hearing became more acute as well. If out in a public place he was able to pick up on conversations from several tables away. Pretending to be immersed in a coffee and something on his phone while mentally storing everything he was hearing into memory.  His reflexes were the most impressive. Able to react to a threat at the drop of a dime. If not armed, able to rely on his instincts and previous experiences when searching for -and using- the objects available to him.

Injure. Maim. Kill.

Those were the only three options.

And usually only the last one mattered.

For the first time in the year he's carrying. A semi automatic pistol on his right hip, concealed by both the t-shirt and the Emery zip up hoodie he sports.  He wears a ball cap; pulled low over his eyes. Not enough to look suspicious, but just enough so others can't see the way he surveys everyone and everything around him.  People out walking their dogs others climbing into their cars to head to work, some sitting on their stoops with mugs of coffee, younger fellas delivering the morning paper. Traffic is light; nothing more than the usual morning commute and delivery trucks making sure their goods arrive at stores before the doors open.

Esme is less than half a step in front of him, pushing the baby in the stroller. She's kept her head down the whole way. Her instincts haven't remained as sharp. She'd become a mother after all, and that was an instinct that was far more powerful than any other in the world. The ability to sense...before even a peep was made...what her child needed or wanted.  The overwhelming desire and need to protect all costs. She's on edge; every so often her head snapping towards a sudden noise or movement, almost jumping clear out of her skin when a car door is slammed a little too hard. In one block he's had to stop three times to calm her down. Stepping alongside of the stroller and grabbing a hold of the handle to make her stop. Leaning down as if he was checking on the baby inside but telling his wife to calm down. That everything was okay. That he was right there and nothing was going to happen to them.

And those reassurances would work. Until they didn't.

They're a block away, waiting at a crosswalk when he crosses the small gap between them and lays a hand on the small of her back and tells her to stop.

“Hold up...” he says, and bends down as if to as to tie one of his boots. “Your twelve. Coming across the street. Young guy in the red hoodie. With the back pack. This is the second time he's passed us. He's looked at us both times. Last time he crossed to the other side and stopped in one of the store fronts. Don't make eye contact with him.”

She hooks an arm around the handle of the stroller and removes her cell phone from her shorts pocket, as if she's just casually checking the time or a text message that may have come through.

The light changes and the walk signal begins to flash, and as the young man in question because his way towards them, Tyler casually reaches under his hoodie and t-shirt, fingers brushing against the handle of the pistol.  

He's ready. Waiting.

Esme glances up from her phone. The suspicious stranger in question making eye contact with her. And when he gives a warm smile in greeting and a “good morning. Beauty day, ain't it?” and she responds in the like, offering up brief commentary on the sun yet how there's a chill in the air.

Tyler stands.  The young man's shoulder coming in contact with his. Nothing threatening, Something that could be see as an errant bump on the street.

“Sorry, mate,” the kid says. “Nice time for a walk with the family, yeah?”

His hand slides out from under his clothes. He shoves both into the pockets of his hoodie and offers a pleasant smile. “Baby wouldn't fall back asleep. We thought we'd try some fresh air.”

“I hear ya, mate. These baby years are tricky. I have four at home myself.”

It's a lie. Tyler knows it is. This kid looks barely old enough to have graduated out of high school. So unless his girlfriend has had quadruplets or he started when he was twelve, there's no way he has that many rugrats at home.  

He plays along. “We just have the one. It's harder than it looks. She likes to keep us on our toes.”

“You think this is a struggle, wait until the terrible twos. They're a right trip.”

“We should go,” Esme speaks up. She's right at his side now; not even an inch between them. She's nervous; he can hear it in her voice, see it written all over her face. A year ago she wouldn't have batted an eyelash at a threat like this. But a lot has changed in those eleven and a half months. “Grandma and grandpa are early risers,” the lie rolls easily off her tongue. “They're waiting for us.”

“Well you both take care now,” the stranger says. “Enjoy the little one. These days are gone before you know it.  Stay safe.”

Tyler smiles, gives a nod in farewell and watches as the younger man heads off down the street. Hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Head moving left to right as if scanning the street. Yet never looking back at them.

“That was fucked,” Esme whispers.  “There's no way he was telling the truth. That is not someone old enough to have four kids.”

“Just keep going,” he says, and drapes an arm across her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side.  “Don't cross the street. We're going to turn here, go down to the next block and then cross back over and head to the hotel that way.”

She nods. Then shivers against him.  A mixture of the cool morning air and her shoddy nerves.

Tyler unzips his hoodie and slips out of it, making sure the t-shirt still covers the weapon on his hip as he helps his wife slip into his sweater. It's huge on her. The hem falling below her knees.

“It's okay,” he assures her, as he tends to the zipper, sliding it up to the top. Laying his hand on the side of her face, he drops a kiss on the top of her head and bends down, his hand on the back of her neck and his lips to her ear.  “Everything's fine. Just calm down. Nothing's going to happen. You're fine.”

She nods, and turns her face into his, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he pulls away.

“It's okay,” he promises, and then lays his hand on the small of her back once more.  This time completely closing the gap between them  as they continue on their way.

***

Nik has somehow convinced hotel management to open the restaurant an hour early, and have staff clock in  to provide breakfast for the small group. There isn't a problem that woman can't talk herself out of. No situation she can't fix. A skeptical person she can't convince with a shy smile and a bat of those eyelashes.  She has many faces to put on. All successful at getting exactly what she wants.

“You're late,” she says, in that slightly disappointed tone she so often likes to use. She's used it on him many times in the past. Mostly when he'd the gall to  show up to team briefings either still drunk or nursing a wicked hangover.

“We ran into a small problem,” he responds, and launches into a detailed tale about their awkward and unnerving encounter on the street.

She listens quietly, a hand on her hip, head cocked to the side.

“Might have been nothing,” Tyler shrugs. “But it felt like something.”

Nik knew that his  instincts were very rarely wrong. And she trusts them. She trusts him.  Even after a year. Even after everything that he'd gone through in Dhaka and the long months afterwards.  And she tells the team's resident tech expert to get on it; she wants footage from every traffic camera, security camera, and home security system within a three blocks radius -in every direction- from where the altercation had taken place.

She wants a face. A name.  And failure to find them is not an option.

“Are you carrying?” she asks, and he nods. “You?” she address Esme.

“Those days are behind me,” the other woman replies. “I'm not that person anymore.”

Nik merely nods, then gestures towards an area in the back corner of the restaurants.  Two tables pushed together; next to the windows, with the sunshine streaming in and a view of the immaculately landscaped courtyard.  She quickly makes introductions; Jason, three new guys with extensive weapons and hand to hand combat training, and a young woman in charge of the technology. The last is a familiar face; Yaz, who'd been at the helm of the helicopter that had transported Ovi to safety.

He and Tyler embrace warmly. Two old friends reuniting after a difficult year. They'd spoken on the phone and had exchanged emails and texts, but this is the first time since they'd seen come face to face since that fateful day. Tyler doesn't remember any of the visits to the hospital or cards sent or even the things that Yaz had done behind the scenes to make sure that Esme was taken care of. And Yaz prefers it that way. He's low key. Never liking praise, compliments, or thanks. Preferring to be that quiet friend that lingers in the distance yet you always know you can count on.

“Good thing nothing ever happened to this face, huh?” Yaz laughs and lightly taps Tyler on the cheek. “It's already hideous. How worse could it possibly get?!”

“Your mother used to love my face,” Tyler retorts, and Yaz gives an overly dramatic gasp and clasps a hand over his heart. Then dissolves into laughter and embraces him once more. His demeanour becoming more solemn.

“We missed you, brother,”  he says. “Glad to have you back. We were worried about you. Scared the shit out of the lot of us.”

“Scared the shit out myself,” Tyler responds, as Yaz claps him on the shoulder and moves on to greet Esme and Amelia.  Launching into that high pitched tone he  develops whenever the talk turns to anything baby related or he gets a glimpse of her on face time or he's shown a new picture.

“Let's get this show on the road,” Nik pipes up, and like obedient children, everyone begins to gather around the tables.  She has that way about her; assertive, aggressive, yet in a rather low key and never overbearing way.  Able to go from glamorous and alluring to kicking someone's ass in a matter of seconds.  Men loved her. Women wanted to be her.  Yet she remained humble, possessing an enormous amount of compassion and understanding, even for those who had wronged her or slighted her in the past.

Tyler is one of those people. He had been into her...had loved spending time with her...but he'd never been in love with her.  They were way better friends than lovers, as their numerous dalliances and his drunken and pill fuelled escapades had proven time and time again. Still, she remained loyal. Believing in him. Trusting him.

Even when he'd given her countless reasons not to.

*****

“We've reached out to Ovi Mahajan Senior about everything that has been going,” Nik announces, as she sips a cup of black coffee.

The hotel had put out their best breakfast spread for the group; various flavours of coffee and teas, everything from fresh fruit and danish to scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes and all the fixings. Workers lingering long enough to make sure that everyone was settled and digging in. Then  quietly slinking away and leaving them to their business.

“You don't suppose this is something he's caused do you?” one of the rookies...a strapping kid over six foot three with carrot red hair and an impossibly smooth baby face...inquires.

“The warden says that his track record has been perfectly clean for the last year and that he's neither caused or been involved in any issues,” Nik replies. “We have no reason to believe that he has done anything to provoke this.”

“This isn't about him,” Tyler speaks up, running his palm along the porcelain of his coffee mug. “This has nothing to with him at all. This has to do with what happened last year. The fact that we successfully extracted his kid.”

“Asif was shamed,” Yaz speaks up, as he paces the floor with the baby in his arms. Playing the role of the doting and adoring uncle. Every so often glancing down to make silly faces at her or talk in that baby voice he's perfected. “It was a huge blow that we rescued Ovi. He tried everything in his power to make sure we weren't successful. And in the end he was the one that failed. Asif has a loyal following in Dhaka. Dead or alive.”

“We believe that this is retribution,” Nik says. “But it goes past having just rescued Ovi.”

“Tyler embarrassed Asif,” Yaz again. “Single handily.”

“And not just that,” Nik adds. “He somehow managed to survive to tell about.”

A silence falls among the room as the cold hard truth finally breaks the surface. It was what they had been accepting, but it was still a harsh reality to accept.

A bitter pill to swallow.

Beside him, Esme shifts uncomfortably in her seat. One hand on her stomach, the other clasping a fork she'd been using to push the food around her plate for the past thirty minutes. It's been a common occurrence within the past week. Craving and wanting food and then immediately repulsed when it gets in front of her. Stress. Anxiety. Perhaps her own slice of undiagnosed PTSD.  With the year anniversary quickly approach, habits she's grown out of have starting making an appearance. Stomach aches, migraines, insomnia. And terrible night terrors when she did manage to nod off.

Tyler lays a hand on the back of her neck, fingers tightly yet comfortably kneading the tight, tense muscles.  She'd already been on edge when she'd gotten up that morning. Nauseous as soon she opened her eyes, making a mad dash to the bathroom to throw up. And he'd sat there on the floor next to her, holding her hair away from her face and trying his best to reassure her that everything was going be fine.  This wasn't going to be a repeat of a year ago. He wouldn't let it get that far out of control.

“This is personal,” Nik continues. “But we don't think it's necessarily directed at Ovi. We don't think he's the target. We received information that those running Asif's business and controlling the remaining assets know that Tyler is alive. They know his face, they know his name, the know where he lives. This is an attempt to lure him back to Dhaka. We believe in an attempt to finish the job.”

There's a clatter as Esme drops her fork onto her plate. A grimace on her face as she pushes  the dish away. Three quarters of the meal still remaining.

“What's going on?” Tyler whispers, taking the opportunity to comfort her as Nik pushes her chair away from the table and retrieves a pitcher of water. “Are you okay?”

“I just feel sick. I'm tired. I have a killer headache. I feel like I could puke.”

“You didn't get much sleep last night,” he reasons. And he was partly to blame. His insatiable sex drive and his need to with her...inside of her...overpowering all rational thought.

“It's just stress,” she says, and manages a small, reassuring smile. “And that guy on the street just freaked the shit of me. Something wasn't right him. I felt it. And I know you felt it too.”

Nik returns, filling Esme's glass with water and giving a soft, understanding smile. “It's a lot to hear,” she says, and sinks back into her chair. “Even if it is what you've been expecting. This is a hard time. For all of us. We lost a lot of people a year ago. And came very close to losing others. We may have extracted Ovi successfully in the end, but we failed in a lot of ways as well. We believe that whoever is behind the recent happens in Dhaka is doing this to get Tyler back there.  And it's what very reliable resources have been reporting.  This is all about revenge. Restoring honour. There's already been talk on the street.  Tensions are high. Ovi has just been collateral damage. They've been using him as a pawn.”

“So why go back?” Jason pipes up. “Why not just bring the kid here?”

“And lead them right to Tyler? And his family?” Yaz shakes his head. “Use your bloody head man. If we go there, we keep the trouble there. It isn't that hard to understand.”

“We need to keep their shit in their pond,” Tyler adds.

Nik nods in agreement. “Now Mahajan has loyal people of his own. That we can rely on when and if trouble arises. He has assured us of that and I have no reason to question their ability nor their willingness to help. He's made some powerful allies in prison. Their reaches are long. We have those resources at our disposal and we will use them ONLY if we need to. My hope is that we keep this contained to just the team.”

“We should be fine,” Tyler says, as he leans forward to grab a carafe of coffee and fills his cup. “There shouldn't be a reason for it to get that far.”

“Yaz, Monique and I will be staying here in Australia. Keeping our eyes and our ears open to any possibly trouble heading this way. The rest of you will be heading to India first. Mahajan has agreed to let you stay at his house. To keep an eye on his son.”

Tyler shakes his head. “Bad idea.”

She blinks. “Why's that?”

“We're trying to keep the trouble away from the kid, yeah? We're not trying to drop it on his doorstep. Which is exactly what will happen when word gets out that I'm there. It's better if I stay somewhere else. Alone.”

“Yeah...no...” Esme speaks up. “...that is not how this is going to happen.  That is not we talked about. That is not we agreed to. At all.”

“I changed my mind. I have that prerogative.”

“Maybe when you had a death wish,” she argues. “Maybe when you only had yourself to worry about. But in case you've forgotten, there's two other people you also need to worry about. What good is us being in India and you being in Dhaka going to do? What made you think that was even a reasonable decision to make?”

“It keeps them away from Ovi. Which in turn keeps them away from you.”

“It puts an even bigger target on us. They won't come right for you  if they know you're alone. They want revenge. And what's the best way to get it? To get you where it hurts the most. To come after the people you love.”

“She's right,” Nik says.  “It's foolish, Tyler. And it's dangerous. You're playing with fire.”

“You already have men camped out there, right? Now you're adding two more. That's more than enough to keep things locked up tight and under control. Once they realize that, they'll move right to me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I can't believe we are actually talking about this!” Esme exclaims. “You're not the only one that's in this huge shit pile. This isn't what we talked about. This is not what we decided. And you told me that if the three of us were going together, we were sticking together. That doesn't mean us in one place and you in the other. This is bullshit Tyler, and you know it.”

“We'll talk about this later, okay? We'll..”

“We'll fucking talk about this now. You came up with this idiotic bullshit on your own and I'm calling you on it and I don't give a shit who is here to hear  it. This is not how things are going to go. You're not going back on your word. You don't do that. You don't go back on your word. You don't go back on your promises. So don't start now.”

“Esme is right,” Nik maintains. “It is better if the three of you are together. They're safer if you're with them, Tyler.”

“They're not. You know and I know it. I stay with them, the bigger the threat becomes.”

“Are you hearing what you’re saying?” his wife remains incredulous. “Are you honestly listening to yourself? Are you listening to the words that are coming out of your mouth? It makes no sense, Tyler. They're going to hit you where it will hurt the most. And then they'll finish you off. When they know you're vulnerable.”

“I kind of agree with Tyler here,” Yaz jumps in.  “It does makes sense.”

“Like hell it does,” Nik snaps. “It makes no damn sense at all.”

“If he's alone, they'll go right for him,” Yaz reasons. “They want Tyler, right? That's who they're after? Once they know where he is, Ovi stops being the target and they move away from him.”

“Exactly,” Tyler says.

“You're so full of fucking shit, Yaz,” Esme retorts. “You damn well know that that isn't how these things work.  For Christ sake. I can't believe I'm surrounded by such horseshit!”

“Just calm down,” Tyler says, a little more forceful than he intended to be, and her eyes narrow and the rookies grow uncomfortable in their seats.

“Don't you dare tell me to calm down,” her voice is low. “Don't you dare sit there and tell me to calm down when you went behind my back and completely went against everything we've talked about. I love you. But I could fucking kill you right now.”

“Just relax. We'll talk about this later. Once you calm down and actually listen to me...”

“I have been listening to you. Every word. And I'm telling you that it's all the stupidest fucking bullshit I've ever heard come out of your mouth. And I've heard you say some pretty stupid fucking bullshit.”

“Esme and the baby are safer if you're with them,” Nik contends. “And that's the way it's going to be. You're going to India. All three of you.”

Tyler sighs “This is the wrong decision and you know it, Nik. You just signed their death certificates. You might as well just pull the trigger yourself.”

“I can't hear any more of this,” Esme shoves her chair away from the table with such force that it nearly topples over when stands.  “I can't. I need some air. I need to get away from this.”

Frowning, Tyler snatches her by the wrist.

“No!” she snarls, and yanks her hand away. “Don't.  I need to go. You need to let me go.”

“I'll go with you,” Jason offers, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands up. “Keep an eye on you.”

“Whatever,” she says, and once more wriggles out of a tight grasp her husband as wrapped around her. “What does it even matter, right? I don't get a say in any of this. It's all up to you, right Tyler? Nothing matters except what you want. Same shit, different day.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but Nik jumps to her friend's defence.

“You've said enough,” she glares at him. “And I'm totally disregarding the entire thing. You leave for India in two hours. All three of you. Together. And you stay together.  This ends here. And I swear to God, Tyler, if I get a frantic call in the middle of the night saying that you've taken off and left them there, I will come and find you and you'll answer to me. And that is battle you will not win.”  She downs the rest of her coffee and pushing her chair away from the table, smooths down the back of her simple black pencil skirt. “Wheels up in in two hours. We're done here. Do you understand me?” she directs that questions at Tyler. “No games. No sneaky shit, Tyler. Because if you go behind her back and something happens to her or that baby, I will end you myself.”

[crowdvscritic]

round up // MAY 20

When the going gets rough, I find I keep coming back to two kinds of movies: Romantic comedies and action adventures. For whatever reason, those are my comfort food, even if I’m watching someone get their heart broken or fight for their lives.

Hopefully you’re finding small ways to make your days brighter with books, movies, music, and shows that either help you fight or forget some of the darkness around us for a time. These were a few that made my month brighter, including a number of rom coms and action flicks.

May Crowd-Pleasers

SNL at Home

I almost cried for joy when I learned SNL would finish out its season even though it wouldn’t be in Studio 8H—it felt like a glimmer of a lot of joys we’ve lost in the last few months. While the At Home episodes have an odd rhythm compared to the usual broadcast (that live audience makes a difference, especially during “Weekend Update”), I still laughed every week. A few highlights:

“Bailey at the Movies”

“Dreams”

“Grocery Store”

“MasterClass Quarantine Edition” + “Another MasterClass Qurantine Edition”

“RBG Workout”

Watch those skits, then enjoy an infographic-heavy review of the season from Vulture.

Extraction (2020)

Is this a groundbreaking action movie? Heck no, but watching Chris Hemsworth fight to save a kid with a supporting appearance from David Harbour made for a great Sunday evening. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 6/10

The Wedding Singer (1998)

Somehow I’ve never gotten around to this rom com, perhaps because Adam Sandler’s sense of humor usually isn’t my cup of tea. But here he replaces the gross out jokes with a sweet chemistry with Drew Barrymore. I liked it so much I gave 50 First Dates a shot, but, uh, I only recommend movies I finish. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 6.5/10

Baby Boom (1987)

Another not-innovative genre entry, but a satisfying one. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7/10

Action Movies set in 1700s America: The Last of the Mohicans (1992) + The Patriot (2000)

Sometimes I don’t want a complicated villain—sometimes I just want Jason Isaacs (aka Lucius Malfoy) to be so evil I want Mel Gibson to take him down with a tomahawk. The Last of the Mohicans: Crowd - 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10 // The Patriot - Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

Taylor Swift City of Lover concert (2020)

I’ve seen Ms. Swift live twice and have loved the stadium tour spectacle. But an intimate show heavy on acoustic performance reminds me how well her songwriting holds up no matter the production

Prop Culture (2020)

I know, I know: Disney+ original series are well executed, long-form advertising. But can you find better-executed advertising than Jason Schwartzman chatting about the Mary Poppins snow globe at a piano with Richard Sherman, the character he played in Saving Mr. Banks? These staged treasure hunts for Disney movie props may be a bit self-important, but they’re also a dose of nostalgia and lessons about the technical side of filmmaking.

This Drake Bell TikTok

If you get this, you get this.

Silverado (1985)

My weird New Year’s resolution? To watch Westerns, a genre I’ve basically skipped until now. Silverado feels like a throwback to classic Westerns with a modern sensibility and more laughs. Plus, baby Kevin Costner and Jeff Goldblum in a fur coat! Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

Chromatica by Lada Gaga (2020)

Turns out I’m not just a fan of the A Star Is Born/duets with Tony Bennet/Joanne Lady Gaga. I’ve always been cooler on her electronic-dance-club Top 40 hits than her recent guitar-and-vocal stylings, but I can’t stop listening to album-long jam sesh. It’s old Gaga meets 2020 beats meets Depeche Mode/Flock of Seagulls/Madonna/New Order of the ‘80s.

The Heat (2013)

Two of my favorite funny ladies teaming up was—not surprisingly—a win. No one delivers a kooky insult like Melissa McCarthy. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10

May Critic Picks

Hail, Caesar! (2016)

Josh Brolin, George Clooney, Ralph Fiennes, Scarlett Johansson, Tilda Swinton, Channing Tatum, and more try to keep Hollywood and their careers afloat despite a bizarre series of kidnappings, line flubs, and tap dances. Of course the Coen Brothers have a dry, wacky take on the Hollywood studio era. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

Jane Eyre (2006)

Confession: I have not read Jane Eyre. But my mom did, and since she enjoyed the book so much, I figured a happy medium would be to watch this BBC miniseries with her commentary about what they changed from the Brontë classic.

Daisy Jones & the Six (2019)

The highest compliment I can give a book is staying up way too late to finish it, which is what I did with this buzzy Taylor Jenkins Reid book. It’s a barely-fictional oral history of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll in the ‘70s, and somehow it’s not crass or gratuitous about any of them. Most impressive is that Jenkins Reid keeps her characters well-defined even though it’s not written in a traditional novel format. My favorite parts of this story are the deep dive into the creative process and the exploration of how we remember the past. Here’s hoping the Sam Claflin/Riley Keough-led, Reese Witherspoon-produced, (500) Days of Summer team-written Amazon series can do this book justice—I need this soundtrack!

The Plot Thickens podcast (2020)

A Turner Classic Movies podcast hosted by Ben Mankiewicz about film history is a specific—and predictable—Venn diagram of my interests.

Alfred Hitchcock Double Feature: Psycho (1960) + The Birds (1963)

The story about Psycho goes that my grandmother ran out of the movie theatre screaming during the shower scene. Now that I’ve finally watched it, I know why. This horror drama is still terrifying today even if you know what’s going to happen. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 10/10

The story about The Birds goes that my mother was terrified as a little girl after walking into a room where it was on TV, and now she still won’t watch it. The Oscar-winning visual effects have aged so much I didn’t find it scary, but I was still sucked in by the eerie plot. That said, I did have a frightening dream last night involving Tippi Hedren, so it may be more effective than I realized. Give me just a sec while I schedule some Hitchcock-focused family therapy. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)

Spend two hours with the two nicest bank robbers you’ll ever meet! A winsome Paul Newman and a laconic Robert Redford make their escape on the scenic trails of the Southwest, and gosh darn it, if they aren’t just a barrel of fun. I enjoyed this Western so much I recommended it in a piece I wrote for Round Trip, too. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

Katharine Hepburn Double Feature: Alice Adams (1935) + Woman of the Year (1942)

Saying you love Katharine Hepburn is like saying you love sunshine and flowers—of course you do! In Alice Adams, she’s an optimistic Cinderella with a down-on-their-luck family who falls for a high class fella (Fred MacMurray). In Woman of the Year, she’s a high-brow journalist who falls for sports columnist Spencer Tracy in their first of nine films together. She earned Oscar nominations for both, but I dare you not to fall in love with her after watching just one. Alice Adams - Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 8/10 // Woman of the Year - Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

Also in May…

When you’re not allowed to travel, you get creative! For Round Trip this month, I recommended 13 movies about travel that will make you feel like you took the vacation COVID-19 made you cancel (including Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid). And if that’s not enough, why don’t you recreate your trip? I turned my apartment into Paris, and here’s why you might want to do the same.

Kyla and I didn’t go far back in time for most of our Gilmore Girls pop culture references on SO IT’S A SHOW? We covered three movies (or two, depending on how you see it) from the 2000s with connections to this year’s Oscars, 8 Mile and then Kill Bill. We also looked into the famous architect Stanford White and a movie he was featured in, 1981’s Ragtime, which had more connections to today’s culture than we expected.

I made another attempt at Jim Jarmusch for ZekeFilm with Broken Flowers. I still don’t get Jim Jarmusch.

My movie count in quarantine is up to 156. You can see them all on Letterboxd.

Photo credits: SNL, Taylor Swift, TikTok, Lady Gaga, Daisy Jones & the Six, The Plot Thickens. All others IMDb.com.

[kob131]

https://sokumotanaka.tumblr.com/post/187434182297/whats-the-rvvby-discourse-this-week-im-out-of

“Oh wow so we’re back to “it’s canon until it isn’t” that the manga was experiencing, except the comics literally struck out in their first issue? Isn’t that amazing?

Hey RoosterTeeth do y’all actually care about consistency in your show or can I just take my own liberties whenever I want too?”

Did Rooster Teeth have ANY say what happened with the comics?

Do ANY of you have any proof that this was suppose to be canon? Because considering the fact that I can’t find Miles or Kerry’s names on this project anywhere, only coming across Matt announcing it which contrasts the After The Fall book which was openly stated to be worked with by Miles and Kerry: I’m gonna make a bet that this is an ‘artist’s interpretation’ thing and that Miles and Kerry weren’t involved with this at all. So I have no reason to believe this is canon.

“The problem isn’t even fully the comics fault, Miles and Kerry don’t bother committing their lore to memory.”

Of course not! Why would it be the comic’s fault despite the creator of the comic apparently never hearing about RWBY beforehand when you can jack off the ol’ MK hateboner?

“This is considering alot of lore from the WOR is constantly called into question by both the fans and reviewers/critics etc.”

By this same logic, if a bunch of SU crits all repeat some misinformed and mistaken info then that means the show failed, because it has been ‘constantly called into question.’

“ Iila pulls her unpassword protected phone out in the middle of a fight for no reason.”

Not only does this NOT have anything to do with lore but Illa ALREADY HAD THE PHONE OUT. I will admit that in the scene it does disappear from the previous episode and reappear...but you never point that out do you?

“In vol 5 yang has a talk about blake with yang and tells weiss how no one ever blamed her for anything. Miss “the innocent never run yang.” Schnee. (Btw she still never apologized to blake.)”

Disingenuious considering that they were referring to the events at the Fall Of Beacon and Weiss openly showed concern and a disinterest in Blake’s past when they found her, indicating taht she was trying to bury the hatchet.

“ Hazel’s whole motivation is that he’s mad that ozpin let his sister become a hunter and she got killed by grimm…sooooo he works for the creator of grimm.”

A bad guy having a shit reason for fighting against the good guys, probably indicative of Hazel running from his problems considering he looks and acts more and more unhinged alongside his Semblance being about BLOCKING PAIN? Wow, how unheard of!

“Salem’s dumb backstory is that she challenged the gods cause she couldn’t accept people die.”

You mean that recurring theme in mythologies or that basic human response to the cruelty of death?

“ In that same backstory she falls in a Grimm poop and it’s established that she turned “evil” yet until ozpin finds here has spent eons living in a hut not bothering anyone.”

Where was it said again that Salem never hurt anyone? Because if my memory, or you know THE RWBY WIKI ( Jinn: During his years of travel, he heard the same frightened whispers that spoke of a terrifying sorceress who commanded dark powers in the wilds among the beasts and monsters. Ozma was convinced that this witch was Salem, and decided he needed to see what she had become.) serves me correctly: Salem is never stated one way or another.

“ Regardless of all that and the fact that RT miles and kerry were asked by arksys games if they could put rwby characters in and when they asked for info they stated “read the manga”? “

Citation needed: liars don’t get the benefit of the doubt.

“They don’t give the people directions, if you listened to one panel you’d know this, they just say “go for it.” And let the manga go where it lands.”

Bitch, I have hundreds of examples of you either screwing up basic info on RWBy, being intellectually dishonest about RWBY or straight up LYING about RWBY.

You do not get to say anything without at least one source.

“ Cause they don’t care, I see people continually doing this and it’s gotta stop. Rwby was never consistent and it obviously shows, and instead of blaming properties that had to make due- why not blame the people who never bother writing anything down or expanding on lore? Rooster teeth.”

A. How many SU crits have said that EXACT same thing about Rebecca Sugar? Better start harassing her then.

B. You’re own argument has shown an inconsistency itself as you conflate ‘Miles and Kerry” with “Rooster Teeth”.

And C. You’re a known liar. You aren’t reliable in the slightest.

“ This us why so many videos like these exist fellas.”

A. That video is 70% bullshit

And B. You misspelled ‘is’. According to you, that means your arguments are invalid.

“Again you all should listen to writers commentary on the recent DVD vol, they barely remember a thing and are so dishonest to their fans for no reason. “

AKA I’m going to be as vague and inconvenient as possible so when my bullshit rebounds on me, I can dodge like Neo.

“ I’ll never understand why they choose to sabotage themselves”

Hold on, you misspelled somethings:

“ I’ll never understand why I choose to sabotage myself.”

[hanalwayssolo]

Somewhere Between The Music and Lyrics: Ch. 1

A/N: I’m terribly off my own schedule, as usual! So. This Prompto one-shot became a monster I did not expect so I’m splitting it into two chapters. Honestly, among the chocobros, Prompto’s the first one that came to mind when I wanted to do a band AU of sorts—because I’ve heard Robbie Daymond sing on one of their LAVA streams and it is glorious. Anyway! Song featured for this first half is Gavin DeGraw’s We Belong Together. 

Tagging pals! @raspberryandechinacea @noboomoon@emmydots @bleucommelhiver @gowithme @hanatsuki89​ @valkyrieofardyn​ @animakupo​ @lazarustrashpit​ @blindedstarlight​ @mp938368 @boo-dangy

(Links in AO3) Alternate Universes in Which You and I Belong Together: Noctis | Gladio | Prompto | Ignis | Nyx | Cor | Ravus | Ardyn

Prompto had been busily sifting through The Lost Boys’ unanswered emails at the back of their tour bus when he hears his song.

Except, it’s not quite his song.

He recognizes the lyrics in an instant—and he of all people would know of course, since he had written those words as a cry for help for his hopelessly romantic soul. But the song that aches through the speakers holds none of Ignis’s electric riffs, the swell of Gladio’s drums, the steady hum of Noctis’s bass, let alone his own vocals. The one he hears is his music stripped to its rawest, the words made vulnerable by a melancholic leak of a lone acoustic guitar and an exquisitely soulful voice.

We belong together  Like the open seas and shores  Wedded by the planet force  We’ve all been spoken for

Prompto scrambles to the front lounge to find Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis huddling by the booth over a laptop set on the table, their eyes glued to the screen in wild wonder.

Curiously, Prompto eyes them—still grinning wide in awe—and asks, “Are you guys hearing what I’m hearing now? Am I dreaming? What is happening?”

Noctis snorts a laugh. He swivels the laptop to face Prompto. “You might want to check this out, my friend.”

Prompto excitedly moves closer. Immediately, he sees the video accompanying the song entitled “we belong together (cover) by my amazingly talented roommate!!!” posted by username MasterPelnaK. He barely even notices how this video has been raking almost five hundred thousand views and likes in the last twenty-four hours as his attention zeroes in on the stranger sitting on a bean bag, equipped with nothing but the guitar and that voice.

What good is a life  With no one to share  The light of the moon  The honour of a swear

Gods. The tone and vibrato is so on point it sends shivers down his spine. But then, Prompto begins to wonder why this person is not even looking directly at the camera. Were they even aware that they were being recorded? It seems all too candid given the angle, as if the camera had just been discreetly set up on a low-lying table. Not to mention the very personal space in the background, too: a well-lit room of white walls, a cozy looking sofa, an impressive shelf of books and vinyl records tucked between potted fiddle leaf figs. Somewhere out of sight, hushed whispers could still be heard. Was this only recorded from a mobile phone?

Anyway, not that any of these things mattered. Prompto has rarely come across other artists covering their songs, and when he does, each one he cherishes dearly. But this one—this one, for heaven’s sake—has moved him the way the winds bend the trees to its will, a tiny flint that sparks a flame. He didn’t realize that the words he had written could be afforded such lyrical heft, that the music he had created had been a delicate and honest confessional that could fit someone else’s voice so beautifully, like finding a piece of a puzzle he never knew he had been missing.

Where have you been all my life?

So Prompto watches it again. And then a couple times more. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis gather to watch him curiously. Prompto briefly skims through the comments section and is thoroughly relieved to read overwhelmingly positive feedback. He didn’t even mind when he comes across a comment that says “this is even better than the original!” because fuck it, he shares the same sentiment.

And before Prompto could even scroll back up to replay the video, Gladio drags the laptop away from him.

Prompto sneers in protest. “Dude. Not cool at all—”

“What’s not cool is obsessing over a cover of your own fucking song,” Gladio says in jest.

“Hey, it’s a fucking cool cover, okay!” Prompto scoffs and flicks his eyes on the ceiling—almost rolls them, but not quite so. “And please, big guy. I’m not obsessing. I’m too chill to be obsessed, thank you very much.”

“I clearly remember you saying to the crowd earlier how you’re never the ‘chill’ person of sort, and my word. How quickly the tables have turned,” Ignis casually remarks as he takes a sip from his mug of coffee.

Prompto’s mouth falls open. He did say that onstage during their performance back at Leiden Fest. His immediate regret is letting Ignis triumphantly take it against him.

Meanwhile, Noctis lifts a suspicious eyebrow at Ignis. “Iggy, are you sure you’re not drinking tea? ‘Cause you just poured a scalding one right there.”

“I’m impressed—that’s a good one.” Gladio gives Noctis and Ignis a thundering high-five. They burst out in a gale of laughter.

“You guys are enjoying this, huh.” Prompto grabs a pillow and smashes it at Noctis, who only yelps in between fits of laughter. He hurls one at Gladio, too, but the big guy has reflexes of a jungle cat, so he only ends up catching the thing. Ignis, however, Prompto hesitates at the last second when he shoots him a menacing glance. “Okay, I’m not even going to bother attacking you, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you will kill me if you spill that coffee.”

Ignis gives him a smile and a nod, and returns to his drink.

“Also,” Noctis says, “now that I think about it, you’re giving off that same look and vibe the first time you were crushing on Cindy.”

“What? I do not—okay, okay—” Prompto groans, jabbing a finger at Noctis— “that is different. Cindy is our road manager, so I’m choosing not to cross the line. While this…” Prompto pauses and takes a deep breath. “This is also different. A very surreal and magical kind of different.”

“Now I’d say someone’s been bitten by a lovebug.” Ignis leans back on his seat, arms crossed, regarding Prompto with a pleasant smile.

Gladio laughs. “Tell me about it.”

“I can’t believe I’m friends with you guys,” Prompto says in a miserable groan.

But frankly, Prompto is far from miserable having Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis as friends. He considers himself quite fortunate to have found brothers in them, painfully annoying as they may be from time to time. Besides, it was through their music that helped them bond and weather the toughest of their adolescent years: they were no stranger to teenage angst, to riotous episodes of rebellion, to whirlwind romances and crazy ex-lovers, and to the turbulent journey that led them to be the band that they are today. Naming themselves The Lost Boys seemed to be a fitting tribute to the misadventures of their youth: Always lost and never found.

And yet, regardless of their highs and lows, the four of them have always had each other’s back. And that has not changed even now that they are in their thirties.

Perhaps Prompto is being overly sentimental at this point, but that’s just how it is.

Or maybe, he really has been bitten by a lovebug.

“In any case—“ Noctis firmly clasps Prompto’s shoulder— “this amazing cover of your song is breaking the Internet as we speak.”

“Well, yeah.” Prompto shrugs, though he cannot hide it in from his face how pleased he truly is. “Though I do wonder who this MasterPelnaK is.”

“Definitely not the person in the video, that’s for sure,” says Gladio.

“If I may?” Ignis reaches for the laptop from Gladio. “Let’s see here—“ the boys squeeze themselves into the seat so they could also get a look as Ignis hovers around the profile page— “this Pelna Khara happens to be a video game blogger—“

“It’s a vlogger, Iggy—get in with the times,” Prompto corrects cheerfully.

Ignis exhales an exasperated sigh. He returns his attention back on screen. “Apparently, this vlogger streams gameplays and commentaries—“

“Really?” Noctis interrupts out of a sudden rush of excitement. “Do you think he has one for Assassin's Creed—“

Prompto nudges Noctis by the arm. “Dude.”

“Right. Sorry,” Noctis says sheepishly. “Carry on.”

“Anyway.” Ignis is unfazed by the interruption as he goes on: “It appears that this is the first time this Pelna fellow uploaded this sort of material.”

“Oh and look, he’s very popular, too,” Noctis says. “Ten million subscribers? What the fuck—“

“Wouldn’t be surprised now that the video got so many hits overnight,” Gladio notes pensively. “And check it out—“ he points at the bio section— “he lives in the city. Says his hub is somewhere in Downtown Insomnia.”

As if struck by the same spectacular idea, Noctis and Gladio exchange knowing glances. Ignis, of course, is quick to catch on.

It takes a while for Prompto to understand what’s going on, and when he finally does, he shoots them all a dubious gaze. His friends are up to something, and the glint in their eyes could only spell mischief.

“Guys—” Prompto starts as calmly as he could, hands raised in an almost surrender— “whatever you guys are thinking, we don’t need to do this—”

“We don’t need to—but you do,” Gladio claps Prompto’s back. “We got ya, my guy.”

“And before you all intend to push through with this,” Ignis says, “would anyone be so kind as to ask Cindy if we can change our course and make a quick pitstop. And let Iris know, too, since… well. She’s our handler, after all.”

Gladio rises out of the booth. “On it,” he says as he makes his way to the driver’s seat.

“And allow me to send a message to this fella,” Noctis adds promptly, already typing away in front of the laptop.

Prompto sinks helplessly to the seat beside Noctis. “Why are we all friends again?” he says loudly, and the meaningful response he receives is the sound of their amused laughter.

 “I want that video deleted right now.”

Pelna winces at the sharpness of your words. Crowe, on the other hand, looks like she is ready to give you everything the world has to offer. In the years you have spent sharing a flat with them, this must be the first time you have ever seen them this apologetic. Which is only fair because this is the first time they have done something quite outrageous to upset you. Yes, sure—Crowe and Pelna might think you’re overreacting right now, but you’re no video blogger or Internet celebrity like the both of them are, so that’s entirely beside the point. As they sit side by side cowering on the couch and you standing over them—hands on waist, jaws clenched, eyes seething in fury—it’s as if they have committed a crime against all of humanity that cannot be forgiven.

Except the casualty of the said crime is you, and only you.

“Look, you have every right to be mad at me for my negligence—” Pelna nervously raises a hand, trying to look at you dead in the eye but flinches as if you are burning bright like the sun— “but I fucking swear, it wasn’t me who uploaded the thing! Okay, I admit—I’ve been tempted to record you for some time now ‘cause in case you don’t know this yet, you’re a really good singer. But trust me on this! I really have no idea how that video got out, I promise!”

“And it’s certainly not me who recorded you!” Crowe adds in their defense. “My alibi may not be perfect but I was already drunk that time! And even if I’m sober, I wouldn’t dare barge in Pelna’s room and tinker with his toys. Gods know what I’d find in there—”

“Only the good stuff, my dude,” Pelna says, suddenly pleased with himself. “Nothing but the good stuff—”

“How about we focus on the issue at hand, yes?” You pace back and forth, and in dire resignation, you finally flop on the armchair next to the couch. Fucking hell. It’s too early in the morning to have a head-splitting migraine. You wish this had been from a hangover or some other sickness, but it’s insane how this is all caused by seeing a video of yourself on the fucking Internet with no recollection of recording it at all. Sleuthing to find out the events that unfolded the night of Pelna’s birthday only seemed to make throbbing in your head even worse. As far as you could remember, most of the folks had been severely battered—which was why you had the guts to pull out your guitar and sing the blues away as everyone dozed off in their drunken stupor. But in your tight-knit circle of friends, if there’s anyone who could impressively hold their liquor the same way they could hold a knife, it could only be...

“Wait a fucking second.” Crowe narrow her eyes at Pelna, and then at you. She fishes out the phone in her pocket and hurriedly dials a number. With her phone on loudspeaker, the line rings once, twice, thrice. And then, a voice.

“What’s up, Crowe—”

“Nyx.” Crowe’s tone is already accusing that you didn’t even bother butting in. “You’re the one who uploaded the video on Pelna’s channel, weren’t you?”

A suspicious pause. Then, Nyx laughs. “Maybe.”

Pelna grabs the phone from Crowe. “I swear I will kill you when I see you, man! How dare you dishonour me—” as a knee-jerk reaction to his response, you kick Pelna in the shin that he yelps when he says— “and how dare you dishonour our friend!”

On the other line, Nyx is still laughing. “Wait, on a scale of one to ten, how angry is —”

“Not the fucking point!” Pelna snaps back. “How did you even manage to get into my account, you piece of beautiful shit?”

“Well, maybe next time you should make sure you always logout, alright?”

“Well, fuck you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Nyx says breezily. Even in a phone call, his voice never fails to carry his air of arrogance. “But hey, kidding aside. You all said that we should help each other in living to the best of our potential, right? And our friend right there with you, Pelna—yes, you, I know you’re listening, too—do you even realize how fucking talented you are? You have been serenading us all our life, and this is the least I could do to share how proud I am to have a gifted friend like you. I’m sorry if it’s a jackass move, but I know if I asked for your permission, that thing would never see the light of day.”

The four of you bask in a sudden uneasy silence. You should not have been touched by Nyx’s words, but here you are, almost moved into tears. Despite his occasional display of pride and vanity, Nyx is one of the kindest human beings you have ever had the pleasure to meet. He may not seem like it, but he’s the very definition of a jerk with a heart of gold. You just hope he could completely forego being the jerk and stick with his golden heart instead.

This time, you take the phone from Pelna and say, “Treat the three of us for dinner for the next two weeks, and I’ll decide if I should forgive you.”

“Consider it done. I’m a man of my word,” Nyx says, and the sound of his relief is evident in his voice. “Now... am I out of trouble?”

“Certainly not, you dickhead. Later.”

You drop from the call and hand the phone back to Crowe. The two of them gape at you as if you have finally turned out to be the monster they have always known you to be.

“Wow. You really did that,” Crowe says, looking very impressed. “You actually shut Nyx up and made him agree to pay for two weeks worth of dinner. Aren’t you a delight.”

You manage a small smile. Pelna heaves one loud sigh of relief. “Now that we’ve finally cleared things up, are you sure you want me to take the video down? You’re really getting a lot of hype from my channel, I mean we’re close to half a million views! And—“

The shrieking sound of the doorbell cuts your conversation in an abrupt halt.

“Wait, I’ll get that,” Crowe gets up and rushes toward the door.

“So? Whaddaya say?” Pelna urges fervently. He is still invested on persuading you, and you can see it in his kind eyes. “It’s one video, I know… but you gotta believe us, you really are a fucking talent—”

“Pel, it’s not that. It’s...” You get on your feet, circling around the coffee table, as if it would help you articulate all the reasons behind your sense of trepidation. Honestly, you appreciate having Pelna and Crowe as friends for their selfless outpour of love and support for your craft. But how can you explain to them that sometimes, your own music terrifies you? Is there any logical explanation behind being scared of your own voice? So here you are, standing in front of Pelna, falling extremely inadequate to gather the words out of your mouth. Instead, you say, “I’m… just worried. What if The Lost Boys had seen it? And what if they’d hate me for it?”

Pelna offers you a weird, strained look. “Well, about that—”

“I don’t think there should be anything to worry about. We love it!”

The bell-like bounce of the voice that spoke clearly does not belong to Pelna nor Crowe, nor does it fit in the ordinariness of the space of your shared apartment.

You turn—hesitantly, too carefully—to see three of The Lost Boys standing by the doorway with Crowe. And standing in front of you is their frontman, Prompto, smilingly extending his hand to reach yours.

  This horribly sunny day is getting stranger and stranger, and it’s not even noon yet.

Pleasantries have been made—and a little bit of internally slapping yourself in the face to make sure this is all happening—and now, it has all come to this. Leaning from the bar counter, you watch as the four infuriatingly beautiful men of The Lost Boys struggle to squeeze themselves in the poor thing you all call a sofa. Across from them is Crowe, sitting cross-legged on the coffee table, analyzing each of them from head to toe with the sole purpose of intimidating the shit out them. Which is no surprise, of course; Crowe rarely gets star-struck in the presence of famous people, and even if she does, she hides it effortlessly well. Meanwhile, Pelna is playing a staring game with the band’s drummer—and frighteningly the tallest and largest in the group—that you cannot help but wonder if Pelna has some sort of a death wish that he needs to get fulfilled right this instant.

“So, let me get this straight—” Crowe says, crossing her arms— “and I hope you don’t mind if we’re being cautious ‘cause, well, we don’t want our roommate to get dragged into something sketchy, but… you came all the way down here to this shabby neighbourhood after you saw the cover of your song, and now you want to collaborate on a song? Is that it?”

Prompto is the one who willingly answers with a vigorous nod. He seems unfazed with Crowe’s intention of scaring them off. He glances your way before he says, “And there’s no need to worry about the contract and all that legal stuff, ‘cause we’ll have that arranged. Right, Ignis?”

“Indeed,” says Ignis. “I know this arrangement seems completely out of sorts, seeing as we came here on such a short notice, but I can assure you that we offer nothing but the best of intentions.”

“Really?” you say as you move from behind the counter to sit together with Crowe. “But you’re all men. And you know what’s more dangerous than men? Celebrity men.” No one said a word. A moment’s silence lingers as you study each of their faces, and then: “So how do I make sure that I could trust you with… this? That this isn’t some publicity stunt you’re trying to pull—”

“It’s not like that at all,” Prompto says firmly. “And if you have any doubts with your safety, well, I’m sorry if our friend Gladio looks so menacing for our image—”

“Seriously?” Gladio scoffs, turning to Prompto. “You really hurt my feelings.”

You try to stifle your laughter. Somehow, now that you look closely at the four of them, they remind you of Nyx, Libertus, and Pelna.

And suddenly, you feel bad for putting them in a hot seat like this.

As The Lost Boys begin to discuss amongst themselves with what you assume to be a stream of their inside jokes, Pelna sidles up to you while Crowe loops her arm around yours. Whispering, she says, “I think you should do it.”

Pelna discreetly adds, “And if they ever get you into trouble, Nyx is a lawyer so he should have your back. I already texted him and he’s ready to keep an eye out for you.”

You let out a rueful sigh. You have to admit, it’s hard to stay mad at Crowe and Pelna and Nyx when this is the way they exhibit their unwavering friendship: with a flourish of genuine love and steadfast support.

Empowered by your friends’ confidence, you clear your throat and you turn your attention to the four men sitting in front of you. You fix your eyes at Prompto, and you ask, “So. When do we start this thing?” 

[squidproquoclarice]

Do you take writing requests? I noticed your backstory for Arthur and Abigail and I'm curious if you would be willing to write that out. Can't wait for the next chapter of May The Sunrise!

July 1894Western Minnesota

It was one of the good nights, one of the real good nights.  The bank job went over flawlessly that afternoon, and they’d made it back to camp.  Whiskey and beer flowing, songs being sung–watch maintained by John and Javier first, though, just in case.  She felt good too.  She’d been with them only a few months, but they’d become something special to her already.  Family, a different kind of family from all the sisters she’d had growing up among painted ladies in Council Bluffs.  She had menfolk in her life now too, and as more than transient marks or customers, and more than–well, Uncle sure wasn’t much, whatever he was.  A father of sorts in Hosea, and the rest, some aimed to be brothers, and others, there was nothing to be ashamed of a girl having a good time with some fine-looking men.  She and Javier had some fun, and Lord, the things that man knew how to do, wicked and gentle all at once.  She’d had her share of men before that, but truly, she’d had little idea.  Dutch–Dutch had been another thing entirely.  She’d ended that night exhausted in the best way possible, but with the oddest sense he was done with her after that, and he hadn’t asked her back to his tent again.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but in her opinion, it did a pussy some good.  Far better that she choose like this and enjoy it than it had been in a year of lying back for men who’d paid their fare for a ride, with no choice in that at all.  Some of them hadn’t been so bad, but some had.  She liked this life, wild and free.  She liked these people, who gave her choices and looked at her as something more than something to scratch an itch.

Passing around the south end of camp, taking another slug of whiskey, she could hear Dutch’s happy holler, “–done Jesse James and Cole Younger one better, boys, they got run right outta Minnesota in ‘76–”There was a dry chuckle at that, and she turned.  There was Arthur, sitting there on a crate, carefully loading bullets into the empty slots of a bandolier by lantern light.  Though from how he fumbled with it a bit here and there, he’d obviously had his share of the bottle of whiskey on the barrel top alongside his project.  He looked up, saw her, and gave her a crooked grin.  “My God, to hear old Dutch talking, you’d think we knocked over that damn Northfield bank itself that turned back the James/Younger gang, not a little thing like Star Lake.  That bank manager?  I couldn’t hardly keep a straight face listening to that Swedish accent he got, or Norwegian, or whatever the hell it was.”Laughing at it herself, she sat down on the other side of the barrel.  “That accent were funny as hell, right?  ‘Oh, Miss, don’tcha know that?’  Thought it’d take him a year to get a sentence out!”  She tried picking up one of the bullets herself, threading it carefully into a leather loop. “Other way,” he said, but not angrily.  “I’m right handed.  Bullet nose goes to the left so I can grab and load real easy, no need to turn it around, see?”  He plucked one out, mimed loading it right into a revolver, motion easy and instinctive, even tipsy.  Big hands, but deft ones–well, that sparked a wicked little notion in her mind that grew the more she let herself mull it over.  “You want ‘em all put the same way for that.”  She nodded, untucking the bullet and reversing it.

“You done good in that bank,” he went on.  She’d been there playing a customer, keeping everyone quiet and acting terrified, and picking a few pockets in the bargain.  

“Thanks.”  They worked there together, finishing up the job.  She looked up at him in increasingly interested glances.  Thirty, just about, and not at all a bad looking man, handsome in that big, broad, bluff and hearty sort of a way.  Funny man too, at that.  He seemed like the sort of man who could be a good time.  The hook of curiosity was there and set.  So she went right for the target.  “Seems it’s a night for celebrating.  Having a good time.  So–I wouldn’t mind me some company tonight, if you was interested.”        He paused at that, really looking at her then.  Brow furrowed for a second, and if he made some cheap remark about Dutch and Javier having had her first, he could fuck right off and jerk off, thank you very much.  Then he reached out, took another fairly strong pull on the whiskey bottle.  “Well, why not.”  He gave a low chuckle, shaking his head.  “Pretty girl like you, I’d have to be a fool to say ‘no’, wouldn’t I?”His tent was right there, and soon enough he had the flaps closed behind them.  She wouldn’t light the lantern–last thing this needed was casting shadows on the tent wall and giving everyone one of those Magic Lantern shows.  The firelight cut through the tent wall enough to give some faint glow, so she could see enough.

One hand on his shoulder, she pushed him down towards his cot, and he went.  Climbing on, straddling his hips, she braced up on those fine broad shoulders of his, leaning down to kiss him.  Now here was a surprise–rather than going right at it, Arthur kissed far sweeter than she thought, his fingers weaving into her hair, the other hand on her back, holding her close.  Soft and almost wistful, and apparently Dutch’s enforcer had something more to him than she’d thought.  Not an unwelcome surprise at that.She kissed him harder, reached down, got the buckle of his gun belt, undid it easily.  He reacted like a damn spooked horse, practically freezing up under her, inhaling sharply, hands suddenly tense on her.  She laughed at that, but kindly, in a way that was meant to make it all right again.  “Been a bit since you had a woman?  That’s all right.  You work hard enough, guess you ain’t getting much time for pleasure.  But you know what they say.  All work and no play makes Arthur a dull boy.”

He gave a slow, rueful chuckle.  “I fear I make a pretty dull boy no matter what.”“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”  She leaned in to kiss him again, but he ducked her lips, turning his head aside so the kiss landed on one stubbled cheek.

He breathed in deeply, then exhaled, breath with a whiff of whiskey warm against her cheek.  “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Well, she could feel as she shifted on his lap that one part of him certainly wanted to be doing this, and the sooner the better.  “Why not?  I ain’t married to Javier.  Or you bothered that I was with Dutch?”

“Fair’s fair.  I figure a woman’s free to bed anyone she wants, if we fellas can.”

“Then really, what the hell is the problem?”  

He reached up, touched her cheek, and gave a sad, awkward little smile.  “Ain’t nothing about you.  It’s me.”    

Could he be more cryptic?  But she’d seen some of the girls with their customers, men missing some girl they’d lost or couldn’t have, and Hosea had made some wry joke about him pining for a girl.  “This about that girl, that Mary I heard about?”  She leaned down, kissed him again, lightly.  “You missing her? I could make you forget.”  A whore was damn good at that, at being the girl they really wanted.  She couldn’t say how many women’s names she’d been called by.  “Or you can call me by whatever name, if that’s what you need.”“No, nothing to do with Mary.  But there’s a girl I damn well shouldn’t let myself forget,” and there was a sudden grim note of iron in his voice. ��Carefully but firmly, he got her by the hips, lifting her off him, setting her to sit down beside him.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have even started this.”

There was something else in this now, something within her that she’d almost have to call a sort of fear.  She’d gotten swept out far from the riverbank on this one.  Gone in expecting cheerful fun with a man who seemed obvious and uncomplicated, and suddenly she’d seen there was a hell of a lot going on inside him, things she couldn’t touch and couldn’t understand.  Depths to him that felt unseen and unknowable, and far, far too much for her.  Who the hell are you really, Arthur Morgan?  “It’s fine.  I seen men before who need one woman in particular.  They can’t pretend with anyone else.  Whoever she is, she’s lucky.”

He huffed out a soft chuckling laugh, looking down at his hands, clasped between his knees.  “Oh, now, I wouldn’t say she’s anything like lucky for having gotten tangled up with me.”  There was a weary note in his voice that made him think perhaps she’d died, but she wouldn’t ask.  “But you’re a good girl, Abigail Roberts.  You deserve a man who ain’t in your bed only for the forgetting.  Some lucky bastard who can’t barely believe he gets to call you his–calls you by your own name, too.”She shook her head, incredulous.  “That right there might be the finest thing a man’s said to me in a long time.”    

“If that ain’t sad commentary on the brainless degenerates you been keeping company with, not sure what is.”  He gave her a wry smile.  “Counting myself among that number, mind.”

“Oh, you’re not so bad.”“A lady having a good opinion of me?  That’s rare as hen’s teeth.”She scoffed at him at that.  “I ain’t no lady!”

“And I ain’t no gentleman, so here we sit, you and me.”  Reaching for the cigarettes on the barrel top by his bedside, he offered her the packet, and she drew one out.  Taking one for himself, he struck a match, a tiny flare of light in the twilight gloom of the tent, and lit her cigarette for her.  Sitting there beside him, having a peaceful smoke, wishing she could do something for him, sad and lonely as he was, strangely kind as he’d proved.  Obviously fucking wasn’t on the menu, but he seemed a little brighter now even just having her sit there and talk, so maybe that helped.  

Finishing his smoke, he dropped it, crushing it out underneath his boot heel.  “Gotta go take my watch, but you can sleep here if you want.  Quieter than bunking down around Uncle’s snores and farts.”

“That, and it lets everyone think we was very busy in here.  Gets them off your back about going whoring for a few months, I reckon?”

He smirked, tapping his temple with two fingers, then pointing them at her.  “There’s a clever girl.  I figured you was one.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile.  Reached over and mussed up his hair a bit, as if she’d been running her fingers through it, feeling that momentary catch of tension in him again at her touch.  Minnesota July air was humid enough, and closing the tent flaps made it even worse, so they probably both looked sweaty enough to sell the idea of having had a pretty vigorous tumble in his tent.  “Don’t worry.  They ask me about it, you was truly magnificent tonight.”

“Doing me a favor, then?”

“Oh, it’s doing me a favor too.  Them boys already gotta push for the standards you been holding them to, right?  They think that here’s one more thing you set the bar about impossibly high, they’re gonna have to work all the harder to keep up.”  John especially would probably take that as a challenge and a half, given she could see he practically worshipped Arthur.His laugh at that was deep and genuine, covering his eyes with one hand, shoulders shaking.  “My God, you truly are something else, Abigail.”  Finishing her own cigarette, she lay back on the cot as he went and undid the tent flaps, cooler night air rushing in.  He wasn’t wrong.  This wasn’t fine living, but it was a bit more comfortable than her pallet underneath the wagon.  “Good night,” she said, softly enough she thought he might not hear it.  Though from how he paused in the doorway of the tent, and nodded, apparently he had.  Then he was gone.

[the-suitelife-of-disneychannel]

One of a Kind

Day 6 of Jyrus Month (Fame Prompt)

Summary: Jonah Beck has everything going right for him: a top ten single, a Billboard Music Award nomination, and millions of fans chanting his name at every concert. But he wishes he didn’t have to keep a secret. A special someone reappearing in his life after five years encourages him to tell that secret. 

Jonah Beck, onstage in front of thousands of fans. Many whom are screaming his name as he finishes his second encore of his newest song “One of a Kind”. He’s playing the song acoustic with just a guitar and a microphone. When Jonah finishes, he smiles and waves to the audience. 

“Thank you so much! I love you!”, Jonah leaves the stage hearing his name being chanted by the thousands in attendance. He sees his manager standing there, on his phone. When his manager finally sees him, he lifts his head up for one second. 

“Great job, Jonah”. Jonah’s manager drops his head down to his phone. 

“Thanks” Jonah with unenthusiastic tone. 

Jonah and his manager walks to the backstage area and heads for Jonah’s dressing room. When they get to the dressing room, it’s only then, Jonah is reminded of the meet and greets with the fans who have backstage passes and VIP. Jonah is very tired. A full sheet of playing his entire debut album plus his new single and two encores of that single. Jonah knew being a popular singer would get tough. He just wished he’d be able to sleep whenever he wants. 

Jonah meets his fans. Thirty of them. Some of are with their parents, some are a group of fans, rarely solo. Jonah signs an autograph, takes some selfies, group selfies. After a while, meeting these fans changed his attitude a little. Meeting fans after his concerts always did. Because it reminded him how blessed he is to have this. 

“We have one more, Mr. Beck” says the security guard at the door. Jonah looks at his manager with a “really?” expression on his face. 

“This guy begged to see you” Jonah’s manager says. 

“How is he any different from the other fans that “begged” to see me?” Jonah quickly losing his interest in meeting another fan and shifting that interest into the bed that is in his hotel room. Jonah stares at the open doorway. He sees the security guard signaling this individual that this is the room. Then...

A tall, early 20s male, walks in wearing kakis and a Jonah Beck t-shirt. He has a frisbee in one hand and a picture of Jonah in the other. When Jonah first lies his eyes on him, he’s confused at first. But when this tall, early 20s male wearing a Jonah Beck t-shirt smiles at Jonah, Jonah can’t help but to smile back. 

“Cy-guy!” Jonah finally says the nickname he hasn’t said in years. It’s Cyrus Goodman. Jonah rushes to hug Cyrus. Cyrus returns the hug. Jonah’s manager couldn’t help but be intrigued by this. It was like that couple at the airport that you can tell haven't seen in a while because the type of hug they were having. “Cyrus Goodman, what are you doing here?” asks Jonah with the biggest smile he has had the entire day. 

“When I saw Jonah Beck was going to be live in Chicago, I wouldn't miss it for the world”. Jonah feels he wants to hug Cyrus again. But maybe it’s too soon. Cyrus wraps his arms around Jonah. “I missed you, Jonah”. Jonah hugs Cyrus back. This time the hug goes for a little too long that Jonah’s manager checks the time on his phone. 

“Five more minutes, Jonah” Jonah’s manager says. But Jonah couldn’t care less what his manager said. He’s sharing a moment with the Cy-guy. 

What started as five more minutes, ends up being another half hour. Jonah and Cyrus catches up. While Jonah was becoming a breakout pop sensation, Cyrus has been studying at graduate school for psychology. Most of the extra half hour is filled with Cyrus talking about college that Jonah barely talked about his new life. Which Jonah didn’t mind. Then it was really time for Jonah to go. Jonah signs Cyrus the autograph. Cyrus gives Jonah the frisbee and he bursts out laughing. His superfan remembers. Jonah wants to kiss Cyrus at this point but can’t because of his manager being in the room. Jonah hugs Cyrus again instead. He gives Cyrus his phone number and says they can have breakfast the next day at an IHOP. Jonah’s manager advised Jonah against it because of paparazzi but Jonah says he’ll put on a disguise. 

The next day, Jonah arrives at IHOP with thick shades and a baseball cap with a hoodie over it. He’s also sitting at a table where not a lot of people can see him. Jonah checked the time on his phone. He’s very anxious. So anxious that Jonah is half hour early. Jonah decides to use the extra time to go over the conversation he could have with Cyrus: “How are Andi and Buffy?”, “How’s living in Chicago?”, and even “Have you dated anyone? Any guys?”. 

Cyrus finally arrives, wearing a suit without a tie. The dress shirt has the top two buttons open and Jonah starts to really dig this look. It’s at this moment, Jonah has an “awakening” and realizes of how much of a glow up Cyrus Goodman has had. “Am I late?” Cyrus asks. 

“No” says Jonah. Jonah stares at Cyrus removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. 

“You look--”

“Overdressed. I know. I look like a hot shot model selling a fancy brand of alcohol. I couldn’t decide on what to wear” Cyrus chuckles at his own joke. Jonah remembers how nice it is to see and hear Cyrus laugh. 

“No, no. You look amazing--great”. 

“Thanks”. A small smile between the two as their waiter arrives to take their order. 

While waiting for their food, Cyrus thinks about a dozen questions to ask to break the ice. Jonah does the same. It quickly gets awkward. But then, “So you’re performing at the Billboard Music Awards” Cyrus finally breaking the ice. 

“Yes. I’m going to perform “One of a Kind”. 

“I love that song”. 

“Thank you. It was actually one of the hardest songs to write so far”. 

“How come?” Cyrus taking a sip of his water. 

Jonah has gone through dozens of interviews: red carpets, talk shows, etc. Luckily, he never got to explain why the song was such a hard song to write. Until now, especially to Cyrus. 

“I don’t know. I guess It was hard to find words to rhyme”. 

“Really? It didn’t seem like it. You’re one of a kind. You’re always on my mind. I pray that you’d be mine”, Cyrus singing the chorus of the song. “Please excuse that horrible singing”.  

“It’s not horrible”. Jonah sees Cyrus resting his arm on the table and his hand almost making a fist. Jonah stares at Cyrus’s hand, feeling this urge to...hold it. For a moment, he didn’t care if he’d get caught by somebody taking a video or picture of him. But then their waiter arrives with a large tray of their food. 

Because they are actually really hungry, they decide to focus on the food. About ten minutes into their meal, Cyrus gets tired of seeing Jonah in those sunglasses. “Hey, could you take off those sunglasses?”. 

“Um--”

“You have amazing eyes. Haven’t seen them in five years. Wanna see them as much as I can”. 

“Okay, okay” Jonah cringes at how cheesy and adorable that sounded. He removes the sunglasses and opens his eyes wide to show off those green eyes. Cyrus, just taking a sip of his tea, tries not to spit out his tea and laugh. 

Later, Jonah tells Cyrus it’s time for him to go and get ready for rehearsal for the Billboard Music Awards performance. Cyrus and Jonah goes to pay for their meal. Jonah offers to pay the whole bill. Cyrus, still in college, doesn’t mind. After everything is set, they walk out the restaurant and stop. 

“So when can I see you--when can we meet again?” Cyrus quickly changing that type of sentence. 

“Well, I leave Chicago on Monday which is the day after tomorrow...”

A mob of paparazzi barricades Cyrus and Jonah. They have the two men surrounded as they cannot escape from the dozen screaming Jonah’s name and asking questions. 

“Jonah, Jonah, Jonah over here!” a paparazzi yells out. 

“Jonah, who’s this fella?” asks another paparazzi who flashes pictures in Cyrus’s face. Jonah just wants to grab the camera and throw it away. Jonah’s security team finally helps as they block the paparazzi and escort Jonah and Cyrus into the backseat of Jonah’s SUV. 

In the SUV, Cyrus is overwhelmed at how quickly the paparazzi ran to the SUV, taking pictures of them. Luckily, they’re not getting anything because of the tinted windows. 

“I’m so sorry. You have a car?” asks Jonah. 

“Yeah but I can come for it later”. 

Jonah and Cyrus are then driven off. Jonah offers Cyrus to come watch him do his rehearsal. Cyrus gladly accepts. At the rehearsal, Cyrus watches, from backstage area, Jonah’s performance. He gets a text from Buffy Driscoll saying “What’s happening now?”. Just as Cyrus is about to reply, a pretty girl in her 20s walks by Cyrus and goes up to Jonah. She kisses Jonah. 

“That was awesome”. 

“Thanks” Jonah gets hugged by the pretty girl. 

When Cyrus explains the newest revelation to Buffy in his reply, Jonah invites Cyrus to come to the stage. Cyrus goes onstage, nervous. He sees the pretty girl that kissed Jonah eyeing him down from head to toe. 

“Tori, I’d like you to meet my best friend from middle and high school, Cyrus. Cyrus, this is Tori--”

“Tori Brooks. I’m Jonah’s girlfriend”. 

Ugh. That tone. That facial expression from Tori. It was clear from Tori that she is Jonah’s girlfriend. “She has a YouTube channel” Jonah says. 

“Pop culture commentary, seven million subscribers” Tori telling Cyrus that. 

“Cool” Cyrus giving the answer Tori wasn't expecting for. 

“Jonah, I thought you were going to do the performance shirtless” Tori wrapping her arms around Jonah’s neck. Cyrus shakes his head a little. Did he just hear what he thinks he just heard?

“I told you, I’m not doing that” Jonah quickly getting annoyed. 

“But you’re Jonah Beck. It’s not like you’re going to the gym for nothing” Tori holds up Jonah’s shirt to reveal his abs to Cyrus. Jonah pushes Tori’s hands away and pulls his shirt down. Tori laughs it off as a joke. From Cyrus’s perspective, it’s a little awkward for him. Jonah feels embarrassed because Cyrus is there. 

After the rehearsal is finished, Jonah heads to his hotel room to rest. He had plans with Tori. Emphasis on “had”. He decides to text Cyrus and asks if he can come over. Cyrus, at this very moment, is in his apartment watching a movie with Buffy and her dog. When Cyrus reads the text from Jonah...

“What are you waiting for?!” Buffy practically pushing Cyrus out of his door. 

Later that same night, Cyrus is in Jonah Beck’s hotel room with...Jonah Beck. Jonah has changed his clothes from rehearsal. It’s pajamas. They’re both sitting on the giant bed with the window blinds open to reveal the pretty nighttime view of Downtown Chicago. 

“What are you going to do when you’re officially a psychiatrist. You wanna be a therapist like your parents right?” asks Jonah. 

“Yeah. I wanna help LGBT people. Young and old. I don’t know if I wanna do it exactly like my parents, where my patient sits on a couch. I wanna help at as many LGBT centers as I can. I also wanna work in criminal justice”. Cyrus explains more what he wants to do. He explains it with such passion that he doesn’t see the admiration from Jonah. 

When Cyrus finally realizes he’s talking too much...

“So...I listened to “One of a Kind” on the way here. It was on the radio” Cyrus says. 

“Yeah?”. 

“I couldn’t help but wonder how the song...I wonder if it could’ve been better or at least different if it was gender neutral”. Jonah starts to get nervous. 

“Why?”. 

“Because...I don’t know...It’s a beautiful song, a romance song. I just think a romance song that you can sing to anybody is beautiful. Don’t you?” asks Cyrus.

“It’s getting late”, Jonah gets out of bed. “Maybe you should go”. Cyrus starts to get frustrated. 

“You’re still doing this, aren’t you? You’re still going to ignore who you truly are, Jonah?” Cyrus walking up to Jonah. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”. 

“You kissed me on my 16th birthday. Remember? You told me you loved me. And I told you I loved you. Then right after high school, you left for your music career”. Cyrus waits for Jonah’s response. When Jonah isn’t saying anything, Cyrus tells Jonah, “I still love you, Jonah Beck. Always will be a Jonah Beck superfan”. Jonah takes it in. Cyrus can see it in Jonah’s eyes that he’s still fighting with himself. And he hates seeing that. 

“I’m sorry, Cyrus. But you gotta go. It’s getting late and I have a very important performance tomorrow”. 

“Okay”. Cyrus, feeling disappointed, leaves the hotel room. Jonah tries to hold back his tears. Until Cyrus left. 

The next night is the night. The Billboard Music Awards. Cyrus and Buffy are in Cyrus’s apartment. Buffy turns on the TV and the award show is on. 

“Buffy”. 

“What? I’m not watching only for Jonah Beck”. 

Cyrus sits on the couch next to Buffy with a large bowl of popcorn. 

Jonah is backstage at the show. He’s with Tori and his manager. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for your New Artist nominee, Jonah Beck” the announcer calling out to the audience. 

“Break a leg!” Tori kisses Jonah on the cheeks. Jonah gets on stage with a huge ovation. 

Cyrus and Buffy watching at home. They watch Jonah perform “One of a Kind”. It’s a great performance. But every time Jonah sings the lyric “girl”, he imagines it was “Boy” or something gender neutral. 

Later into the show, it was time for the New Artist nominees. Troye Sivan goes on stage to present. Cyrus, almost forgetting how to breathe, Buffy almost forgetting about to breathe, and Jonah feeling like he’s about to pass out, Sivan announces Jonah’s name. Cyrus and Buffy screams in excitement as they watch on TV Jonah going on stage to accept the award. 

“Thank you, thank you so much. I cannot believe this is real. I want to thank my entire team of producers for helping me create my debut album. My family and friends for their outstanding support. Tori Brooks, my lovely girlfriend. When I wrote “One of a Kind”, I couldn’t think of anyone other than Cyrus”. 

Buffy spits her soda, Cyrus freezes, Tori is confused and angry, Jonah’s manager is simply shocked, and the thousands in attendance are also confused. Jonah? Well...He just opened a can of something. 

“I’m sorry, I mean Tori”. Jonah stops. He looks into the camera. He remembers that he’s watching. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Tori is a great girl...I just have this other side of me that I’d like everyone, including my fans, to know. The song One of a Kind isn’t about Tori. It’s about this other person I knew when was young. This other person who encouraged me to be my true self”. Buffy grabs onto Cyrus’s arm way too tight from excitement. Cyrus is still frozen from shock. Jonah looks into the camera again with a little dramatic pause and...

“I loved him-- I still do. I’m in love with a man name Cyrus Goodman”. 

In the arena, thousands gasps, Tori scoffs and runs away. Jonah’s manager starts getting dozens of new text messages and a new phone call. Buffy looks at Cyrus. Cyrus tears up from the unexplainable amount of joy he's feeling right now.  

“You’re gay?!” Jonah hears a fan from the third row asking him. Jonah knows it’s a fan of his because he’s wearing a Jonah Beck t-shirt. The fan is about 15 years old and somehow Jonah sees himself in that fan. 

“No, I’m not gay. I’m bisexual. I still really like Tori-- I’m sorry for the tangent. Thank you again, I love you!”. Jonah holds the trophy up high as the audience applauds. Cyrus watches from his couch, extremely proud, tears rolling down his cheeks, as he is embraced by Buffy. 

Later that night, Jonah arrives back in his hotel room, only to find Cyrus Goodman sitting on his couch, waiting. 

“Your manager gave me his key” Cyrus with a little evil smirk. 

Cyrus gets up from the couch and slowly walks up to Jonah. 

“Tori broke up with me. I apologized to her about what happened but when she said she couldn’t have a “confused case” for a boyfriend, I told her I’m not a confused case and I bounced”, Jonah smirking at Cyrus like the story he’s telling is so badass. Then, one feet apart, Jonah and Cyrus are standing right in front of each other, looking at one another. They lean in closer and closer and they finally... kiss. Jonah puts his hand on the back of Cyrus’s head and Cyrus touches Jonah’s cheek. It’s a moment like none other. The kiss stops and they resume to look into each other’s eyes for what feels like eternal heaven. 

The End. 

[all-hail-the-witcher]

(for that fic commentary thing :) ) Mush tried desperately to make eye contact with Blink to see if it was real, but Blink stubbornly kept his head down. Mush felt hot tears in his eyes. Surely, this wasn’t how they would end, this had to be a dream. He would wake up any second and Blink would put his arms around him and hold him close and reassure him that he would never leave him.However, it was not a dream, and Mush found that out the hard way when Oscars knuckles connected with his skull.

I should really title my shit

comments in these bad bois ()

_________

Mush had been on edge all morning. He listened to Jack ramble to Weasel about the strike, scanning the crowd of newsboys for a familiar head of sandy hair. Blink hadn’t been at the lodge that morning and Mush was beginning to get worried. What if he had bailed on them? (Welp that’s a terrible opening, it doesn’t even establish if they’re at the actual strike or not but yolo I’m leaving it)

Mush’s worst fears were confirmed when he saw his boyfriend walking up to the circulation gate amongst the other scabs to buy papers. His stomach sunk down to his shoes. (is that a term? isn’t it sinking to the floor? they’re outside there is no floor….Wait is it your heart?) Surely Blink wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t betray all of them. Would he? (oh yes he would)

Mush tried desperately to make eye contact with Blink to see if it was real, but Blink stubbornly kept his head down. Mush felt hot tears in his eyes. (ew that’s cringy. can tears even be hot? I don’t think I’m using this correctly…..) Surely, this wasn’t how they would end, this had to be a dream. He would wake up any second and Blink would put his arms around him and hold him close and reassure him that he would never leave him.

However, it was not a dream, (no shit) and Mush found that out the hard way when Oscars knuckles connected with his skull. (that was a disgusting intro argh I regret writing this)

•••

Hours later, after getting beaten beyond recognition by the bulls and the brothers, Mush staggered into an ally to rest a moment. (wait what injuries does he have? im confused, should I work those out...nah) He was trying to get back to the lodge, to all of his brothers whom (is this an instance where I should use whom, idfk but it sounds cool) he knew should be worried about him, but he lacked the strength. (seriously what happened to him??) All he could hope was that one of the boys found him.

And someone did, eventually. But it wasn’t the someone he had been hoping for.

“Mush?! Oh my god. Mush, can you hear me? Oh my god, oh my god.” (ah yes I forgot to add those italics when I published whoops)

Mush blinked open his eyes to see the one person who, until this morning, he had trusted more than anything. Blink was kneeling down in front of him, concern and worry clouding his face. (I use the word clouding way too much) Mush wasn’t sure if he was relieved or terrified to see him.

Blink reached out his hand to touch Mush’s face, but he flinched away. Blink looked hurt. “Mush…” he whispered in disbelief. (awwwwwww)

“No,” Mush croaked out. “You don’ ge’ t’ touc’ me an’mor’.” (Argh stuttering and slurring is so hard to write is that even legible)

“Mush, listen I-” (sHuT uP bLinK)

“No,” Mush said again with as much force as he could muster. He paused to spat some blood out of his mouth. (Seriously boi What happened to you? If you’re that badly hurt Blink should havebrought you to the lodge instead of talking) “You b’tray’d us. You shoul’n’ e’en be ‘ere. Jus’ -”

“Michael Myers, will you just shut up and listen to me?” (FUCK IS HIS NAME MICHAEL SHIT FUCK CRAP I NEED TUMBLR)

Mush was so startled by the use of his real name that he paused his rant.

“Oscar and Morris,” Blink began, “they cornered me yesterday. Offered me three dollars (is three dollars even a lot back then?) and a promise that they wouldn’t hurt you during the strike if I became a scab. As I didn’t-” Blink paused, sniffling slightly. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. And money’s been tight at the lodge recently and I knew we would need some to buy medical stuff and food once the strike started. And I didn’t want to, believe me it was the last thing I wanted. But I had to keep you safe, I had to at least try, I can’t….I can’t lose you too.” (too? Who else have you lost? Idk but I’m putting it in) Blink wiped at his eyes with the bottom of his shirt. “But it looks like it was all for nothing cause they beat you up so bad I barely even recognized you coming in here. It was all for nothing and now you probably hate me and the boys all probably hate me so I’ll just bring you back to the lodge and then I’ll be gone, okay? I’ll leave and never come back. None of you guys are going to want to have a traitor there anyway.” (awwwwwwwwwwwww soft soft boyo I love you)

Mush stared at Blink in a stunned silence for several long seconds before reaching out his less injured arm to clasp Blinks hand. (Less injured arm? Has this kid gone through a war or something?) Blink looked up in surprise at the contact.

“I firgiv’ ya,” Mush slurred. (fuck more slurring) “Ya did th’ wron’ thing fir th’ righ’ re’sins. An’ ‘f any uh da fellas can’ see tha’...” Mush trailed off. There was so much more he wanted to say. Blink had been so brave, doing something he knew might get him kicked out of his only home just to protect him. Admittedly, it hadn’t worked in his favor but it was the thought that counted.

“Thank you,” Blink whispered, curling his fingers gently around Mush’s potentially broken ones. (pretty sure I stole this from a fic oops) “I love you, Mush.”

Mush was too tired to say it back, but he squeezed Blinks hand ever so slightly. Blink seemed to notice Mush’s rapidly deteriorating physical state (oh finally? It’s not like he’s half dead or anything get him back you moron o wait I’m the author I have the power to do that oops) because his eyes widened and he gently picked his boyfriend up. Mush let out a few pained moans, but remained otherwise quiet.

“C’mon babe,” he whispered. “Let’s get you home.” (that could have been longer but I’m lazy argh)

[aion-rsa]

Line of Duty Series 6 Episode 5 Review: Is Thurwell H?

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This Line of Duty review contains spoilers.

Marcus Thurwell, you old bastard. You get, what, four mentions by name in series three? We’ve never even seen your face before today (ahoy there, Mr James Nesbitt), and now you’re our chief suspect in the search for the Fourth Man. Oh, what fools you’ve made us look. Fans have spent the last five years sizing up every inspector, sniffer dog and lampshade in Central Police as a potential H, and now we learn that he likely retired in 2005 and has been masterminding the lot while sipping a chilled Estrella Damm on the Costa del Crime. 

If any more names from the past turn up in series six, Ofqual are going to have to accredit an official Line of Duty qualification. Before viewers are allowed to watch the next episode, we’ll need to show evidence of having achieved a merit grade or above. For access to the finale, please submit a coursework essay on a topic of your choice (Mine: ‘A metaphorical reading of the wine glasses at Frederico’s as symbols of the moral decline in public office’.) This show demands our full and close attention. It forces us to lean in.

If you hadn’t leaned in to episode five, paused it, played it back, and then Googled ‘runs of homozygosity’, you could easily have missed the real significance of Jo Davidson’s DNA revelation: Jo isn’t only related to Tommy Hunter, she’s also a product of incest. That the the revelation wasn’t given the usual ‘Wait mate, you mean Jo’s brother/dad was also her uncle/granddad?’ pleb-translation suggests that Line of Duty wants to keeps its powder dry on this one. The Jo family mystery will be solved, but not before series six is ready. First, it has a few things to say.

The things it has to say are out of kilter with the frenzied delight of being a Line of Duty fan, so permit me a shift in tone. Alongside the fellas-and-theories joyride, this drama has always had sobering encroachments from real life. The series one opener was inspired by the Charles de Menezes shooting. In series three, we saw an image of Jimmy Savile with a character surely based on paedophile MP Cyril Smith. 

Read more

TV

Line of Duty Series 6 Episode 5: Thurwell, Homozygosity, Lawrence Christopher Questions & Theories

By Louisa Mellor

TV

Line of Duty Timeline: Can This Help To Solve the Jo Davidson DNA Mystery?

By Louisa Mellor

In series six, those encroachments have multiplied and the identities of their real-life counterparts are even less obscured. The murder of Gail Vella is partly inspired by the 2017 murder of Maltese journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia – maiden name Vella – who was killed in a car bombing while investigating  government corruption. This episode gave us the fictional case of architect Lawrence Christopher, which links the corrupt officers of the Sands View (or: Knowl View School, Rochdale) child sex abuse scandal to the suppression of his racist murder. The Lawrence Christopher case merges elements of the Stephen Lawrence murder in 1993 with the death in custody of Christopher Alder in 1998. Scratch the surface, and there also appears to be crossover between the fictional story of Tommy Hunter manipulating corrupt officers to protect his murderer son, and real allegations made against drug importer Clifford Norris, father to David Norris, one of two men eventually charged with the murder of Stephen Lawrence. Perhaps coincidentally or perhaps not, the officer alleged to have been in the pay of Clifford Norris, but who denied the claim, was named DS John Davidson.

Depending on whether they’re noticed, these barely disguised parallels switch the purpose of series six from mystery action thriller to social commentary. The comment being made? This may be fiction, but it’s also real and utterly shameful. Look it up. Don’t let it be forgotten.

That message was delivered with an emotional punch by the scene of Chloe recounting the reprehensible racist behaviour of the Lawrence Christopher officers. That was an atypically emotional scene for Line of Duty (and for Chloe, who – until last week’s shoot-out – has functioned as something of a sci-fi ship’s computer in series six, reeling out research and providing vital information). Alongside all the brain-spinning revelations in this episode, Shalom Brune-Franklin’s “How could anyone be okay?” remains the moment I can’t shake from memory. 

Back to the ghost train. Another week, another top cliffhanger. This time: who shot first, Kate or Ryan. If you’d rather remain in the dark about Fleming’s fate, please look away now. Gone? Take another look at the series six trailer and its as-yet-unaired scenes starring Kate for a likely answer. Come on, our girl’s a trained AFO. She knows what she’s about.

As does episode director Jennie Darnell, whose industrial estate raid sequence was constructed for maximum excitement and satisfying reveals. Hearing Ted’s “Site 3” voice on that radio relay was like hearing the horn of Gondor. I stood up out of my chair. When they got that burner phone snap of Ryan, whom Kate had been dragging around like a sulky teenager, I saluted. And again when Steve made Patrick Fairbank wet himself (faking or genuine, what do we think?). There was another salute when Kate put the phone down on Carmichael, who’d slithered in to AC-12 on a slug trail of slimy sanctimony (such a great baddie). 

My final salute was for Ted, who, yes, has made mistakes as Lee Banks proved, but will do anything for his team. When he ran out of the office to save Kate, declaring “That’s my officer out there, I’ll breathe when she’s safe,” nobody corrected him. Of course she’s your officer, Ted. She always will be.

As Rohan ‘turns out not a baddie’ Sindwhani said, it’s down to you now, Ted, in whatever time you’ve got left. Two more episodes. Keep it at full throttle.  

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Line of Duty continues next Sunday the 25th of April at 9pm on BBC One.

The post Line of Duty Series 6 Episode 5 Review: Is Thurwell H? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[praximeter]

Awful dream—woke up and before I knew what I was doing I was limping from me and Gabe’s room to Steve’s and I shoved my way in and sat with my back against the mattress like I used to when he was sick and I was just waiting for him to wake up—or when he had pneumonia in ’39 praying for him to. Anyway it did not take long for him to wake up and say “That you Buck?” in his dopey tired way and of course he didn’t need me to say anything, he recognizes me like his own face in the mirror same as I do

Rest of ask:

I suppose he was waiting for me to talk (seeing as I used to never shut up—maybe the more bullets I shoot the fewer words I got) and he finally asked me, “what happened to Harry, pal?” and I didn’t answer him but I did tell him about Lipsy.

Good one, friend. :) 

Anyone who knows me knows that I am preoccupied by the idea of giving Bucky meaningful relationships with people who aren’t Steve. Because if I want him to recover, and be happy, and be in general a dynamic character, then he has to connect with others. He has to have had friends, and family members, and neighbors, and girlfriends, and one-night stands, and annoying COs, and battle buddies. That’s the stuff that makes us real. I don’t want Steve to be his only meaningful relationship because that’s just not how life works and it’s also co-dependent af. I’m setting the stage for a healthy Stucky relationship here, at least… I’m trying. :)

The other element of this is the idea of loss. What is tragic about Steve Rogers is that he loses everything. On the surface, what is tragic about Bucky is that he loses Steve, and himself, but that’s not the whole story. Bucky had a whole life that got taken away from him; not just his future, post-war, but his past: his friends, his family, his triumphs, his failures. And for him to remember himself, and remember his life – it’s not just about the lives he took as the Winter Soldier, and what he endured; it’s also about the people and relationships and places and experiences that were taken away from him.

For the loss to be meaningful, those people and relationships and places and experiences needed to be real. That’s what TNW is: a record of a rich and difficult and fulfilling and three-dimensional life (or at least, that’s what I tried to create!). He has wonderful friends, like Harry Miller, whose brutal death Bucky witnesses and is right there with him until the awful end. It’s his “baseball team” of buddies:

[July 5, 1944]

Had a dream I was playing baseball like we did back in Africa before Sicily. It was Harry pitching, Lipsy at 1st, Skip 2nd and John Howe at 3rd and me at shortstop of course. Glenn was catcher and it was Adler, Pritchard, and Ernie Ball in the outfield. Every single one of them killed now except me.

More under the cut because I wouldn’t know succinct if it bit me in the ass

So with this scene that you asked about – Harry is a foxhole brother, a guy who was Bucky’s closest friend outside of Steve, until probably Gabe came along. And the experience of losing Harry at the Battle of Venafro was without a doubt one of the most traumatic things to happen to Bucky throughout the entire war. He’d lost people, men under his command, and even guys he considered friends, but never somebody as close to him as Harry. There’s a reason that Bucky recounts Harry’s death before mentioning one second of Azzano, and what happened to him there. 

So what’s going on in this scene? A couple of things, beyond the blatantly cruel line about the mirror:

Anyway it did not take long for him to wake up and say “That you Buck?” in his dopey tired way and of course he didn’t need me to say anything, he recognizes me like his own face in the mirror same as I do.

…which isn’t JUST horrible, horrible foreshadowing, but it is legitimately meant to show how close they are. :)

The real story is Bucky’s inability to talk to Steve about Harry. And the fact is this: he loved Harry like a brother, and to talk about how Harry died to Steve is unbearable because Bucky fears losing Steve more than anything else – more than losing his own self.

[December 20, 1944]

Death and love seems to take up the same space inside, where I can drop a man from 200 yards and at the same time can hardly breathe for the love of my brother and Steve and for my men here. It is closer to wrath than love. I have found that I will do just about any horrible thing for any one of them and barely care that it is horrible until afterwards. Who cares about my soul when Ted’s or Steve’s or any of the others is on the line? 

And in that moment, Bucky feels comforted by Steve’s presence. Steve doesn’t pry, not beyond asking him the one question; he doesn’t really need to. He lets Bucky talk, knowing that being there beside him is enough. Bucky isn’t the kind of guy to talk at length about his feelings or whatever – he plays his part with the fellas, he cracks a joke when it’s his turn, he keeps everybody in line – but the personal stuff? The difficult stuff? He puts that in his journal. But as ever, Steve Rogers is the exception.

this dvd commentary meme is the greatest

[troutfishinginmusic]

Essay: The difficult humanity of Iggy Pop’s solo discography

Most interviewers will talk about The Stooges, maybe touch on the Bowie years and leap to whatever album Iggy Pop is currently promoting. There’s a lot of history missing in between all that.

Iggy’s solo discography, from New Values to Après, is a lot to take in. It truly runs the gamut, from radio pleas to experimental fuck-offs.  I’ll try to provide nuance and context wherever possible as I go through each kind of Iggy record from this period. That said, it isn’t an easy body of work to assess.

Here comes success: Pop albums

Iggy’s attempts to fit into the mainstream are fascinating. New Values (1979) possibly had the the greatest chance to become a hit. It’s an album that does a fine job threading the needle of Iggy’s punk, avant-garde and pop sides. You don’t have to imagine too hard to see a song like “Tell Me a Story” getting radio play.

New Values also may be one of Iggy’s strongest solo albums. Songs like “New Values,” “I’m Bored” and “Five Foot One” are undeniable classics. There are few flaws to be found (I’ll get to that later).

There’s a genuine commitment to the material on Party (1981), but crossover mega-stardom proved to be  elusive. It may have been hard for audiences to forget this guy making radio moves was someone who, only a few years prior, was known for rolling on broken glass.

It’s a bummer because there’s more to Party than the cover would lead you to believe. It’s a solid 80s album with more lyrical depth than what you’d find on the radio in that era. No one could argue it’s his best, but you can definitely put it on and not skip a track.

I met you out at the Mardi Gras On a French Quarter sidewalk When you kissed me, it was strong I wonder if you'll hear this song

- “Pumpin’ for Jill” from Party

Iggy lets his crooning take center stage for the first time as well. It’s more fully developed on later albums like Preliminers or Avenue B, but it didn’t have far to go. His version of “Sea of Love” on Party is one of the best, falling just short of Cat Power’s cover.

Blah-Blah-Blah (1986) is just a well-executed 80s pop record, but you do get the nagging feeling it doesn’t feel as natural as other Iggy albums. The best songs are one’s like “Cry for Love” where he brings out his incredible goth-y croon to great affect. And it’s hard to hate a song like “Real Wild Child (Wild Child)” even if it is desperately clawing at the pop charts.

Solider is solid but doesn’t quite reach the heights of the focused, but flawed, New Values. “Take Care of Me” and “I Need More” are great, straight forward punk songs. “Mr. Dynamite” is one of his better stabs at incorporating pop and avant-garde. “Loco Mosquito” is a solid pop song that slips in punk lyrics. “Get Up and Get Out” is a rare feminist song that works perfectly in its simplicity.

I'm wondering fellas if you've heard the news The chicks are sick and tired of being abused Now I saw all this on the wide screen You know that chick Bette Davis split right out of the scene

- “Get Up and Get Out” from Soldier

“I’m a Conservative” is Iggy’s tongue-in-cheek lyricism firing on all cylinders. It’s placed next to “Dog Food” where Iggy thumbs his nose up at all the stereotypes people had hung on his shoulders up to that point, for better or worse.  

Cold Metal: LOUD rock albums

Iggy has consistently said how boring big dumb rock albums are in interviews, especially Nu Metal. Yet at different points he still feels a need to put up a big ugly noise, while slipping in interesting lyrics, just to prove he can. This has meant different things at different points.

If you can get past the terrible hair metal-esque cover art and seriously flawed production, Instinct (1988) is actually kind of interesting. It pales next to the Stooges albums, but if you’re more partial to the rocking side of Iggy’s career you could do worse. Some highlights include “Easy Rider,” “Cold Metal,” “Strong Girl” and “High on You.”

The worst of these “rocking” albums, and possibly his worst album overall, might be Naughty Little Doggie (1996). It’s just sort of an embarrassing slog. The best songs (like “Knucklehead”) are passable and have a nice grinding blues-y thing going on. It sounds like the album a rocker would make to stay up to date with punks in the 90s.

Naughty Little Doggie also contains some repulsive and confessional lyrics, which I’ll get to later. It’s an understatement to say this thing is probably questionable to a lot of ears, but it is important.

American Caesar (1993) is interesting. It sounds like Iggy striking a good balance between rocking out and introspection. It’s also sort of a concept record.

“Jealousy” is a great acoustic song with simmering hatred just barely contained. There’s a great “Louie, Louie” cover that adds some political commentary. “Boogie Boy” is probably his best song making fun of big dumb rock music. There are standout songs, but the thing works best when you listen to the whole thing.

Now every mornin’ I wake up at nine I'm eating cheerios with red wine I'm reading that book but it's not too good Cuz my boogie head is made outta wood It's a fact i get so much joy When i can go out and be a boggie boy

- “Boogie Boy” from American Caesar

American Caesar is very long, with a runtime of over 70 minutes. You have to be in the mood for it and ready to hang in there for the whole thing.

As I revisited all of these albums I was shocked by how much I liked Beat ‘Em Up (2001). It’s extremely heavy and extremely funny. I made the mistake of reading reviews about it before I actually listened to it. It’s much more than a big dumb rock album.

A song like “Football” does a lot of things at once and somehow succeeds.  Iggy is able to make a song where he imagines himself as a football being thrown around sound oddly touching. “Mask” and “V.I.P.” are are some of his best rant-y songs in a long career of them. 

Complicated crushed up disappointed squirming angry thrusting stabbing regretting starving greedy human alien being, struggling down the street, up the alley, in the elevator, through the party, to the office, in the bedroom, on your way to the morgue.

- “Mask” from Beat ‘Em Up

It’s also HEAVY. It may even be heavier than the Stooges records in some ways. Mooseman from Body Count joins his band, The Trolls, on the album to provide some great lowend (sadly it was his last album). I never thought I’d find myself getting into this album but it’s actually pretty fantastic, although a bit long. 

It’s totally what The Weirdness should’ve been. With a bit of time I could see this being a bit of a cult classic. Plus it gave birth to this great performance.

Till wrong feels right: Famous collaborator albums

Brick by Brick (1990) is a well-constructed early 90s rock record and it sounds like it. It’s damn catchy, especially “Candy.” It features session pros and rock royalty from the time like Slash. It’s all executed well, but it’s not really something you’ll return to often.

One interesting song on Brick by Brick is “Butt City,” which is as goofy the title suggests but does slip in a some pretty good social commentary about racial profiling by police. This and “Mixing the Colors” from American Caesar explain Iggy’s views on race in a plain way, which was overdue.

The cops are well-groomed, with Muscled physiques in Butt Town Their tan uniforms are tailored in chic In Butt Town Any young black male who walks down the street Is going to get stopped by a car full of meat But the girl with the hair Flies by in her underwear

- “Butt Town” from Brick by Brick

Skull Ring (2003) is an album that is the epitome of hit or miss. Iggy brought in marquee punks like Green Day and Sum 41 and it actually kind of works. His Peaches collaborations on the album are fascinating but aren’t songs you’ll come back to often. Their best collaboration is a song called “Kick It” on the Peaches’ album Fatherfucker.

The bad songs with new collaborators are at least interesting. Strangely, songs with the newly reformed Stooges and previous backing band The Trolls are the ones that don’t jump out. There are a few gems like “Superbabe,” “Whatever” and “Dead Rockstar,” though.

King of the dogs: French albums

The French albums Iggy made are both stunners. They seem ridiculous on first blush but, once you get over your own preconceptions, they’re great.

Préliminaires (2009) has it’s roots in a Michel Houellebecq’s novel, New Orleans Jazz and bleak existentialism. “King of the Dogs” is such a perfectly suited cover for Iggy. “I Want to Go to the Beach” is a devastatingly minimal plea. “Party Time” is a goofy song with a very 80s propulsive bassline. I can’t say enough good things about this album.

Après (2012) is great in a lot of the same ways but is a more straight forward covers album. The selection is great. His version of Yoko Ono’s “Going Away Smiling” is perfect, though it’s hard to beat the original. There are also some great Serge Gainsbourg, Beatles and Cole Porter covers. This is definitely worth seeking out.

Buried in a melting coffin: Experimental albums

It’s been resurrected with the documentary Gimme Danger, but most don’t think about the Stooges being one of the first noise rock bands. This is apparent in some of their discography, but the very early version of the band (when they were called the Psychedelic Stooges) supposedly sounded like The Melvins. Iggy even played the vacuum during shows. There are no recordings from this period. This is all relayed by Iggy in many different interviews. He was also very closely associated with the Andy Warhol crew and drew from a variety of boundary pushing influences as a record store clerk in Ann Arbor. In his solo discography, this willingness to push boundaries comes out on occasion. 

Zombie Birdhouse (1982) was recorded in Haiti, following Party. It’s a very difficult album to unpack, so I’ll do so carefully. Imagine Iggy made his version of David Bowie’s Lodger album, at least in terms of lyrical content. Most of the album revolves around the idea of an American in a place he doesn’t understand. It’s the most political thing he ever recorded.

The opener “Run Like a Villain” depicts America bombing its poorer adversaries. It’s a wonder that he rarely ever made songs like this since it’s so effective. For example:

Big Dick is a thumbs-up guy He shot a missile in the sky It functioned just as advertised Until the fire made him cry 

“Run Like a Villain Zombie Birdhouse

“The Villagers” is a bit hard to take but it fits the tourist theme of the album. “Watching the News” is a super experimental song about Iggy doing just that in a very uncomfortable, but effective way. “Ordinary Bummer” and “Platonic” are solid ballads. The best songs are the uptempo “Eat or Be Eaten” and “The Horse Song.” The ladder has these crazy drone-y parts that are molded into something insanely catchy. I’d submit it as one of the best songs he’s ever done.

This is such a vastly underrated album that was sadly undercut a bit by the production at the time. That’s since been improved on the remastered version, which I can’t recommend enough.

Avenue B (1999) is very reflective. It’s jazzy and slower moving than most of his discography. My guess is that his new album, Free, is going to be very similar to this based on the songs that have been released so far. That’s a good thing.

Collaborators like John Medeski provide a great foundation for Iggy’s lyrics to be on full display. Everything from acoustic guitars to bongos crop up, creating a subdued and gentle springboard to dive off. 

You can tell Avenue B was an album he wanted to make for a long time. It explores a lot of difficult things. From being in love with fascist to the problems of a relationship with a much younger woman.

This is a course corrective from Naughty Little Doggie, picking up where “Look Away” left off. It’s the beginning of Iggy becoming a bit more accountable for his past. There are still some cringe-y moments, especially on the otherwise great “I Felt the Luxury,” that don’t age well. But, on the whole, it’s honest and the start of a new chapter.

(Don’t) look away: Contradictions and skeletons

You don’t have to look hard through Iggy’s solo discography to find "problematic” lyrics. The messages aren’t always handled well but they’re more honest than anything you’ll find on a typical rock record. That’s an important distinction.

Confessions

There’s a sense of willful forgetfulness rock fans have about teenage groupies. Every now and again I’ll hear a movie like Almost Famous called “dated,” even though that’s totally what happened at the time. While many thinkpieces point to the fact that there were laws in place that made this illegal at the time, they totally miss the point about public perception on this issue. Just because there is a law on the books doesn’t mean people will care or follow it. This wasn’t just a rock star problem, even if it’s easier to tell ourselves that.

Pretty much every rock icon you can name from the 80s and earlier has this skeleton in their closet. Iggy is no different in this regard.

The difference maybe is honesty. “Look Away,” from the album Naughty Little Doggie, is a very unpleasant but real song. It doesn’t romanticize the power imbalance and lays it out simply in the first line.

The song discusses Iggy’s relationship with Sable Starr and her subsequent doomed relationship with Johnny Thunders. You’re not going to hear a confession like that on an album by Jimmy Page or the Eagles, even though they have more reason to clench up about the topic. Honesty doesn’t make it easy, though. In Iggy’s own words in the song “What we did once, I wouldn't do again.” Hopefully that’s true.

I don’t excuse any of this, it’s terrible. Especially on an album with a creepy, leering song like “Pussy Walk.” Naughty Little Doggie is a difficult album to sort  out. Yet it does lay bare all the downsides of the glam lifestyle (which in many ways he was a part of) and abandons any mythologizing about it. I do think we can discuss these things and learn from them, but I would never recommend anyone buy this record. If you want a reason to not listen further, this is it.

The flip side is that Iggy has been an ardent supporter of feminist art throughout his career and obviously didn’t see creeping on teen girls as a contradiction. He should’ve known better and been held accountable, along with scores of other artists from his era. We know better now.

It seems he does too and has been working to change this prior to the metoo era and has never tried to act like something he’s not. In recent years he has made a tangible efforts to correct these past mistakes, which I don’t see other artists from his era doing. He has recently raised money for the Girls Rock Camp Alliance charity. He’s championed independent female artists like U.S. Girls, Pins, Le Butcherttes, Noveller and countless others. Small steps, but steps nonetheless.

Race

On the whole Iggy been way ahead of the curve on race politics, but has one awfully ignorant song on his album New Values. His views are made a bit clearer on American Caesar and Brick by Brick, but this is still something worth discussing.

In pretty much every interview he’s given he’s made sure to promote the black music that gave birth to rock and roll. Early in his career he backed black musicians as a drummer and has collaborated with them throughout his career. He drew influence from traditions that weren’t his own and made something totally unique. He didn’t steal from other cultures. That’s far ahead of the time.

What isn’t is a song like “African Man” which was either intended to be edgy or goofy, but just ends up being kind of racist. There’s no way around that. It’s just a terrible song that ruins the near perfect New Values. It’s a fucking bummer it was ever recorded and I sincerely hope it doesn’t give someone the idea that it’s funny to say something like that.

I would chalk this up to ignorance that a good deal of white people had at the time. Movies and cartoons depicted Africans as savages and cannibals. I think this is what he was trying to replicate and possibly parody. For someone who supposedly had an interest in social anthropology early in life, I’m surprised he would utilize a stereotype that blatant. This makes me personally think it was supposed to be a parody. There comes a point where none of that matters, though. It sadly ends up giving comfort to those who hold backwards views on race.

I’d love to actually know his thoughts on this stuff, but no one actually asks about it in interviews. It’s frustrating because it’s an issue he gets right more often than not. It’s better to confront these things than to pretend they don’t exist. I think that’s the only way forward.

There is one moment where he does apologize for accidentally using a dated term in a past interview. Maybe that’s a good indication of how he feels today.

Break into your heart: Conclusions

It’s hard to write objectively about an artist who means a lot to you. I tried for years to figure out a way to do this coherently (it probably didn’t end up working). I saw a few OK lists spring up dissecting some of these albums, but they always seemed to just graze the surface. There was always something lacking.

They missed the honesty and humanity on display through a long and complicated career. They would mythologize the usual parts. They would gloss over the difficult parts. They would diminish the efforts for something better.

To me Iggy was a catalyst that didn’t just birth a movement for disengaged youths to stick safety pins through their noses. It was much more than that. He opened a door for marginalized people to scream about the oppression they face daily. He promoted difficult and confrontational art. He is a mirror for America’s best and worst impulses.

For me, and many others, his life represents a struggle to survive and keep getting better. He’s survived bad reviews, severe drug addiction, divorces and a host of other things. There’s something so powerful to that simple notion of getting back up after falling hard that many times. I think that’s why, despite his flaws, people still care.

It’s been difficult to grapple with some of the regrettable parts of his discography. I think everyone is doing that now with their record collections in some way. There are no easy answers. It really comes down to how you want to engage with art and commerce. I’m not going to preach to you or tell you how you should interact with art. Iggy Pop is a lot of things, but above all else he is transparent. I can live with that.

After some deserved success and recognition with Post Pop Depression, he’s ready to step out on a limb with his new album Free. I can’t wait to hear it.

[benjaminzanzibar]

WTW Chapter 8 - And We’re Live

"Alright! Storm and I are ready to go!" A familiar voice floated in from behind Dalton. He swiveled in his chair to see Fjord Stonewater and Emerald Storm in full-costume spandex approach the pen. As the two stepped up, Dalton noticed a dirty yet familiar manila folder in Fjord's hand. "Here you go, man. You left this in my dressing room earlier." Fjord extended the item out to Dalton, smiling with a knowing wink.

"And since you requested Fjord and I kick off the show, we're here and ready to knock it out," Storm added, the sentence dripping with Irish flare.

Dalton took the folder and opened it; the first page was the still empty match list for the evening, save for the opening slot. Barely legible, the scribbled handwriting read Fjord Stonewater -VS- Emerald Storm.

He breathed a sigh of relief before replying, "Oh man! Thanks so much guys! I don't know how to-"

"Great," Dr. Richmond interrupted. "Now save yer ass-kissin' for another time and let Kip know what the curtain-jerker will be.” The two competitors wandered off towards the entrance curtain as Dalton pressed for more information.

“Kip? What’s a Kip?”

“Kip Greywood, lead commentator. He’s the fella with the glasses.” Dr. Richmond made reference to the monitor in front of them again as he explained. “Just let him know what the first match is gonna be.” Dalton noticed all three commentators wearing similar headphones.

“Through the headphones?”

“Yes,” Dr. Richmond confirmed as Dalton began to fidget with his headset’s accompanying microphone. “He can hear ya when you press the button. Go on now.” Dalton cleared his throat as if he was readying himself for a wordier commitment.

“Hello? Kip? This is Dalton, the new talent coordinator. I have the match information here with me and-”

Monterey swiftly cut Dalton off, addressing the commentary team himself. “Kip, first match is Storm ‘n Stonewater.”

Dalton sat silently as the boss followed up. “It’s not War ‘n Peace, Kid. Just give ‘em the facts and nothin’ more. Don’t need to be cloggin’ up the airwaves with yer life story.”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll remember it for-”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be learnin’.” Immediately after the kind advice, Dr. Richmond turned to some of his entourage and began barking orders, leaving Dalton to stew alone with his headset for a bit. Through the device, Dalton heard the live television crew slinging an assortment of proprietary jargon for the upcoming feature.

Out in the arena proper, WTW fans were aggressive in their excitement for the beginning of the new season. Dalton was overwhelmed with the emphatic response from the audience, a feeling he reveled in while checking out the feed from the crowd-cams. People of all ages screamed at the top of their lungs, jumping up and down. A sea of colorful, hand-made signs waved like flags, supporting their favorite wrestlers with creative slogans.

CAROLINA QUEEN: Bow, you peasants!

JACK SLEDGE Hammers the competition!

I’d sacrifice MY hand for one minute with ALPHA!

As for the pre-show, the entire ten minutes showcased a handful of video packages with a brief introduction by Kip and his team. Additionally, a slew of footage featuring WTW World Champion, Jack “The Hammer” Sledge ran while the commentators gushed over his title defense at last season’s Supernova main event. He was massive; Dalton pondered how he had managed to miss such a sizable individual during his afternoon at the arena. He also hadn’t remembered seeing him at the meeting. Hmm.

It was almost time. Riddle me this, wristwatch: How close are we? It was 7:57 pm and in just a few minutes, the main show would finally go live. This was the moment the entire day was leading up to. One last video package ran as Dalton rapidly tapped his feet against his chair with a nervous energy.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Ya ready, kid?” Dr. Richmond snapped Dalton back to reality with the check-in, prompting a nervous smile. Dalton then turned his head towards the entrance curtains, making eye contact with Fjord and Storm, both of whom offered a thumbs-up in support. One last shift in his chair and straightening his posture for good measure, Dalton took a slow breath.

“Alright everybody! We’re live in ten, nine, eight...” Dr. Richmond thundered, catching the entire Monkey Pen’s attention.

“... Seven, six, five...”

The headset was buzzing with rapid communication.

“... Four, three...”

The red light began flashing on the production console, signaling the live broadcast.

“... Two, one...”

Here we go.

“And we’re live!”

[chaosflight]

nightmare log 1

okay so i’m going to start logging these fucking nightmares

tw: violence mention ghost mention blood mention death mention

from what i can remember, it started off like any of the other bizarre dreams i’ve had this past week and a half, kinda hazy and kinda trying to tell a story, but mostly in a way that was all supposed to be subtext if it were a film.  it’s divided kinda into five parts, the first being the longest

the first part was the most coherent. it was almost like it was based off my favorite older film, the ghost and mrs. muir, where there was a lady who was alive and a fella who was not, except it was a trick.  they were both dead, ghosts to each other, repeating their lives over and over with these sorts of hints at each other.  the actual dream (i guess all that information was subtext) starts as she’s seeking him out in all the places she’s met him.  i guess that those things are always consistent? and their memories of each other always remain, no matter how many times they relive their already over lives.  she looks for him in her room, by the treeline, in the garden, and lastly by the fire pit.  

the first time she does this, she only sees charcoal sketchy shadows of him, and can’t interact.  the second time, she does interact with him, but something is changed, somehow.  she spoke to him, but he didn’t interact with her at all, like he was ignoring her.  She saw him from her bedroom in the fire pit, and went out to meet him since he wasn’t in the room, but he ran away from her by the trees, and in the garden, he was entertaining guests and couldn’t respond in his timeline.  so she had this small soliloquy that was supposed to be for him, about how she loves him so much, “like the wood in this pit, i want to be consumed.  but then the fire sets in, and the burns are too great” and then one more line, but she cut out.  i couldn’t hear her, because somehow she was now a charchoal ghost too, and we were at the fire pit instead of the garden, and she burned up and disappeared.  

then it flips over to him being the one ‘alive’, and he sees her from his bedroom by the fire, chases her immediately down to the garden, where the party is going, but all his guests are half ghosty and half there, so he ignores them.  She asks him to follow, i think? and then suddenly they’re at the fire pit, and she’s a charcoal ghost burning in long forgotten embers, and the guy hears her message, but again the only thing i can hear is those two lines, and then she’s cut off.  but, instead of disappearing, he steps into the fire with her, and says something like, ‘let us burn together, then’, and then they both become ghosts squared??? it’s implied that they died, again, or that perhaps their actual deaths were suicide by ghost or something.  

they turn into human outlines, holding eac h other’s hands, neither one in any way distinguishable from the other, and fly away down a street.  this is the end of part one.

the dream then takes a wild turn into some kinda commentary on goofy?  where goofy and his son are ghosts, and he’s kinda teaching his son about his history, but idk enough about it for it to be a factually realistic dream, so it very quickly veers into the third part:

we’re in our garage and we somehow had to fight for the legal ownership of the content of our garage?  like our stuff had all been there so long that the government somehow was allowed to possess it.  it’s worth noting that while the garage is implied to be the same one as the house we live in now, it starts out as actually the SIZE of the house in the dream.  there’s a lot of shit in there.  it’s also implied that i’m closer to my thirties, maybe even exactly ten years older, and it’s been a hot second since we’ve seen any of this stuff and it’s apparently really important.  

anyway, we’ve got literal construction equipment in the garage (bc it’s grown) to pull our shit down from these massive piles they’ve developed into, and as we move things we start discovering stuff, and this part goes pretty par for the course as far as growing architecture and mountains of petty trash being sorted can go.  

we’re halfway through when we discover my section.  there’s tvs and cameras.  oh my god, so many cameras.  i take so long reminiscing over them all that the rest of my family goes to lunch, i guess?  i’m alone, anyway, and the garage is somehow smaller again, but still pretty fucking huge.  There’s this one.  this one camera, that seems important, but i can’t remember how, but i want to go show mom and dad this particular one, maybe bc it’s the first? my first video camera? and as i’m walking back to show them, be all like ‘hey lookit this fucking relic lol’ i’m looking at the memory.  there’s nothing on it, which is weird bc i never delete  shit.  that’s a real life thing, i just do not delete things.  so i figured, hey, maybe it’s broken, so i open it up, turn the camera and the view finder around so i can selfie but see myself, and FUCKING SLENDERMAN IS IN MY CAMERA

i turn around, and he’s right there.  i fucking bolt.  he was putting out some FUCK OFF vibes.  i’m running further into the garage though, instead of into the house like i wanted in the first place, and that’s where it changes again?

this fourth part features a co-worker of mine, who i like to call mike wazowski, bc his first name is mike.  and it’s like a goddamn rick and morty scenario, where i’m morty and he’s rick, and we’re being brought before an alternate universe xenomorph queen that’s being held captive/protected by some unnamed government agency.  except the queen is male?  somehow thats important, except it’s literally never important again.  anyway, he’s enormous.  imagine the scale of a regular xenomorph to a standard queen, and that’s the scale of a regular queen to this AU queen.  he’s big. 

we’re in handcuffs, and i’m kind of unresponsive.  my mind is not in my bod.  i watch the whole sequence from very far away in this big white room where it’s all taking place.  the people who’ve got us captured/escorting us present the queen with another xenomorph, .  wait, no, there was a big buff angry lady first, who was yelling at us for upsetting the queen, and then pompously strode forward to apologize for this awful thing we did, and he fucking killed her and ate her.  he used one giant gross finger to impale her and then he ate her. it was horrifiying, even from my fortunate distance.  

THEN the rest of the guys present the queen with another xenomorph, which he then similarly eats, although more like a spider eats stuff.  he shot out his secondary mouth, and it clamped onto the other xeno’s back, and it shrivelled up and.  yeah.  while he’s doing that, he’s telepathically scolding us for ‘dealing with such a blight’.  and mike’s like ‘yeah, great going christina’, even though i’m fuckin catatonic.  i think he knew i could still hear him?? idk.  

the queen then continues to explain that we’ve opened some something, and that this Greatere Monster is now going to do it’s very best to fucking wreck our whole dimension, which apparently includes several universes?  i’m not sure that’s how string theory works but queeny mcmurder seemed pretty fucking sure. and then the dream switches.

this is part five.  it’s the worst, for me, personally.  

it starts with what’s obviously a recording, but i’m viewing it like I AM the camera, but i’m also IN the recording.  and me and these people are walking around a little kids playground.  everything is normal except this one installation.  it’s a big, pointy, metal mess of barely recognizable imagery.  it’s like if slendy and a xeno had a baby, and it’s skeleton was shifting through three different planes and someone took a photo and then lovingly rendered it in cast iron for all to play with.  

it was so weird.  it was so alive, even as a statue.  i walked through it, around it, we all did, and it was so eerie.  it was a thing that Should Not Exist.  it seemed like it could come alive at any moment and just.  destroy everything. 

and then suddenly i wasn’t in the recording, and i wasn’t a camera anymore, and i was. trapped.  inside it’s body.  the same skeletal, misshapen metal abomination was holding me, gently, but also not at all.  like it didn’t want to break me, but it would not let me leave.  i cried, so much.  i’d been there so long.  there was no light, only touch, and the only thing there was to touch was horror itself.  i wasn’t on earth, or in space, and space didn’t seem to matter.  neither did time, except that it just kept happening, the same insufferable moment happening forever, like a scream that never dies.  

the thing spoke to me.  it’s voice was impossible to describe.  it was grating like tin or steel, but it was also soft and smooth, whispery.  it seemed to be deafening, but it was also like a sigh.  i felt so many mouths against my face and shoulders as it spoke to me.  not all of them were human or even animalistic as anything i could name on earth.  i got impressions of what it was trying to tell me, but i didn’t know exactly what it wanted, except for me to stay there, forever in that impossible moment.  

sometimes there would be these.. animals? that would come near, when the thing slept.  it turned back into metal, and i was trapped in it’s frozen body, trying to wiggle out.  they were like rabbits, kind of hunched over and they moved haltingly.  they talked, and i could tell what they were saying.  they whispered, so jealously, ‘you’re living our dream’ over and over, ‘what you’re experiencing would be paradise to us!’ and then they would bite at my fingers and make them bleed, but the damage never lasted, i always healed from whatever they did to me, only the THING could really hurt me.  

and if it woke up when they were there, it would tear them apart, and i’d get drenched in their blood and their screams would get trapped in my head.  they were so happy to die by this awful thing that wouldn’t let me go.  

towards the end of the dream, what really felt like decades of being in that unseeing place, i was trying to hold together some hope i’d get out, and i remembered.  i remembered i love to sing, and that i always believed that singing could scare away wicked things, or at least make me feel better.  so, still bawling because i was so fucking terrified, i tried to sing.

and then i woke up.  not all the way.  but i was definitely away that i was in my bed, and so, so stiff.  like i hadn’t moved all night.  one leg under the cover, one leg out, and face down in the pillow, just like i like it.  i mentally recapped everything that happened in the dream to the best of my ability, and i feel like i’ve got an accurate summation of everything.  it doesn’t capture the feelings, though. the ghost story was wistful and sad, the goofy bit was supposed to be a continuation of that sense of.. losing out on something, the garage part was the spooky preamble to the paralyzingly terrifying fifth part, and the fourth part was... just really ominous.

the weirdest part to me is how stiff i am all over, but i somehow managed to get my leg out of my enormous comforter, and how my hair is super fucked up, even though, again, i was incredibly still all night.  i’m probably just scaring myself at this point, but it did freak me out.

so some real life things to mention: i’ve been asking for a video camera for christmas bc i want to start a video diary, and my phone is just.  unreliable.  

mike is usually a pretty snarky guy, and we closed the store together last night, so that’s probably why he made an appearance.

i stayed up super late last night recording stuff, and it was super dark and super quiet by then, so i was kind of freaking myself out before i went to bed anyway.

i did not have any wine or sleep aid last night, so my parents telling me it’s one or both of those things, HA!! i also didn’t eat anything when i came home, so it’s not that either.

i love slender man stories and the aliens franchise a lot, but i’ve never really been super scared of them before.

okay, that’s it.