#Tommy Gallagher was a monster

[proudandangrydust]

A fascinating interview with Liam which was new to me (probably not for others) he really opens up to the interviewer about his childhood. He talks about experiencing nightmares because of Tommy's behaviour, about having anxiety as a child because of the constant feeling of dread he had about his dad. One of the most striking things he says is that as young as 6 he was aware that his dad's behaviour was not normal. Unlike Noel who tried to reason the abuse away by saying it was happening to all their mates too, Liam says he would be confused when he would go to friends houses and they weren't filled with tension and fear and their parents just sat around watching TV.

💔

[abbygrabska]

The Idiot's Lantern

I step out of the tardis, brushing a stray hair back and looking around. It’s a shame Rose decided to stay with her mom for a while, but it might be better for right now.

“I thought we’d be going for the Vegas era.”

The Doctor pokes his head out of the tardis, “You’re kidding, aren’t you? If you wanna see Elvis, you go in the late ’50s! The time before burgers.” He goes back inside, “When they called him ‘the pelvis’ and he still had a waist!”

I giggle.

“What’s more, you see him in style!”

I look over at the tardis when I hear the sound of an engine. The Doctor rides out on a blue late-50s moped.

I laugh in amusement as he stops, with big sunglasses and a white helmet on his head.

He makes an Elvis face and does an impression, “You goin’ my way, doll?”

“Is there any other way to go, daddy-o?” I walk towards the moped, “Straight from the fridge, man!”

“Hey, you speak the lingo!” He hands me a blue version of his helmet, I take it and put it on.

“Yeah, well, I was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe when I was in middle school.” I sit behind him and wrap my arms around his waist.

We drive off down the street.

“Where we off to?” I shout over the noise of the engine.

“Ed Sullivan TV Studios, Elvis did ‘Hound Dog’ on one of the shows, there were loads of complaints. Bit of luck, we’ll just catch it.”

“And that would be in New York?” I ask.

“That’s the one!” A red London bus drives past us, and the Doctor stops the moped. I look around and notice, we are in fact in London.

“Digging that New York vibe.” I tease him.

“Well… this could still be New York, I mean this looks very New York to me... Sort of… Londony New York, mind…” “What are all the flags for?”

We walk past two boys carrying a tv into a house.

“There you go, sir, all wired up for the great occasion.”

“The great occasion? What d’you mean?” The Doctor asks.

“Where’ve you been living, out in the Colonies? Coronation, of course.”

“What Coronation’s that, then?” 

The man seems bemused, “What d’you mean? The Coronation.”

The Doctor seems confused so he looks to me for help.

“The Queen’s.” He doesn’t get it, “Queen Elizabeth!”

“Oh! Oh, is this 1953?!”

“Last time I looked. Time for a lovely bit of pomp and circumstance, what we do best.”

I look up at the chimneys, “Look at all the TV aerials… looks like everyone’s got one. That’s weird, gran said tellies were so rare they all had to pile into one house.”

“Not round here, love. Magpie’s Marvelous Tellies, only five quid a box.”

The Doctor suddenly cuts in, “Oh but this is a brilliant year! Classic! Technicolor, Everest climbed, everything off the ration. The Nation throwing off the shadows of war and looking forward to a happier, brighter future!”

I hear a woman shouting, “Someone help me, please! Ted!”

A man with a blanket over his head is being led into a black police car by two suited men.

We rush over.

“Leave him alone, it’s my husband!”

“What’s going on?” The Doctor asks.

The blanketed man is pushed into the back seat, as a teen boy runs out of his house, “Oi, what are you doing?!”

One suited man addresses the Doctor, “Police business, now get out of the way, sir!”

I look at the boy, “Who did they take, do you know him?”

“Must be Mr. Gallagher…”

The car drives off, leaving the woman, Mrs. Gallagher in despair. Another woman comes out of the house the boy came out of.

“It’s happening all over the place. They’re turning into monsters…”

A man storms out of the house, “Tommy! Not one word!” We all look at him.

“Get inside now!”

The boy, now known to me as Tommy speaks, “Sorry, I'd better do as he says…”

Mrs. Gallagher is still sobbing, but the Doctor puts on his sunglasses again and runs over to the moped, and kicks it to life, “All aboard!” 

I hop on the back and we ride off after the police car.

We drive around the corner and stop short at the market stall.

“Lost ‘em! How’d they get away from us?”

“Surprised they didn’t turn back and arrest you for reckless driving, have you passed your test?!”

The Doctor isn’t listening, “Men in black? Vanishing police cars? This is Churchill’s England, not Stalin’s Russia!”

“That boy said people were turning into monsters.”

The Doctor turns to me.

“Maybe we should go and ask the neighbors.”

We knock on the door of the house that Tommy lives in, the door is opened by his father.

“Who are you, then?”

“Let’s see then, judging by the look of you, family man, nice house, decent wage, fought in the war, therefore, I represent Queen and country!” The Doctor holds up the psychic paper with a flourish, “Just doing a little check of her Majesty’s forthcoming subjects for the great day. Don’t mind if I come in? Nah, didn’t think you did, thank you!”

He barges past the man before he can protest and I follow after him.

We end up in the living room.

“Not bad, very nice! Very well kept! I’d like to congratulate you, Mrs…?” “Connolly.” She answers timidly.

“Now then Rita, I can handle this. This gentleman’s a proper representative!”

I set my jaw, staring at the man.

“Don’t mind the wife, she rattles on a bit.”

“Well, maybe she should rattle on a bit more.” I interject faking an accent, “I’m not convinced you’re doing your patriotic duty.” I glance around at the flags, “Nice flags. Why are they not flying?”

He speaks after a nervous pause, “There we are Rita, I told you, get them up, Queen and country!” “I’m sorry…” She apologizes.

“Get it done! Do it now.”

“Hold on a minute. You’ve got hands, Mr. Connolly. Two big hands. Why is that your wife’s job?”

“It’s housework, innit?” “And that’s the woman’s job?”

“Course it is!”

I cross my arms and set a glare on the man, “Are you suggesting the Queen does the housework?”

“No! Not at all!” I hand him a string of flags, giving him an insistent stare, “Then get busy.”

He sets about hanging the flags, feigning enthusiasm. I am not convinced.

“You’ll be proud of us, ma’am! We’ll have Union Jacks left, right, and center!”

I narrow my eyes at him and smirk, “Mr. Connolly, it’s only the Union Jack when it's flown at sea.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, I do apologize!”

I smile at him widely, “Well, don’t get it wrong again, there’s a good man.” I speak with force, “Now get to it!”

He hastily gets back to work. I smile at the Doctor as I sit on the couch next to him.

“Right then! Nice and comfy, at Her Majesty���s leisure!” He speaks quieter to me, “What was that?”

“Reminds me of mom.”

“I’m the Doctor and this is Abby, and you are?” He looks at Tommy, who seems surprised to be noticed.

“Tommy.”

We shift on the couch, making room for Tommy between us.

“Well, sit yourself down, Tommy.” The Doctor motions to the other chair, for Rita to sit.

“Have a look at this. I love telly, don’t you?”

“I think it's brilliant.”

“Good man!”

We watch the program, apparently about fossils silently for a few moments before the Doctor turns around to check on Eddie, who is still hanging the flags.

I turn to Rita, “Now, why don’t you tell us what’s wrong?”

She seems reluctant, “Did he say he was a Doctor?” “Yes, I am.”

“Can you help her? Oh please, can you help her, Doctor?” Eddie overhears this last part, and interrupts, “Now then Rita, I don’t think the gentleman needs to know…”

Rita begins to cry, I move forward in my seat, “Tell us what’s wrong, and we can help.”

Rita’s sobs grow louder, and she just shakes her head helplessly. I go over and wrap an arm around her.

“Hold on a minute! Queen and country are one thing, but this is my house!” Eddie looks down and the flags in his hands, chucking them down, “What the… what the hell am I doing? Now you listen here, Doctor! You may have fancy qualifications, but what goes on under my roof is my business!”

I look at him, “All the people are being bundled into…” Eddie shouts, “I am talking!”

I stand, raising my voice louder than his, glaring at him as I pull his tie to make him eye level with me, “Now you listen here, and listen good, I will not tolerate being yelled at by a man who has no ruling over my life. You are staring into a deep dark pit of trouble if you don’t let us help.”

He’s shaken, so I continue, “So I’m ordering you, sir, to tell us what’s going on!”

He tries to think of something to say but is stopped by the sounds of banging coming from upstairs. We both look up.

“She won’t stop.” He speaks with a degree of fear.

The banging continues, louder this time, “She never stops.”

Tommy starts to speak in a slightly shaky voice. I let go of Eddie’s tie and turn to the boy.

“We started hearing stories, all ‘round the place. People who’ve changed. Families kept it secret ‘cause they were scared. The police started finding out. We don’t know how, no one does. They just… turn up, come to the door, and take ‘em. Any time of day or night.”

“Show us.”

“Gran? It’s Tommy.” He opens the door wider, allowing all of us to see inside the darkened room.

“‘S all right Gran, I’ve brought help.”

His gran is standing by the window, slowly moving toward us. Tommy steps further into the room and turns on the light.

She has no face, all the features are gone, and it’s smoothed over.

The Doctor peers at the blank face. I stand near him, Tommy and Rita are close together behind us, and Eddie remains completely outside the room.

“Her face is completely gone.” He scans her with the sonic screwdriver, “Scarcely an electrical impulse left. Almost a complete neural shutdown, she’s ticking over, like her brain has been… wiped clean.” He puts the sonic screwdriver away, but still examines her face.

“What’re we gonna do, Doctor? We can’t even feed her!”

We are interrupted by the crash of policemen entering the house.

“We’ve got company.”

“It’s them, they’ve come for her!”

“What was she doing before this happened? Where was she?”

Rita hesitates as the policemen clamber up the stairs.

“Tell me, quickly, think!” “I can’t think! She doesn’t leave the house! She was just…”

Tommy is cut off by the entrance of a big burly man and some supporting officers. 

The Doctor attempts to buy some time by talking.

Much to my horror, the man punches the Doctor in the face.

The men take the opportunity to throw a blanket over Tommy’s gran and usher her to the stairs. Everyone runs after them as I attempt to wake the Doctor.

He suddenly wakes up as if nothing happened, “Ah, hell of a right hook! Have to watch out for that!” He stands and bolts down the stairs.

The Doctor pushes past them and runs to the moped as I go down the stairs as fast as I can in my shoes.

I pause at the entrance of the living room, noticing red, buzzing tendrils of electricity coming out of the television. The Doctor calls for me again. The tendrils are absorbed back into the television, prompting me to move closer. I turn the television set around to see the red electricity still buzzing along the aerial, and a large label saying Magpie Electricals. 

Tommy, Rita, and Eddie come back into the living room.

“How’d they find her? Who told ‘em?”

Eddie notices me, “You! Get the hell out of my house!”

I get up, “I’m going, I’m done! Nice to meet you, Tommy, and Mrs. Connolly. And as for you, Mr. Connolly, only an idiot hangs the Union Flag upside-down. Shame on you!” I grin cheerfully before running out of the house.

I enter Magpie’s shop, where the man himself is adjusting a TV set on the counter.

He looks up nervously as I come in, “Oh, I, I’m sorry miss, I’m afraid you’re too late. I was just about to lock the door.”

I shut the door behind me, “Yeah? Well, I wanna buy a telly.”

“Come back tomorrow. Please.”

“You’ll be closed, won’t you?”

“What?”

“For the big day? The coronation…”

“Yes, yes, of course. The big day.” He tries to make me leave as I approach him, “I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to watch it. Please go.”

“Seems to me half of London’s got a television since you’re practically giving them away.”

“I have my reasons.” “And what are they?”

Before he can answer me, one of the televisions on display tunes itself, and a woman appears on the screen, “Hungry! Hungry!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s just a television. One of these modern programs. Now, I do think you should leave! Right now!”

“Not until you’ve told me. How come you’re televisions are so cheap?”

“It’s my patriotic duty. Seems only right that as many folks as possible get to watch the coronation. We may be losing the Empire but we can still be proud! Twenty million people they reckon’ll be watching! Imagine that!”

I smile, not convinced in the slightest.

“And twenty million people can’t be wrong, eh? So why don’t you get yourself back home and get up, bright and early, for the big day?”

“Nah. I’m not leaving ‘til I’ve seen everything.” “I need to close.” “Mr. Magpie, something’s happening out there. Ordinary people are struck down and changed and the only new thing in the house is a television. Your television. What’s going on?”

He gives up, “I knew this would happen. I knew I'd be found out.” He locks the door.

I look at him, uneasy, “All right, then, it's just you and me… Are you gonna come clean? What’s really in it for you?”

“For me? Perhaps some peace.”

“From what?”

“From Her.” He glances over at the television screen.

I follow his gaze, “That’s just a woman on the tv, that’s just a program.”

“What a pretty little girl.”

I stare at the screen, “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I am, little one. Unseasonably chilly for this time of year, don’t you think?”

“What are you?”

“I’m the Wire. And I’m hungry…!” She bares her teeth- pinkish-purplish bolts of electricity shoot out of the screen and encompass my face, sucking.

“Magpie, help me!”

His voice is muffled.

Everything goes black.

Suddenly I can see again, there are dozens of people surrounding me.

The policemen let us out and we go back to Florizel Street.

I spot the Doctor staring at me. I run to him as fast as I can and jump into his open arms.

We walk down the street, watching the people.

“Is that Wire lady trapped for good?”

“Hope so. Just to be on the safe side though, I’ll use my unrivaled knowledge of trans-temporal extirpation methods to neutralize the residual electronic pattern.”

I think for a moment, before hitting his arm, “Just say you’re gonna tape over it.”

“I’m surprised you understood that.”

“The Tardis has been giving me lessons in whatever gibberish you’re always on about.” I grin.

We stop in front of Tommy, “Tell you what Tommy, you can have the scooter. Little present. Best keep it in the garage for a few years though, eh?”

Tommy looks over the Doctor’s shoulder, “Good riddance.”

“Is that it then, Tommy? New monarch, new age, new world, no room for a man like Eddie Connelly.”

“That’s right. He deserves it.”

I can tell he almost means those words, so I nudge his shoulder, “Go after him.”

“What for?”

“He’s your dad.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“No duh. As I said, he’s your dad. But you’re clever. Clever enough to save the world so don’t stop there. Go on!” I nudge him again.

Tommy runs to join his dad. They walk side by side and Tommy takes his dad’s bag for him. They continue down the street together.

We watch them fondly from a distance. The Doctor hands me a glass of orange juice. We clink our glasses together, smiling.

[the-firebird69]

Halloween (1978) - IMDb

Tommy F wants to imitate Mac Mac needs his money to run the code and it looks like Lily might go out after the money every single Halloween movie with Michael Myers is filmed in California practically almost the whole series there's someone in Maine in New Hampshire but it's very rare and a few other places but no most of it's there and they leave Las Vegas and you can see her prepping to change it is an amazing TV program and these mutants that are occupying them are run by our father and mother and us and the highest level very mutable and they are the alpha

Yeah my husband can change what he looks like really fast and he's done it and nobody saw him in China for a while and yeah I really am trapped he says but you know I have nothing even though I'm killing all of you isn't really going to fit with my lifestyle so sick of hearing you slobs this whining f**** ass dead a****** and my husband says that about this c*** Gallagher he's a f****** huge p**** please get f***** too in the show

And yeah they dropped it on his dad and my husband lifted up and it was not planned he just said I need him to survive and we're going to use them and it worked out very well.

Hera he gets very angry like I do

Zues

We didn't plan to kill him they had wood there but once and let him know something this is how your son feels about you I thought that might be it but he doesn't really know for sure and sometimes he disagrees with us and shows us and we test it and we don't necessarily go through with what one person wants ever but we do allow testing really confuses you. I'm getting ready for my Las Vegas show and we do the show in Vegas and then leave just like you thought it's kind of where they start the movie off now it goes the other way in other words I think our son is correct it leaves Las Vegas and comes back but they fly over there as muto and they fly back into just to make it a little confusing they fly back is muto. Recording off the whole area they took the corpse and said you better stop disintegrating that or we're going to disintegrate you and said why I want to see what the weapon was so you can x-ray it and they started to question who he was and he left and it's not a monster he's just some idiot and caught up to him and arrested him and question him he said I wasn't aware of it and he lied just trying to capture them and he sucks at it there's tons of idiots like that and it's a Mac

Nuada Arrianna

[valeskakingdom]

Thanks a lot!

1. Kai Anderson (AHS)

2. Jerome Valeska (Gotham)

3. Felix (Animal Crossing)

4. Juice Ortiz (SoA)

5. Ian Gallagher (Shameless)

6. Bisaflor (Pokemon)

7. Tommy Shelby (Peaky Blinders)

8. Sasuke (Naruto)

9. Jeffrey Dahmer (Monster: A Jeffrey Dahmer Story)

@violentvaleska and anyone who wants

Tagged by @princiere to expose my favs from 10 different fandoms. I am indecisive. List is in no particular order.

1. Luigi (Super Mario)

2. Colton (Animal Crossing)

3. Sango & Koga (Inuyasha)

4. Giovanni Potage (Epithet Erased)

5. Riku (Kingdom Hearts)

6. Michelangelo (TMNT)

7. Phoenix Wright (Ace Attorney)

8. Xiao & Childe (Genshin Impact)

9. Armstrong (Fullmetal Alchemist)

10. Leon Kennedy & Ethan Winters (Resident Evil (games))

I am tagging @bi-casualpapayas and @the-random-internaut and whoever wants to join.

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi<3 okay i am finally writing the new kotss chapter, and once again here is a lil contemplative snippet of tumblr-drabble length as a preview for when i write the whole thing in a day or two!😌💜 (mostly bc i am feeling sleepy and sappy this morning about mickey’s growth and just. cannot get over it.)

hope u enjoy<3

--

He fucking loved the dog, okay?

When they were first waiting in that overly-bright room in the dog rescue center (or whatever the fuck it was called) with Ian sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, and Mickey had seen the bundle of fur with its paws hitting the ground, a scrawny puppy with a swollen belly and a protruding ribcage— he’d immediately known he was in trouble.

First, because there was no fucking way that Ian was going to let them leave this place without it, since he practically made heart-eyes the second the puppy stumbled its way over to him— and second, because Mickey was absolutely, totally sure that he was going to fuck this up. Even reading the fucking description on the website on Ian’s phone screen, “comes from a troubled past and needs a loving home,” made something twist in his gut— because how the fuck was Mickey supposed to provide something like that?

Mickey didn’t take care of shit like this, like fragile puppies or babies or anything he could mess up— and he especially didn’t let in anything more than he could handle losing, anything soft and helpless and innocent that he couldn’t let slip between his fingers on his own accord. He’d learned that shit early, when whatever whispers and soft traces of touches on his cheeks were ripped away by the pry of Terry’s calloused hands— when one day, when he was fifteen, he and Mandy and everyone else didn’t have a mom anymore. Losing his mom, losing his family after years on the road, even losing fucking Terry those now months ago; all of that shit compounded and pressed on the walls of his ribcage in a way that Mickey himself didn’t really understand, and apparently was oozing out of him in a fucking dog shelter as he stood there frozen, in the face of a helpless frame on wobbly legs with silky grey fur.

For some reason, even though he and Ian had been talking about the dog in the abstract for days now, something about seeing the dog scared him shitless— because taking care of shit was objectively scary, and Mickey was shit out of practice with it. He’d never been good, comfortable, at holding something fragile in his hands, something that he could mess up in a second with a slip of judgement. Mickey was great at getting shit done, but with something like this— well, honestly, he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself enough, to not make those split-second choices that Terry made, the ones that left cigarette burns on his sides and snapped his jaw out of place and left him with so many aching wounds that only became more dark and cavernous through the years.

I’m gonna fuck this up.

What if he got too mad and kicked the dog, what if he fed it the wrong shit and it withered away and became more frail than it already was, what if it ran away or got hit by a car or got fucking shot by a stray bullet in a shitty neighborhood? It felt scary to choose to care about something this fragile, to sign up for the loss and the ripping ache that would follow if Mickey overreacted or fucked something up or made a slip-second misstep. In the Milkovich family, loving was a liability— a promise that someone you cared about could get pummeled and bloodied and beaten in front of you, could get handcuffed and dragged upstate for months or years in the blink of an eye. When Mickey was fifteen, scratching “FUCK LOVE” and “STAY THE FUCK OUT” signs on pieces of cardboard with Sharpies he’d stolen from the dollar store, he’d made a promise to himself to harden himself against that weakness— against that loss.

And then, of course, freckle-faced chicken-legged Ian Gallagher showed up at his doorstep anyways.

So he’d let himself love Gallagher—and eventually he’d let himself love Franny after she plopped herself in his lap one day, wearing a princess tiara talking a mile a minute about monster trucks; and he didn’t even mind hanging out with Liam once in a while on those late nights in the Gallagher house, when Ian would be working a double shift and he and Liam flopped on opposite sides of the couch, watching shitty cartoons in a comfortable silence as the glow from the TV screen flickered on their faces.

But none of that felt like a choice—all of those people, those warm bodies to love, just fell into Mickey’s lap; so it wasn’t Mickey’s fault, really, if shit hit the fan. It wasn’t like he made the choice to love them in the first place— it just happened.

But adopting a dog (or having a fucking kid, like he knew Ian wanted)— that was a choice. That was telling something, someone, that you were ready to take care of them; that you were ready to lose everything when they inevitably got taken away, that you were ready to pour all of your fucked-up bullshit into someone and hope that you weren’t the reason why they turned out screwed up. It just seemed like too much; and in the face of the tiny fucking furball that Ian was cooing over as he sat cross-legged, Mickey’s immediate impulse was to keep his distance and tether himself into the linoleum floor miles away.

But of course Ian had done that fucking thing only he had the power to do, and melted whatever iron walls Mickey had soldered into place with a gentle Mick, d’you wanna pet her?— and of course the fucking dog had to nuzzle her goddamn tiny wet nose into Mickey’s hand, and give a too-trusting lick to his palm as she rolled over onto her back, exposing her vulnerable belly even after whatever fucking dog-fight bullshit she’d been through— and immediately Mickey couldn’t couldn’t see a timeline in which they didn’t wrap this fucking mutt up in a soft towel and take her home to the dog bed in their apartment and get her healthy on gourmet fucking dog food from a monogrammed tin bowl.

So even though it drove him fucking crazy that she was so fucking skinny, and the entire first night when she’d slept curled on the bed he kept waking up and googling the best dog foods and exercise regimens and refilling her water bowl at the kitchen sink like an obsessed fucking maniac— he really couldn’t help it.

Against every instinct, he’d chosen to love when he didn’t have to— and he was starting the realize that maybe that shit wasn’t a weakness.

**

“So, I hear you guys’ve got a new mascot.”

Tommy was ambling in the front door, right on the dot of their 2 P.M. opening time, with Kermit skittishly following a few paces behind him.

Ian rolled his eyes from behind the bar when he thought Mickey wasn’t looking (fucking traitor).

“Yeah, I think the whole neighborhood knows by now. Someone’s been a little too eager with the dog photos.”

Which— fuck that. So what if he fucking posted a few pictures of Baz to the mostly-defunct Alibi Facebook page that Kev had given them the login info to, some of which featured Baz wearing Mickey’s sunglasses when they were partway through a walk? Nobody needed to know that Mickey alone was behind that shit— Ian liked taking dog photos too, even though they were never as good as Mickey’s, and mostly just featured the moments Mickey was passed out on the couch with Baz sleeping on his chest.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Ian grinned and turned towards Mickey. “Nothin.’ Just nice to see that you’re growing into the whole dog parent thing. Though it is kind of turning into a stage mom thing.”

Mickey furrowed his brows. “Fuck you. The customers love her. It’s good for business.”

Ian held up his hands in surrender, still smirking—which just cause Mickey to shove him gently in his sternum.

“It’s not my fault Baz is the prettiest pit on the fucking Southside.”

In the corner of the bar, Baz was sitting on her cushion that they’d bought at a boujee pet store down the road, to keep downstairs at the Alibi so they could keep her other dog bed upstairs— and when Tommy and Kermit came into the room her ears immediately lifted, her tail twitching excitedly at the new faces. Tommy just gave a wary side-eyed glance to the dog pillow before plopping himself onto his usual stool, but Kermit nervously crouched beside the cushion and gave Baz’s chin a scratch.

“Ey! Paws off the princess until you drop some money on a beer, Kermit. I didn’t haul myself down to the empty bar on a Monday afternoon to watch you pet my fucking dog.”

Kermit shuffled to his usual seat beside Tommy at the end of the bar. “She’s cute. I didn’t realize pit bulls could be so scrawny.”

Baz was already filling out fast in the few days she’d been living with them; but it was true that she was still small and wiry for her age. Mickey made sure they got some sort of fresh dog food shit from the pet store that they had to keep in the refrigerator (even though Ian insisted kibble was fine, like a fucking cheapskate) to get her strength up, and he also got a bunch of fucking vitamins, like salmon oil and shit to make sure her coat was shiny—and yes, okay, maybe he also bought her a badass collar with spikes on it, and maybe he also dropped money on one of those engraved pet tags in the shape of a skull and crossbones that said “Bazooka Gallagher-Milkovich” on it with the Alibi’s address on it. He couldn’t fucking help it; they had a steady stream of cash coming in from crowded nights, they were planning on doing Ian’s karaoke shit once a month, and Mickey felt like they could afford to spend money on shit like this—like they could afford to do this right. And because of Mickey’s doting, even though Ian had started to take Baz for runs in the morning, it was no secret that she liked Mickey ever-so-slightly more than Ian; when they were laying in bed at night Baz would always hop up and curl into Mickey’s side and leave inches between her and Ian, causing a surprised chuckle to escape Mickey’s lips the first time it happened as he scratched behind her ears. Ian just stared at him, with some sappy fucking smile on his face.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

“Nothing. Just glad we took her home.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but felt a smile creeping onto his lips despite himself. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And I’m definitely not jealous of a dog right now.”

**

It was later in the evening and the bar was pretty empty, a standard for a Monday night— Mickey had been trying to train Baz to stay on her cushion now that she’d learned how to sit and lay down on command; much to the amusement of Tommy and Kermit, who kept fucking distracting her. If Mickey had his way, he’d train Baz to bark at Kermit whenever he said something stupid (the guy just got on his fucking nerves, what could he say)—but of course Baz had other plans once she realized Kermit was the one of the pair who would pet her, and kept nuzzling her head onto Kermit’s thigh and thumping her tail on the floor.

“I thought pit bulls were supposed to be vicious.”

“Fuck you, Kermit. That’s fucking… dog racist, or some shit.”

Kermit just meekly looked down at his half-empty beer glass, as Ian came in the front door from where he was bringing in the sandwich board from the curb, not expecting any more customers for the night. He reached down to ruffle Baz’s fur along the way.

“How’s our girl doing?”

“Pretty good. Once these assholes get out of here we can called it a night.”

Tommy scoffed at that. “Milkovich, we’re some of your most loyal customers— hell, we’re your only loyal customers. I think we deserve more than insults.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna go drink the day away somewhere else?”

Tommy faltered for a moment, and raised an eyebrow. “Touche.”

“Alright, bozos. Time to pack up. No one else is coming in tonight, we’ll see you tomorrow. Me and Ian have better shit to do.”

Tommy drained the last of his beer, placing a wad of one-dollar bills on the countertop and giving an exaggerated salute. “Until tomorrow, gentlemen.”

When they left the bar and the doors were locked, Ian’s shoulders started to shake with laughter. “Jesus. I never thought I’d be at a point in my life when I’m dependent on the consistent generosity of Tommy and Kermit, but here I am.”

“More like consistent alcoholism.”

Ian smirked, then flopped to sit on a barstool opposite the countertop from Mickey, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you fine taking Baz out? I’m kinda tired, wanna get a start on dinner.”

“Yeah, man. Works for me.”

They’d been living with each other in the Gallagher house for months, sure, but they were still new at doing this— at only accounting for each other’s schedules, at divvying up tasks like walking the dog and cooking dinner and doing fucking dishes rather than just coasting on someone like Debbie getting them by. Things were different now— things were settled and quiet, in a way that still made Mickey like he had to rub his eyes extra hard to clear them in the still, dark mornings in the apartment, like he wasn’t convinced this shit was real.

After dinner they sat cross-legged on their bed, watching a movie on Ian’s old beat-up laptop with Baz sitting between them and chewing on one of her toys that squeaked loudly every few seconds (this one was a stuffed animal in the shape of a police officer, because in Mickey’s own words at the pet store, “ACAB motherfucker”)— and later that night, wrapped in the smell of laundry soap on clean sheets and dog shampoo, Mickey slept easily.

Maybe this was something he could trust himself to hold on to.

[cardest]

Tennessee playlist

I’m going to Memphis! This is the mighty Tennessee - Memphis & Nashville playlist. You can’t tell the story of rock n roll without mentioning Memphis. Mississippi and Nashville, such a great history of music in this region. Chuck D hits things off with the ultimate introduction. Hit play here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1_X9nesbW37-9FNLiJWOQ1f

This playlist has it all. Soul, blues and rock n roll. We take a journey back to the beginning of country as well, with Nashville and finish up at Dollywood. Hope you dig it.

Tennessee - Mississippi - Arkansas

001 Henry Rollins & Chuck D - Rise Above 002 Clutch -  Devil & Me 003 Paul Simon - Graceland 004 Isaac Hayes - Memphis Trax 005 Scott Walker - Thats How I Got to Memphis 006 AC/DC - let there be rock 007 Johnny Cash -  Country Boy 008 Chuck Berry -  Back To Memphis 009 Jay Reatard - Gree, Money, Useless Children 010 Lukah - Black Dragon 011 King Curtis - Memphis Soul Stew 012 Rosetta Howard & the Harlem Hamfats - Delta Bound 013 Nots - In Glass 014 Pere Ubu - Memphis 015 Loretta Lynn - The Pill 016 Howlin Wolf - Smokestack Lightnin 017 Rory Gallagher - The Mississippi Sheiks 018 Crime and the City Solution - Streets Of West Memphis 019 River City Tanlines - Met You Before 020 Johnny Cash - Going To Memphis 021 Al Green - Get Back Baby 022 Kim Salmon & The Surrealists - The Zipper 023 Booker T & the MG - Melting Pot 024 Pussycat - Mississippi 025 Boswell Sisters - Roll On, Mississippi, Roll On 026 Aretha Franklin   - Muddy Water 027 The Cramps - Garbageman 028 HASH REDACTOR - Good Sense 029 Optic Sink - Personified 030 Angry Angles - Blockhead 031 Big Star - Thirteen 032 Memphis Jug Band -  Going Back to Memphis 033 North Mississippi AllStars - K.C. Jones (On The Road Again) 034 Bass Drum Of Death -  Bad Reputation 035 Today Is the Day -  The Devil's Blood 036 Walk the Line Soundtrack- Get Rhythm 037 Jack White -  Temporary Ground 038 Jerry Lee Lewis - A Damn Good Country Song 039 The Homemade Jamz Blues Band - Rumors 040 Saving Abel - Pine Mountain (The Dance of the Poor Proud Man) 041 The Oxford Circle - Foolish Woman 042 Bobbie Gentry - Greyhound Goin' Somewhere 043 Reigning Sound - A Little More Time 044 NINA SIMONE - MISSISSIPPI GODDAM! 045 Laurie Anderson - Hiawatha 046 Glen Campbell - Burning Bridges 047 Dolly Parton - Hillbilly Willy 048 Elvis Presley - Guitar Man 049 Blue Oyster Cult - Divine Wind 050 Sammy Hagar - Halfway To Memphis 051 Izzy Stradlin   - Memphis                       052 Johnny Cash -  Run Softly, Blue River 053 Iron Horse - Unchained 054 The Cramps - Human Fly 055 Faces - Memphis 056 Jack Oblivian - Rat City 057 The Cooters - Bustin' Loose 058 Mott the Hoople - All The Way From Memphis 059 Dusty Springfield -  Breakfast in Bed 060 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Tupelo 061 Chicago - Blues In The Night             062 Crossin Dixon - Guitar Slinger 063 Strummin' With The Devil - And the Cradle Will Rock 064 Stray Cats -  Can't Go Back to Memphis 065 Elvis Presley - Suspicious Minds 066 Suzi Quatro - Can't Trust Love 067 Lost Sounds - There's Nothing   068 Ike & Tina Turner ~ River Deep, Mountain High 069 Neil Diamond - Memphis Flyer 070 Julien Baker - hardline 071 The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion - Memphis Soul Typecast 072 Isaac Hayes  - Groove-A-Thon 073 Otis Clay - Trying To Live My Life Without You 074 Tim McGraw - Don't Mention Memphis 075 Eric Burdon & War - Blues For Memphis Slim 076 Homemade Jamz Blues Band - Blues Train 077 Sweet Knives - I DON'T WANNA DIE 078 Cream - Four Until Late 079 Grateful Dead - Golden Road 080 Huey Lewis and the  NEWS - Function At The Junction 081 The Cramps - I Was A Teenage Werewolf 082 Jesse Winchester_ The Brand New Tennessee Waltz 083 Dorsey Burnette - Tall Oak Tree 084 Field Music - Time In Joy 085 Jay Reatard -  Blood Visions 086 The Rolling Stones - Honky Tonk Women 087 Quintron & Miss Pussycat  - Block the comet 088 Al Green - Let's Stay Together 089 The Mountain Goats - Getting Into Knives 090 Johnny Cash -  Tennessee Flat Top Box 091 Robert Pete Williams & Robert “Guitar" J. Welch - Mississippi Heavy Water Blues 092 MARY JAMES - MAKE THE DEVIL LEAVE ME ALONE 093 Ministry - Mississippi Queen 094 U.S. Bombs - Rocks in Memphis 095 Nazareth - Jet Lag 096 The Bar-Kays - Holy Ghost 097 Ty Segall - Despoiler Of Cadaver 098 His Hero Is Gone - Like Weeds 099 Jerry Lee Lewis - Memphis Beat 100 Generation X =  King Rocker 101 The Doobie Brothers - Wild Ride 102 Bad Company - Whiskey Bottle 103 Black Stone Cherry - When The Weight Comes Down 104 Buddy Miles - Memphis Train 105 Memphis Slim - Rockin' The House (Beer Drinkin' Woman) 106 David Clayton Thomas  - Wish The World Would Come to Memphis 107 Lost Sounds - Better Than Somethings 108 Alice Cooper - Ubangi Stomp 109 Tom Waits -  Don't Go Into The Barn 110 Hank Snow - Music Makin' Mama From Memphis 111 Phil Ochs - Heres to the State of Misssippi 112 Reigning Sound  - Your Love Is A Fine Thing 113 Pixies -  Letter to Memphis 114 Bob Dylan - Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again 115 The Colorblind James Experience - Considering A Move To Memphis 116 B.B.King - Rock Me Baby 117 Carla Thomas - B-A-B-Y 118 Aquarian Blood - A Love That Leads To War 119 Nights Like These - Scavenger's Daughter 120 Rufus Thomas - Walking the Dog 121 Clutch -  The House That Peterbilt 122 Lyal Strickland - O Arkansas 123 Don Bryant - How Do I Get There 124 The Sensational Barnes Brothers - Trying To Go Home 125 Squirrel Nut Zippers - Memphis Exorcism 126 Faster Pussycat - Tattoo 127 The Rolling Stones - Memphis Tennessee 128 Alcatrazz -  Sons And Lovers 129 Evil Army - Violence And War 130 Deep Purple - Somebody Stole My Guitar (Purpendicular 11) 131 Dwight Yoakam - Guitars, Cadillacs 132 UFO - Natural Thing 133 Thunderbridge Bluegrass Boys - Tennessee 134 Confederate Railroad - Queen of Memphis 135 The Box Tops - The Letter 136 Jerry Lee Lewis - Night Train To Memphis 137 Reverend John Wilkins - Trouble 138 Phil Lynott - Kings Call (feat. Mark Knopfler) 139 Old Crow Medicine Show - Motel in Memphis 140 Candy Lee- Here in Arkansas 141 Pharoah Sanders - You've Got To Have Freedom 142 Molly Hatchet - Mississippi Moon Dog 143 Rwake - Crooked Rivers 144 CARL PERKINS & PAUL SIMON - A Mile Out Of Memphis 145 Eddie Floyd - Knock On Wood 146 Al Green - Talk to me 147 Mush - Eat the Etiquette 148 PJ Harvey - Memphis 149 EX-CULT  - Clinical Study 150 Isaac Hayes  - Mans Temptation 151 Lil’ Jon & Eastside Boyz - Rep Yo City 152 Rufus Wainwright - Memphis Skyline 153 Stray Cats - 18 Miles to Memphis 154 Amasa Hines - Earth and Sky 155 Joe Henderson -  Back Road 156 Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash - Memphis Woman 157 Norma Jean - Memphis Will Be Laid To Waste 158 Fess Parker - Ballad of Davy Crockett 159 Assjack -  Redneck Ride 160 Brother Andy & His Big Damn Mouth - Social Lube 161 The Replacements - Alex Chilton 162 Ann Peebles - The handwriting is on the wall 163 The Highwaymen -  Big River 164 The Cult - Memphis Hip Shake 165 STEVE EARLE -  Hillbilly Highway 166 The BO-KEYS featuring OTIS CLAY -Got To Get Back 167 Rush - Tom Sawyer 168 Class Of '55: Memphis Rock & Roll Homecoming - Birth Of Rock And Roll 169 Hank Williams Jr - Memphis Belle 170 Sam Moore & Dave Prater - Soul Man 171 Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark - Bloc Bloc Bloc 172 Kenny Rogers & The First Edition  - Just Dropped In 173 Linda Heck - pictures of dead people 174 Carla Thomas - Sugar 175 Three Mafia 6 - Mystic Stylez 176 Osborne Brothers- Rocky Top 177 The Beverly Hillbillies Theme Song 178 Wilson Pickett - Barefootin' 179 Dolly Parton - Jolene 180 Charlie Daniels - long haired country boy 181 The Civil Wars - From This Valley 182 Jill Jack - Gettin' On In Memphis (The Elvis Song) 183 Huckleberry Finn and His Friends - Opening title 184 Dead Cross -  Skin of a Redneck 185 Johnny Cash - I Never Picked Cotton 186 Old Crow Medicine Show -  Wagon Wheel 187 Isaac Hayes  - That love feeling 188 Aretha Franklin - I say a little prayer 189 Little Milton - What Do You Do When You Love Somebody 190 Howlin' Wolf - Spoonful 191 Weird Al" Yankovic - Money For Nothing / Beverly Hillbillies 192 The Oblivians - I'll Be Gone 193 OT Sykes - Stone crush on you 194 The Mad Lads  - Come closer to me 195 The Box Tops - Choo Choo train 196 Bobby Blue Bland - dreamer 197 Wanda Jackson - Rip It Up 198 Junior Parker - Love Ain't Nothin' but a Business Goin' On 199 The Nightingales ft. Tommy Tate - Just a Little Overcome 200  The Louvin Brothers - Satan is real 201 Overture "Big River" - (1985 Original Broadway Cast) 202 Ike & Tina Turner - Shake 203 Playa Fly - fly shit 204 Adia Victoria - Different Kind Of Love 205 Grateful Dead - Tennessee Jed 206 Red Hot Chili Peppers - Backwoods 207 Otis Redding - Tennessee Waltz 208 Nashville Pussy - The Late Great USA 209 The Paperhead - The true poet 210 Tomahawk - South Paw 211 Night Beats - Her Cold Cold Heart 212 Forest of Tygers - human monster 213 LOSS - All Grows on Tears 214 Charlie McCoy - Wayfaring Stranger 215 Dick Stusso - Modern Music 216 Eddie Noack - Aint the Reaping Ever Done 217 Jason & the Scorchers - Greetings From Nashville   218 Jasmin Kaset and Quichenight - A Single Right Word 219  Gospel Keynotes - Give Me My Flowers 220   WEEN - Scrape the Mucus off My Brain 221 Shannon Shaw - Broke My Own 222 The Jesus Lizard - Blue Shot 223 Eddy Arnold    - Tennessee Stud 224 Clutch - Pure Rock Fury 225 Today Is The Day -  Who Is The Black Angel? 226 Hank Williams Jnr - Tennessee River 227 The Dead Weather -  Bone House 228  Every Mother's Nightmare - Long Haired Country Boy 229 Motley Crue - She goes down 230 Waylon Jennings - Tennessee 231 Dolly Parton - Down On Music Row 232 Jello Biafra & Mojo Nixon - Lets Go Burn Ole Nashville Down 233 The Byrds - Nashville West 234 Sharon Van Etten - Every Time the Sun Comes Up 235 Bill Anderson ~ More Than A Bedroom Thing 236 Dottie West - Route 65 To Nashville 237 Intruder - The Martyr 238 Johnny Cash - Smiling Bill McCall 239 Lynard Skynyrd - Workin For MCA 240 The Everly Brothers  - Nashville Blues 241 Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood - Elusive Dreams 242 Nashville Bluegrass Band - Im Gonna Love You 243 Ringo Starr - No-No Song 244 Hank Williams - Hey, Good Lookin' 245 The Lovin Spoonful - Nashville Cats 246 They Might Be Giants - James K. Polk 247 Commander Cody  -  Back To Tennessee 248 Wanda Jackson - Shakin' All Over 249 Nitty Gritty Dirt Band - Grand Ole Opry Song 250 Tomahawk - Flashback 251 Megadeth -  Dystopia 252 Dolly Parton -  Train, Train 253 The Clovers - One Mint Julep 254 Trampled By Turtles - Whiskey 255 Tom T. Hall - Nashville is a Groovy Little Town 256 Muddy Waters - I am the blues 257 Foo Fighters - Congregation 258 Pavement - Strings Of Nashville 259 Joe Ely - Tennessees Not The State Im In 260 Waylon Jennings - Nashville Bum 261 The Charmels - As Long As I Got You 262 Eve Maret - Do my thing 263 SABATON - 82nd All the Way 264 Halfway To Hazard - Welcome To Nashville 265 Nashville Pussy - Go Motherfucker Go 266 Indigo Girls - Nashville 267 Snarls - Walk In The Woods 268 Steeler - Cold Day in Hell 269 Strummin' With The Devil  - Jamies Cryin' 270 spazz gummo love theme 271 The Cramps - Cornfed Dames 272 Saxon -  Solid Ball Of Rock 273 Al Green - Tired of Being Alone 274 Soul Friction - It's Out Of My Hands 275 Today Is the Day - Wheelin' 276 Jackie Lynn - Odessa 277 The Jesus Lizard - Nub 278 Bully - Where To Start 279 Sonny Boy Williamson II - Lonesome Cabin 280 Tomahawk - God hates a coward 281 The Louvin Brothers - Knoxville Girl 282 Tom Waits - Jitterbug Boys 283 The Evil Dead Soundtrack  - Bridge Out 284 Wanda Jackson - Thunder On The Mountain 285 Elvis Presley - Where Do I Go From Here 286 Booker T & the MGs - Back Home 287 Ezra Furman & the Harpoons - American Highway 288 Joe Ely - dream camera 289 Assjack - Tennessee Driver 290 Nashville Pussy  - We Want A War 291 Dwight Yoakam - A Thousand Miles From Nowhere 292 Hank Williams, Jr. - Knoxville Courthouse Blues 293 ZZ Top - My Head's in Mississippi 294 Nitty Gritty Dirt Band -  Honky Tonkin' 295 Dead Weather - Die by the Drop 296 The Black Belles - What can I do 297 Dolly Parton  - Cowgirl And The Dandy 298 The Secret Sisters  - I've Got a Feeling 299 Justin Townes Earle - Aint Got No Money 300 Tomahawk - M.E.A.T 301 Jex Thoth - The Places You Walk 302 Bill Carter - Road To Nowhere 303 Bill Dees (Roy Orbison back vocals) - Tennesse Owns My Soul 304 Karen Elson  - The Ghost Who Walks 305 The Who - Whiskey Man 306 Hank Williams III - Crazed Country Rebel 307 The Lost Sounds - I Get Nervous 308 Big Star - September Gurls 309 ZZ Top - Whiskey n Mama 310 Johnny Cash - God's Gonna Cut You Down 666 Isaac Hayes - Hyperbolicsyllablecsesquedalymistic

Hit play: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1_X9nesbW37-9FNLiJWOQ1f

[ritchieblackless]

Thank you so much @princessleiaqueen for this tag! I really love these ones...

Here's the link for doing this: (https://top7albums.com/)

•Rainbow Live At Monsters Of 1980= A HELL of an album... really great, Graham just killed it.

•Rory Gallagher, Tattoo= Such an album... I'm little obsessed/tired with this one because I'm learning the songs (trying) by hear so I have to listen to it many many maaaaany times.

•The Beatles, Anthology= I love this more than I love my life really IT'S BECAUSE THE SONGS OMG such a good songs and covers and *Wheezes* Stuart's bass... I can't choose a favourite track in this..

•The Who, by numbers: This is my favourite Who album... yes... this one. Many people would choose Quadrophenia, Tommy, Who's next but i really love this one. The songs are so soft and very accurate about all (at least for me) i really feel myself with this one.

•Buddy Holly, Lives: I mean, let's be honest, you can't get tired of listening Buddy Holly... such a talented guy goooooooosh he was the Fab Four in one man. Personally in love with Rave On.

•PETER GREEN'S (okay stop) Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac, Then Play On: Really groovy stuff and tasteful guitar solos and vocals and all I mean Oh Well is the sigle of this album so... what you expected? This is fantastic. And the fact that Man Of The World is, in fact, part of this era and kinda part of this album us just wholesome.

•Cozy Powell, Tilt: Okay.. I will say it I DISLIKED THIS ALBUM FIRST (Gosh, i don't know why I did that) But then I listened to it many times just for know why i didn't like it and I found that... I love it. IS AN AMAZING ALBUM, so versatile, you have a dark song, sung songs, instrumentals, Jeff Beck, ballads, funky, jazz-fussion-weird-thing and all..

Oh well, I tag: @thespiritofvexation @purplesmoke72 @quadraphonictypewriter @whossmashedguitar @missus-beastly @onstrangehighways @onlovestreetwithjimmorrison @candyandcurrantbun

[grigori77]

Movies of 2020 - My Pre-Summer Favourites (Part 2)

The Top Ten:

10.  TRUE HISTORY OF THE KELLY GANG – Justin Kurzel has been on my directors-to-watch list for a while now, each of his offerings impressing me more than the last (his home-grown Aussie debut, Snowtown, was a low key wallow in Outback nastiness, while his follow up, Macbeth, quickly became one of my favourite Shakespeare flicks, and I seem to be one of the frustrated few who actually genuinely loved his adaptation of Assassin’s Creed, considering it to be one the very best video game movies out there), and his latest is no exception – returning to his native Australia, he’s brought his trademark punky grit and fever-dream edginess to bear in his quest to bring his country’s most famous outlaw to the big screen in a biopic truly worthy of his name. Two actors bring infamous 19th Century bushranger Ned Kelly to life here, and they’re both exceptional – the earlier half of the film sees newcomer Orlando Schwerdt explode onto the screen as the child Ned, all righteous indignation and fiery stubbornness as he rails against the positions his family’s poverty continues to put him in, then George MacKay (Sunshine On Leith, Captain Fantastic) delivers the best performance of his career in the second half, a barely restrained beast as Ned grown, his mercurial turn bringing the man’s inherent unpredictability to the fore.  The Babadook’s Essie Davis, meanwhile, frequently steals the film from under both of them as Ellen, the fearsome matriarch of the Kelly clan, and Nicholas Hoult is similarly impressive as Constable Fitzpatrick, Ned’s slimily duplicitous friend/nemesis, while there are quality supporting turns from Charlie Hunnam and Russell Crowe as two of the most important men of Ned’s formative years.  In Kurzel’s hands, this account of Australia’s greatest true-life crime saga becomes one of the ultimate marmite movies – its glacial pace, grubby intensity and frequent brutality will turn some viewers off, but fans of more “alternative” cinema will find much to enjoy here.  There’s a blasted beauty to its imagery (this is BY FAR the bleakest the Outback’s ever looked on film), while the screenplay from relative unknown Shaun Grant (adapting Peter Carey’s bestselling novel) is STRONG, delivering rich character development and sublime dialogue, and Kurzel delivers some brilliantly offbeat and inventive action beats in the latter half that are well worth the wait.  Evocative, intense and undeniable, this has just the kind of irreverent punk aesthetic that I’m sure the real life Ned Kelly would have approved of …

9.  JUST MERCY – more true-life cinema, this time presenting an altogether classier account of two idealists’ struggle to overturn horrific racial injustices in Alabama. Writer-director Destin Daniel Cretton (Short Term 12, The Glass Castle) brings heart, passion and honest nobility to the story of fresh-faced young lawyer Bryan Stevenson (Michael B. Jordan) and his personal crusade to free Walter “Johnny D” McMillan (Jamie Foxx), an African-American man wrongfully sentenced to death for the murder of a white woman.  His only ally is altruistic young paralegal Eva Ansley (Cretton’s regular screen muse Brie Larson), while the opposition arrayed against them is MAMMOTH – not only do they face the cruelly racist might of the Alabama legal system circa 1989, but a corrupt local police force determined to circumvent his efforts at every turn and a thoroughly disinterested prosecutor, Tommy Chapman (Rafe Spall), who’s far too concerned with his own personal political ambitions to be any help.  The cast are uniformly excellent, Jordan and Foxx particularly impressing with career best performances that sear themselves deep into the memory, while there’s a truly harrowing supporting turn from Rob Morgan as Johnny D’s fellow Death Row inmate Herbert, whose own execution date is fast approaching.  This is courtroom drama at its most gripping, Cretton keeping the inherent tension cranked up tight while tugging hard on our heartstrings for maximum effect, and the result is a timely, racially-charged throat-lumper of considerable power and emotional heft that guarantees there won’t be a single dry eye in the house by the time the credits roll.  Further proof, then, that Destin Daniel Cretton is one of those rare talents of his generation – next up is his tour of duty in the MCU with Shang-Chi & the Legend of the Ten Rings, and if this seems like a strange leftfield turn given his previous track record, I nevertheless have the utmost confidence in him after seeing this …

8.  UNDERWATER – at first glance, this probably seems like a strange choice for the year’s current Top Ten – a much-maligned, commercially underperforming glorified B-movie creature-feature headlined by the former star of the Twilight franchise, there’s no way that could be any good, surely?  Well hold your horses, folks, because not only is this very much worth your time and a comprehensive suspension of your low expectations, but I can’t even consider this a guilty pleasure – as far as I’m concerned this is a GENUINELY GREAT FILM, without reservation.  The man behind the camera is William Eubank, a director whose career I’ve been following with great interest since his feature debut Love (a decidedly oddball but strangely beautiful little space movie) and its more high profile but still unapologetically INDIE follow-up The Signal, and this is the one where he finally delivers wholeheartedly on all that wonderful sci-fi potential.  The plot is deceptively simple – an industrial conglomerate has established an instillation drilling right down to the very bottom of the Marianas Trench, the deepest point in our Earth’s oceans, only for an unknown disaster to leave six survivors from the operation’s permanent crew stranded miles below the surface with very few escape options left – but Eubank and writers Brian Duffield (Jane Got a Gun, Insurgent) and Adam Cozad (The Legend of Tarzan) wring all the possible suspense and fraught, claustrophobic terror out of the premise to deliver a piano wire-tense horror thriller that grips from its sudden start to a wonderfully cathartic climax.  The small but potent cast are all on top form, Vincent Cassel, Jessica Henwick (Netflix’ Iron Fist) and John Gallagher Jr. (Hush, 10 Cloverfield Lane) particularly impressing, and even the decidedly hit-and-miss T.J. Miller delivers a surprisingly likeable turn here, but it’s that Twilight alumnus who REALLY sticks in your memory here – Kristen Stewart’s been doing a pretty good job lately distancing herself from the role that, unfortunately, both made her name and turned her into an object of (rather unfair) derision for many years, but in my opinion THIS is the performance that REALLY separates her from Bella effing-Swan.  Mechanical engineer Norah Price is tough, ingenious and fiercely determined, but with the right amount of vulnerability that we really root for her, and Stewart acts her little heart out in a turn sure to win over her strongest detractors. The creature effects are impressive too, the ultimate threat proving some of the nastiest, most repulsively icky creations I’ve seen committed to film, and the inspired design work and strong visual effects easily belie the film’s B-movie leanings.  Those made uneasy by deep, dark open water or tight, enclosed spaces should take heed that this can be a tough watch, but anyone who likes being scared should find plenty to enjoy here.  Altogether a MUCH better film than its mediocre Rotten Tomatoes rating makes it out to be …

7.  ONWARD – Disney and Pixar’s latest digitally animated family feature clearly has a love of tabletop fantasy roleplay games like Dungeons & Dragons, its quirky modern-day AU take populated by fantastical races and creatures seemingly tailor-made for the geek crowd … needless to say, me and many of my friends absolutely loved it. That doesn’t mean that the classic Disney ideals of love, family and believing in yourself have been sidelined in favour of fan-service – this is as heartfelt, affecting and tearful as their previous standouts, albeit with plenty of literal magic added to the metaphorical kind.  The central premise is a clever one – once upon a time, magic was commonplace, but over the years technology came along to make life easier, so that in the present day the various races (elves, centaurs, fauns, pixies, goblins and trolls among others) get along fine without it.  Then timid elf Ian Lightfoot (Tom Holland) receives a wizard’s staff for his sixteenth birthday, a bequeathed gift from his father, who died before he was born, with instructions for a spell that could bring him back to life for one whole day.  Encouraged by his brash, over-confident wannabe adventurer elder brother Barley (Chris Pratt), Ian tries it out, only for the spell to backfire, leaving them with the animated bottom half of their father and just 24 hours to find a means to restore the rest of him before time runs out.  Cue an “epic quest” … needless to say, this is another top-notch offering from the original masters of the craft, a fun, affecting and thoroughly infectious family-friendly romp with a winning sense of humour and inspired, flawless world-building.  Holland and Pratt are both fantastic, their odd-couple chemistry effortlessly driving the story through its ingenious paces, and the ensuing emotional fireworks are hilarious and heartbreaking in equal measure, while there’s typically excellent support from Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine from Seinfeld) as Ian and Barley’s put-upon but supportive mum, Laurel, Octavia Spencer as once-mighty adventurer-turned-restaurateur “Corey” the Manticore and Mel Rodriguez (Getting On, The Last Man On Earth) as overbearing centaur cop (and Laurel’s new boyfriend) Colt Bronco.  The film marks the sophomore feature gig for Dan Scanlon, who debuted with 2013’s sequel Monsters University, and while that was enjoyable enough I ultimately found it non-essential – no such verdict can be levelled against THIS film, the writer-director delivering magnificently in all categories, while the animation team have outdone themselves in every scene, from the exquisite world-building and character/creature designs to some fantastic (and frequently delightfully bonkers) set-pieces, while there’s a veritable riot of brilliant RPG in-jokes to delight geekier viewers (gelatinous cube! XD).  Massive, unadulterated fun, frequently hilarious and absolutely BURSTING with Disney’s trademark heart, this is currently (and deservedly) my animated feature of the year.  It’s certainly gonna be a tough one to beat …

6.  THE GENTLEMEN – Guy Ritchie’s been having a rough time with his last few movies (The Man From UNCLE didn’t do too bad but it wasn’t exactly a hit and was largely overlooked or simply ignored critically, while intended franchise-starter King Arthur: Legend of the Sword was largely derided and suffered badly on release, dying a quick death financially – it’s a shame on both counts, because I really liked them), so it’s nice to see him having some proper success with his latest, even if he has basically reverted to type to do it.  Still, when his newest London gangster flick is THIS GOOD it seems churlish to quibble – this really is what he does best, bringing together a collection of colourful geezers and shaking up their status quo, then standing back and letting us enjoy the bloody, expletive-riddled results. This particularly motley crew is another winning selection, led by Matthew McConaughey as ruthlessly successful cannabis baron Mickey Pearson, who’s looking to retire from the game by selling off his massive and highly lucrative enterprise for a most tidy sum (some $400,000,000 to be precise) to up-and-coming fellow American ex-pat Matthew Berger (Succession’s Jeremy Strong, oozing sleazy charm), only for local Chinese triad Dry Eye (Crazy Rich Asians’ Henry Golding, chewing the scenery with enthusiasm) to start throwing spanners into the works with the intention of nabbing the deal for himself for a significant discount.  Needless to say Mickey’s not about to let that happen … McConaughey is ON FIRE here, the best he’s been since Dallas Buyers Club in my opinion, clearly having great fun sinking his teeth into this rich character and Ritchie’s typically sparkling, razor-witted dialogue, and he’s ably supported by a uniformly excellent ensemble cast, particularly co-star Charlie Hunnam as Mickey’s ice-cold, steel-nerved right-hand-man Raymond Smith, Downton Abbey’s Michelle Dockery as his classy, strong-willed wife Rosalind, Colin Farrell as a wise-cracking, quietly exasperated MMA trainer and small-time hood simply known as the Coach (who gets many of the film’s best lines), and, most notably, Hugh Grant as the film’s nominal narrator, thoroughly morally bankrupt private investigator Fletcher, who consistently steals the film.  This is Guy Ritchie at his very best – a twisty rug-puller of a plot that constantly leaves you guessing, brilliantly observed and richly drawn characters you can’t help loving in spite of the fact there’s not a single hero among them, a deliciously unapologetic, politically incorrect sense of humour and a killer soundtrack.  It got the cinematic year off to a cracking start, and looks set to stay high in the running for the remainder – it’s EASILY Ritchie’s best film since Sherlock Holmes, and a strong call-back to the heady days of Snatch (STILL my favourite) and Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels.  Here’s hoping he’s on a roll again, eh?

5.  THE INVISIBLE MAN – looks like third time’s a charm for Leigh Whannell, writer-director of my current horror movie of the year – while he’s had immense success as a horror writer over the years (co-creator of both the Saw and Insidious franchises), as a director his first two features haven’t exactly set the world alight, with debut Insidious: Chapter III garnering similar takes to the rest of the series but ultimately turning out to be a bit of a damp squib quality-wise, while his second feature Upgrade was a stone-cold masterpiece that was (rightly) EXTREMELY well received critically, but ultimately snuck in under the radar and has remained a stubbornly hidden gem since.  No such problems with his third feature, though – his latest collaboration with producer Jason Blum and his insanely lucrative Blumhouse Pictures has proven a massive hit both financially AND with reviewers, and deservedly so.  Having given up on trying to create a shared cinematic universe inhabited by their classic monsters, Universal have resolved to concentrate on standalones to showcase their elite properties, and their first try is a rousing success, Whannell bringing HG Wells’ dark and devious human monster smack into the 21st Century as only he can.  The result is a surprisingly subtle piece of work, much more a lethally precise exercise in cinematic sleight of hand and extraordinary acting than flashy visual effects, very much adhering to the Blumhouse credo of maximum returns for minimum bucks as the story is stripped right back to its bare essentials and allowed to play out without any unnecessary weight.  The Handmaid’s Tale’s Elizabeth Moss once again confirms what a masterful actress she is as she brings all her performing weapons to bear in the role of Cecelia “Cee” Kass, the cloistered wife of affluent but monstrously abusive optics pioneer Aidan Griffin (Netflix’ The Haunting of Hill House’s Oliver Jackson-Cohen), who escapes his clutches in the furiously tense opening sequence and goes to ground with the help of her closest childhood friend, San Francisco cop James Lanier (Leverage’s Aldis Hodge) and his teenage daughter Sydney (A Wrinkle in Time’s Storm Reid).  Two weeks later, Aidan commits suicide, leaving Cee with a fortune to start her life over (with the proviso that she’s never ruled mentally incompetent), but as she tries to find her way in the world again little things start going wrong for her, and she begins to question if there might be something insidious going on.  As her nerves start to unravel, she begins to suspect that Aidan is still alive, still very much in her life, fiendishly toying with her and her friends, but no-one can see him.  Whannell plays her paranoia up for all it’s worth, skilfully teasing out the scares so that, just like her friends, we begin to wonder if it might all in her head after all, before a spectacular mid-movie reveal throws the switch into high gear and the true threat becomes clear.  The lion’s share of the film’s immense success must of course go to Moss – her performance is BEYOND a revelation, a truly blistering career best turn that totally powers the whole enterprise, and it almost goes without saying that she’s the best thing in this.  Even so, she has sterling support from Hodge and Reid, as well as Love Child’s Harriet Dyer as Cee’s estranged big sister Emily and Wonderland’s Michael Dorman as Adrian’s slimy, spineless lawyer brother Tom, and, while he doesn’t have much actual (ahem) “screen time”, Jackson-Cohen delivers a fantastically icy, subtly malevolent turn which casts a large “shadow” over the film.  This is one of my very favourite Blumhouse films, a pitch-perfect psychological chiller that keeps the tension cranked up unbearably tight and never lets go, Whannell once again displaying uncanny skill with expert jump-scares, knuckle-whitening chills and a truly astounding standout set-piece that looks set to go down as one of the year’s top action sequences.  Undoubtedly the best version of Wells’ story to date, this goes a long way in repairing the damage of Universal’s abortive “Dark Universe” efforts, as well as showcasing a filmmaking master at the very height of his talents.

4.  EXTRACTION – the Coronavirus certainly has thrown a massive spanner in the works of this year’s cinematic calendar – the new A Quiet Place sequel should have been setting the big screen alight for almost two months now, while the latest (and most long-awaited) MCU movie, Black Widow, should have just opened to further record-breaking box office success, but instead the theatres are all closed and virtually all the big blockbusters have been pushed back or shelved indefinitely. Thank God, then, for the streaming services, particularly Hulu, Amazon and Netflix, the latter of which provided a perfect movie for us to see through the key transition from spring to the summer blockbuster season, an explosively flashy big budget action thriller ushered in by MCU alumni the Russo Brothers (who produced and co-wrote this adaptation of Ciudad, a graphic novel that Joe Russo co-created with Ande Parks and Fernando Leon Gonzalez) and barely able to contain the sheer star-power wattage of its lead, Thor himself.  Chris Hemsworth plays Tyler Rake, a former Australian SAS operative who hires out his services to an extraction operation, under the command of mercenary Nik Khan (The Patience Stone’s Golshifteh Farahani), brought in to liberate Ovi Mahajan (Rudhraksh Jaiswal in his first major role), the pre-teen son of incarcerated Indian crime lord Ovi Sr. (Pankaj Tripathi), who has been abducted by Bangladeshi rival Amir Asif (Priyanshu Painyuli).  The rescue itself goes perfectly, but when the time comes for the hand-off the team is double-crossed and Tyler is left stranded in the middle of Dhaka with no choice but to keep Ovi alive as every corrupt cop and street gang in the city closes in around them.  This is the feature debut of Sam Hargrave, the latest stuntman to try his hand at directing, so he certainly knows his way around an action sequence, and the result is a thoroughly breathless adrenaline rush of a film, bursting at the seams with spectacular fights, gun battles and car chases, dominated by a stunning sustained action sequence that plays out in one long shot, guaranteed to leave jaws lying on the floor.  Not that there should be any surprise – Hargrave cut his teeth as a stunt coordinator for the Russos on Captain America: Civil War and their Avengers films.  That said, he displays strong talent for the quieter disciplines of filmmaking too, delivering quality character development and drawing out consistently noteworthy performances from his cast.  Of course, Hemsworth can do the action stuff in his sleep, but there’s a lot more to Tyler than just his muscle, the MCU veteran investing him with real wounded vulnerability and a tragic fatalism which colours his every scene, while Jaiswal is exceptional throughout, showing plenty of promise for the future, and there’s strong support from Farahani and Painyuli, as well as Stranger Things’s David Harbour as world-weary retired merc Gaspard, and a particularly impressive, muscular turn from Randeep Hooda (Once Upon a Time in Mumbai) as Saju, a former Para and Ovi’s bodyguard, who’s determined to take possession of the boy himself, even if he has to go through Tyler to get him.  This is action cinema that really deserves to be seen on the big screen – I watched it twice in a week and would happily have paid for two trips to the cinema for it if I could have.  As we look down the barrel of a summer season largely devoid of big blockbuster fare, I can’t recommend this film enough.  Thank the gods for Netflix …

3.  PARASITE – I’ve been a fan of master Korean filmmaker Bong Joon-ho ever since I stumbled across his deeply weird but also thoroughly brilliant breakthrough feature The Host, and it’s a love that’s deepened since thanks to the truly magnificent sci-fi actioner Snowpiercer, so I was looking forward to his latest feature as much as any movie geek, but even I wasn’t prepared for just what a runaway juggernaut of a hit this one turned out to be, from the insane box office to all that award-season glory (especially that undeniable clean-sweep at the Oscars). I’ll just come out and say it, this film deserves it all.  It’s EASILY Bong’s best film to date (which is really saying something), a masterful social satire and jet black comedy that raises some genuinely intriguing questions before delivering some deeply troubling answers.  Straddling the ever-widening gulf between a disaffected idle rich upper class and impoverished, struggling lower class in modern-day Seoul, it tells the story of the Kim family – father Ki-taek (Bong’s veritable good luck charm Song Kang-ho), mother Chung-sook (Jang Hye-jin), son Ki-woo (Train to Busan’s Choi Woo-shik) and daughter Ki-jung (The Silenced’s Park So-dam) – a poor family living in a run-down basement apartment who live hand-to-mouth in minimum wage jobs and can barely rub two cents together, until they’re presented with an intriguing opportunity.  Through happy chance, Ki-woon is hired as an English tutor for Park Da-hye (Jung Ji-so), the daughter of a wealthy family, which offers him the chance to recommend Ki-jung as an art tutor to the Parks’ troubled young son, Da-song (Jung Hyeon-jun).  Soon the rest of the Kims are getting in on the act, the young Kims contriving opportunities for their father to replace Mr Park’s chauffeur and their mother to oust the family’s long-serving housekeeper, Gook Moon-gwang (Lee Jung-eun), and before long their situation has improved dramatically.  But as they two families become more deeply entwined, cracks begin to show in their supposed blissful harmony as the natural prejudices of their respective classes start to take hold, and as events spiral out of control a terrible confrontation looms on the horizon.  This is social commentary at its most scathing, Bong drawing on personal experiences from his youth to inform the razor-sharp script (co-written by his production assistant Han Jin-won), while he weaves a palpable atmosphere of knife-edged tension throughout to add spice to the perfectly observed dark humour of the situation, all the while throwing intriguing twists and turns at us before suddenly dropping such a massive jaw-dropper of a gear-change that the film completely turns on its head, to stunning effect.  The cast are all thoroughly astounding, Song once again dominating the film with a turn which is at once sloppy and dishevelled but also poignant and heartfelt, while there are particularly noteworthy turns from Lee Sun-kyun as the Parks’ self-absorbed patriarch Dong-ik and Choi Yeo-jeong (The Concubine) as his flighty, easily-led wife Choi Yeon-gyo, as well as a fantastically weird appearance in the latter half from Park Myung-hoon.  This is heady stuff, dangerously seductive even as it becomes increasingly uncomfortable viewing, so that even as the screws tighten and everything goes to hell it’s simply impossible to look away.  Bong Joon-ho really has surpassed himself this time, delivering an existential mind-scrambler that lingers long after the credits have rolled and might even have you questioning your place in society once you’ve thought about it some. It deserves every single award and every ounce of praise it’s been lavished with so far, and looks set to go down as one of the true cinematic greats of this new decade.  Trust me, if this was a purely critical best-of list it’d be RIGHT AT THE TOP …

2.  1917 – it’s a rare thing for a film to leave me truly shell-shocked by its sheer awesomeness, for me to walk out of a cinema in a genuine daze, unable to talk or even really think about much of anything for a few hours because I’m simply marvelling at what I’ve just witnessed.  Needless to say, when I do find a film like that (Fight Club, Inception, Mad Max: Fury Road) it usually earns a place very close to my heart indeed.  The latest tour-de-force from Sam Mendes is one of those films – an epic World War I thriller that plays out ENTIRELY in one shot, which doesn’t simply feel like a glorified gimmick or stunt but instead is a genuine MASTERPIECE of a film, a mesmerising journey of emotion and imagination in a shockingly real environment that it’s impossible to tear your eyes away from.  Sure, Mendes has impressed us before – his first film, American Beauty, is a GREAT movie, one of the most impressive feature debuts of the 2000s, while Skyfall is, in my opinion, quite simply THE BEST BOND FILM EVER MADE – but this is in a whole other league.  It’s an astounding achievement, made all the more impressive when you realise that there’s very little trickery at play here, no clever digital magic (just some augmentation here and there), it’s all real locations and sets, filmed in long, elaborately choreographed takes blended together with clever edits to make it as seamless as possible – it’s not the first film to try to do this (remember Birdman? Bushwick?), but I’ve never seen it done better, or with greater skill. But it’s not just a clever cinematic exercise, there’s a genuine story here, told with guts and urgency, and populated by real flesh and blood characters – the heart of the film is George MacKay and Dean Chapman (probably best known as Tommen Baratheon in Game of Thrones) as Lance Corporals Will Schofield and Tom Blake, the two young tommies sent out across enemy territory on a desperate mission to stop a British regiment from rushing headlong into a German trap (Tom himself has a personal stake in this because his brother is an officer in the attack).  They’re a likeable pair, very human and relatable throughout, brave and true but never so overly heroic that they stretch credibility, so when tragedy strikes along the way it’s particularly devastating; both deliver exceptional performances that effortlessly carry us through the film, and they’re given sterling support from a selection of top-drawer British talent, from Sherlock stars Andrew Scott and Benedict Cumberbatch to Mark Strong and Colin Firth, each delivering magnificently in small but potent cameos.  That said, the cinematography and art department are the BIGGEST stars here, masterful veteran DoP Roger Deakins (The Shawshank Redemption, Blade Runner 2049 and pretty much the Coen Brothers’ entire back catalogue among MANY others) making every frame sing with beauty, horror, tension or tragedy as the need arises, and the environments are SO REAL it feels less like production design than that someone simply sent the cast and crew back in time to film in the real Northern France circa 1917 – from a nightmarish trek across No Man’s Land to a desperate chase through a ruined French village lit only by dancing flare-light in the darkness before dawn, every scene is totally immersive and simply STUNNING.  I don’t think it’s possible for Mendes to make a film better than this, but I sure hope he gives it a go all the same.  Either way, this is the most incredible, exhausting, truly AWESOME experience I’ve had at the cinema this year (so far) – it’s a film that DESERVES to be seen on the big screen, and I feel truly sorry for those who missed the chance …

1.  BIRDS OF PREY & THE FANTABULOUS EMANCIPATION OF ONE HARLEY QUINN – the only reason 1917 isn’t at number one right now is because Warner Bros.’ cinematic DC Extended Universe project FINALLY got round to bringing my favourite DC Comics title to the big screen.  It’s been the biggest pleasure of my cinematic year so far getting to see my top DC superheroines brought to life on the big screen, and it’s been done in high style, in my opinion THE BEST of the DCEU films to date (yup, I loved it EVEN MORE than Wonder Woman).  It was also great seeing Harley Quinn return after her show-stealing turn in David Ayer’s clunky but ultimately still hugely enjoyable Suicide Squad, better still that this time round they got her SPOT ON this time – this is the Harley I’ve always loved in the comics, unpredictable, irreverent and entirely without regard for what anyone else thinks of her, as well as one hell of a talented psychiatrist.  Margot Robbie once more excels in the role she was basically BORN to play, clearly relishing the chance to finally do Harley justice, and she’s a total riot from start to finish, infectiously lovable no matter what crazy, sometimes downright REPRIHENSIBLE antics she gets up to.  Needless to say she’s the nominal star here, her latest ill-advised adventure driving the story – finally done with the Joker and itching to make her emancipation official, Harley publicly announces their breakup by blowing up Ace Chemicals (their love spot, basically), inadvertently painting a target on her back in the process since she’s no longer under the supposed protection of Gotham’s feared Clown Prince of Crime – but that doesn’t mean she eclipses the other main players the movie’s REALLY supposed to be about. Each member of the Birds of Prey is beautifully written and brought to vivid, arse-kicking life by what has to be the year’s most exciting cast – Helena Bertinelli, aka the Huntress, is the perfect character for Mary Elizabeth Winstead to finally pay off on that action heroine potential she showed in Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but this is a MUCH more enjoyable role outside of the fight choreography because while Helena may be a world-class dark avenger, socially she’s a total dork, which just makes her thoroughly adorable; Rosie Perez is similarly perfect casting as Renee Montoya, the uncompromising pint-sized Gotham PD detective who kicks against the corrupt system no matter what kind of trouble it gets her into, and just gets angrier all the time, paradoxically making us like her even more; and then there’s the film’s major controversy, at least as far as the fans are concerned, namely one Cassandra Cain.  Sure, this take is VERY different from the comics’ version (a nearly mute master assassin who went on to become the second woman to wear the mask of Batgirl before assuming her own crime-fighting  mantle as Black Bat and now Orphan), but personally I like to think this is simply Cass at THE VERY START of her origin story, leaving plenty of time for her to discovery her warrior origins when the DCEU gets around to introducing Lady Shiva (personally I want Michelle Yeoh to play her, but that’s just me) – anyways, here she’s a skilled child pickpocket whose latest theft inadvertently sets off the larger central plot, and newcomer Ella Jay Basco brings a fantastic pre-teen irreverence and spiky charm to the role, beautifully playing against Robbie’s mercurial energy.  My favourite here BY FAR, however, is Dinah Lance, aka the Black Canary (not only my favourite Bird of Prey but my very favourite DC superheroine PERIOD), the choice of up-and-comer Jurnee Smollet-Bell (Friday Night Lights, Underground) proving to be the film’s most truly inspired casting – a club singer with the metahuman ability to emit piercing supersonic screams, she’s also a truly ferocious martial artist (in the comics she’s one of the very best fighters IN THE WORLD), as well as a wonderfully pure soul you just can’t help loving, and it made me SO UNBELIEVABLY HAPPY that they got my Canary EXACTLY RIGHT.  Altogether they’re a fantastic bunch, basically my perfect superhero team, and the way they’re all brought together (along with Harley, of course) is beautifully thought out and perfectly executed … they’ve also got one hell of a threat to overcome, namely Gotham crime boss Roman Sionis, aka the Black Mask, one of the Joker’s chief rivals – Ewan McGregor brings his A-game in a frustratingly rare villainous turn (currently my number one bad guy for the movie year), a monstrously narcissistic, woman-hating control freak with a penchant for peeling off the faces of those who displease him, sharing some exquisitely creepy chemistry with Chris Messina (The Mindy Project) as Sionis’ nihilistic lieutenant Victor Zsasz. This is about as good as superhero cinema gets, a perfect example of the sheer brilliance you get when you switch up the formula to create something new, an ultra-violent, unapologetically R-rated middle finger to the classic tropes, a fantastic black comedy thrill ride that’s got to be the most full-on feminist blockbuster yet – it’s helmed by a woman (Dead Pigs director Cathy Yan), written by a woman (Bumblebee’s Christina Hodson), produced by more women and ABOUT a bunch of badass women magnificently triumphing over toxic masculinity in all its forms.  It’s also simply BRILLIANT – the cast are all clearly having a blast, the action sequences are first rate (the spectacular GCPD evidence room fight in which Harley gets to REALLY cut loose is the undisputable highlight), it has a gleefully anarchic sense of humour and is simply BURSTING with phenomenal homages, references and in-jokes for the fans (Bruce the hyena! Stuffed beaver! Roller derby!).  It’s also got a killer soundtrack, populated almost exclusively by numbers from female artists.  Altogether, then, this is the VERY BEST the DCEU has to offer to date (Wonder Woman 1984 has got a MAJOR job ahead of it beating this one), and my absolute FAVOURITE film of 2020 (so far).  Give it all the love you can, it sure as hell deserves it.

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Ian and Mickey are Husbands!

I took a while to even talk about this episode because I was so overwhelmed. I needed time to process everything!

To start off, I have no complaints! The only thing is, it would’ve been great if Mandy, Iggy and Fiona were there. But that’s something we already knew wasn’t gonna happen, so I chose not to let that make me mad. I already had time to be angry about it before this episode.

Please excuse the ramblings of a mad women but I’m sure you understand, as I know you’re freaking out just as much as I am! Looking at you @luckyshazmrsmonaghansblog! I want this episode playing on a loop wherever I go forever! Even at my grave! For once I didn’t need to fast forward to get to their scenes! I usually try not to during the first watch, but I won’t have to even when I watch it again, which I already have.

Immediately starting off with how I love that everyone was worried about Ian taking his meds because it’s going to be a stressful day for him. It wasn’t overbearing or accusatory, it was genuine care and concern for Ian’s well being on his and Mickey’s big day. This is the love and attention Ian has always deserved from his family!

Carl asked the question we’ve all been asking! Where is Mickey getting the money for this wedding? Liam killed me with his response to Ian. “Hmph. Savings?” Like, yeah right. Oh Mickey you adorable man. He’s fucking stealing money on his own to pay for his wedding. I fucking love him so much!

I know people will hate that he was doing this and probably complain about it, but as long as he didn’t get caught, I’m fine. These characters have grown and changed, but they haven’t changed that much. Let’s just be happy Mickey didn’t get shot or go to prison and he was able to afford to throw himself and Ian a beautiful wedding.

It did not get passed me that Mickey came out of the restroom from his shower after Ian did. I’m pretty sure sexy time already started that day in the shower!!! No one will convince me otherwise.

Liam knowing as soon as Mickey walked in what was about to happen and walked the hell out of there. Hilarious! Smart kid! Carl just sitting there until Mickey had to tell him to get the fuck out was also fucking hilarious! Especially when thinking back to the time Mickey was staying there in season 4. They couldn’t even share a bed in front of Ian’s family. I love that this is gonna be their life from now on. This family is so much better with Mickey in it and because of it we have a happy and in love Ian. Nothing could be better!

Our first glance at Mickey’s butt was a plus! We fucking needed that! We needed more of that, but beggers can’t be choosers.

Carl getting them edible boxers! Liam wanting to get them something special even though he had no money! He’s so precious! He got them a honeymoon car!

So Debbie and Sandy slept together the night before for the first time (still not supportive of this relationship) meaning Ian and Mickey were planning their wedding the day before they had the wedding. Even when they still needed to get invitations and send them out!

This doesn’t count as a complaint because the shows lack of proper timelines and not being realistic is nothing new for them. But I’m going to believe some time had to have passed. They can’t send out invitations, get RSVP’s and book a venue in one fucking day. Another fuck up was Mickey bit Ian’s right arm and when we see the bite mark it’s on Ian’s left arm. How can they be this incompetent?

I know people weren’t thrilled about Mickey biting Ian and Ian having to punch Mickey twice, but I can live with it. Of course I don’t love or even like to see them hit each other. I hate it too! I was more sad that they had to go through this on their wedding day and I wish they didn’t have to go through that. Especially because of that asshole Terry.

But Mickey was so angry he couldn’t think straight. And Ian had no other choice but to punch him in order to save him from getting killed by Terry or Mickey getting sent back to prison. They didn’t do it because they were fighting with each other, which probably makes it easier for me to deal with it.

Poor Ian had to run all the way to the venue and back, up the front steps, up the stairs, then down the stairs and then down the back stairs to chase after Mickey and then gets bit by him. All with his broken leg! He needs a rest!

Ian’s face when he’s watching the smoke from the fire was sad. It made me so sad for him. I know he wasn’t into the wedding planning like Mickey, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as sad or upset over the fact their venue was burning down.

I was liking Tommy in the previous episode, but he done fucking pissed me off with his stupid opinions that no one asked for. I do love that Vee defended them, but if it were me, I would’ve told him he could find another fucking bar if he said anything like that ever again in this bar. But that’s just me!

I’m happy that Lip’s story line got attention because it deserved it. I’m also happy that it didn’t overshadow Ian and Mickey’s big day. Everything felt evenly spread out for once. Except for Frank but he’s had enough episodes centered around him, for him to sit on the back burner for once. Even though the episode was named after Gallavich and it was their wedding day, I expected John Wells to somehow make this all about Frank. It must’ve killed John Wells! It must be tough not getting it your way for one episode! Poor thing, old rich white men can’t seem to catch a break. I’m totally being sarcastic, but I’m sure you caught that.

I was so impressed with Liam playing Frank the way he did. That kid is a genius! I also love that he wanted Frank at Ian’s wedding and guilted him to be there. I’m not Franks biggest fan and Ian can say he could care less all he wants, but it was good for him to have a parent there and I love Liam for making it happen.

I love that everyone did everything they could to find a place to have the wedding and set everything up for them. This is what this season has been lacking. The whole family together getting shit done! And for once it was for Ian and Mickey.

Mickey talking about how Terry fucking won again and him listing all of the horrible shit he ever did was gut wrenching! He didn’t even mention the worst of it that no one else knows about, except he and Ian and Lip. Terry’s a piece of shit monster that needs to rot in hell.

I know they said in season 3 that Mickey’s mom died. But I’m going with what was last said, and what was last said was she took off. I’m glad we even got this bit of info about her. It’s confusing because we have different stories, but I’m going with what Mickey said. Besides why would he lie in this moment? Ian and Mandy talking about her being dead could’ve been Mandy saying she’s dead to them since she left them behind with Terry.

Mickey told Ian he loves him twice in front of everyone!!! I was crying from that alone. This was a big moment. Anytime Mickey can profess his love for Ian in front of everyone is always a big deal. Considering he was afraid to even act like friends with Ian in front of other people in the beginning.

I love that Lip was still thinking about where to have the wedding and Mickey’s like “Ey, asshole, were you not listening? We’re doing a murder thing here.” Went from sad to funny in a split second.

I thought if we ever got Ian and Mickey talking about having kids, it would be next season. That was if they would even talk about it in the first place. This episode gave me everything I wanted and more. This was one of those more moments.

I couldn’t believe they talked about kids in this episode. I love the fact that Mickey didn’t want them until Ian said he did. Of course Mickey would be happy either way as long as Ian’s happy. If Ian wants kids, he wants kids too. I don’t want this for them now, but maybe in a few years. Really whenever they’re ready. I want what they want!

I also hoped, but didn’t think we’d get, a moment alone with them before the wedding and we did! I squealed and cried so much during this scene! Ian tying Mickey’s bow tie! Both of them teasing each other about how ugly and how pale the other is! That was so them!

Ian charming that polish lady when Mickey was starting to say something bad, was again so them. I also freaked over the polish lady because she came out in Edward Scissorhands and damn she’s aged! But I digress.

Ian and Mickey standing in the venue when the Gallagher’s and Balls were setting everything up was another beautiful moment to me. They could just stand back and watch their family and loved ones set everything up for them.

Ian complementing Mickey’s chairs was so sweet. The cake topper killed me! But the fact that everyone knows Mickey is a bottom, at least for Ian, makes me even more proud of him!

I was not excited about the gay Jesus groupies, especially Geneva, being at the wedding. There was speculation that she might marry Ian and Mickey. I did not like that idea, thank God it didn’t happen. She wanted Ian to fight the charges and possibly go to jail longer and none of them showed up for Ian when he went to prison.

But if it wasn’t for them Ian wouldn’t have ended up in jail with Mickey. I believe that Ian and Mickey are soulmates, so they would’ve ended up together eventually, but it happened sooner because of the shit they got Ian into. In a weird way they made this happen sooner.

I never fully forgive anyone for mistreating Ian or Mickey, but they are somewhat forgiven for keeping Terry from ruining the wedding. They kept Terry from hurting Mickey and/or Ian and for that I will always be grateful. They were good for something in the end. When it really mattered for Ian.

Really, I’m just so happy that everyone came through for Ian and Mickey on their wedding day. Ian and Mickey deserved this more than anyone and I can’t believe they finally got it.

I was also hoping for a moment between Ian and Lip alone before the ceremony. It was touching and enough to make me happy and for me to start crying again. Ian’s choice of song for the ceremony was fucking perfect! I was already a mess at this point!

I thought neither of them were going to walk down the aisle, but my God did I love that Mickey did. I loved Kevin standing there with the bat. He’s basically me when anyone tries to mess with Gallavich. He’s basically all of us!

GOD THE VOWS!!! The fact that I didn’t drop dead in that moment is a fucking miracle! Mickey saying he will cherish Ian really hit me! Ian deserves to be cherished and we all know Mickey is the man for the job. Ian saying it back to Mickey! I was balling!

Frank crying and being happy for them was such a weird emotional moment for me. I know he cares about his kids. I really do not like Frank. When watching season 8, I talked with @luckyshazmrsmonaghansblog about the episode Frank helped them out with that drug dealer. We agreed Frank has his moments and comes through for his kids sometimes.

But this was just for Ian. He never tells Ian he loves him. That time Frank went around telling all his kids he loved them one by one in season 6. I noticed he never told Ian he loved him. He told all his kids he loved them but never said that to Ian. Not once!

They never really had a moment together like Frank has with his other kids. So this was a very emotional moment. It was just him showing up and being supportive and not ruining the wedding. But for Ian that’s a big deal. Especially when Mickey’s father is doing the exact opposite of that.

When Ian asks “Now?” to kiss Mickey, I literally yelled at the TV “YES!” This is such a triumphant moment for them. I’m still in disbelieve it happened. I never would’ve believed it years ago. I’m having a hard time believing it now.

All the music that was played at the wedding was perfect! They hired a good DJ. Mickey dancing!!!!! He’s such a bad dancer and I love it! I love that he did that without being asked. He just wanted to dance at his wedding because he was so happy! Another thing I hoped for but didn’t think we’d get was a slow dance between Ian and Mickey. But we fucking got it!!!!!!

Tami telling Ian and Mickey she loved them? Again, I said out loud to the TV “Since when?” Tami kept calling them ex cons and has barley interacted with them. Looking closely she doesn’t even say it. I think they added that in post production. She wasn’t even originally scripted to say that.

I love that when Kev and Vee were the center of attention for a minute, we still see Mickey dancing and doing air guitar to Whitney Houston in the background! Fucking love it!!!!

Ian sitting down and watching the love of his life, his husband dancing with his family at their wedding was beautiful! A moment Ian will never forget, I’m sure.

It was so Ian to bring up missing his mom at his wedding. Out of all the kids, I will always believe Ian was her favorite. She wasn’t the best mom in the world, but she really loved Ian. I’m sure she would’ve been so happy and proud of him.

And out of all the kids, Ian was the one who connected the most with her and grieved her death the most. I wish he could’ve had her there and I cried when he teared up talking about her. For once Debbie said something right. Monica would’ve loved it. I’m glad the comment was supportive and Ian wasn’t teased for missing his own mother.

If I wasn’t already a mess Ian called Mickey his husband!! I started crying even harder at that! Again the song for the slow dance was fucking perfect for them. Once the slow song came on Mickey started looking around for Ian and that is so sweet!

I was so overwhelmed by this that I didn’t even notice that Lip was drinking right away. It took a few seconds to realize and when I did I was like “No Lip!” I’m glad he got help right away though. Shows how far he’s come as well.

Ian and Mickey driving off together was something I thought would be the last we would see of them this season. I loved it and that Liam got them a beautiful car to use for their honeymoon. I saw this months ago when the spoilers came out and I figured that would be it.

But then we get them at their honeymoon!!!!! I never even dreamed we’d see this. I didn’t even hope for this because I didn’t think it would actually happen! They had the cheesy honeymoon suite with a heart shaped bed and everything!!!

I never knew I wanted this for them until it happened. I fucking loved that they had the cheesiest honeymoon suite experience. For real, this makes me so happy! I don’t know how Terry could’ve found out where they were but okay.

Another bonus! We got another shot of Mickey’s butt!!! We got two butt shots! This was the best episode of the whole fucking series! I know I’m biased because of my love for Gallavich, but it really was the fucking best!

I’m guessing this is a set up for more Terry next season. I hope it doesn’t last long. Only long enough to get rid of him somehow. Without Ian or Mickey getting in trouble with the law for it.

[antics-pedantic]

RALLY CO. #4: THE GATE TO WITHIN, PART 1

Dieter was getting on in years. He scrambled to open another bottle of some vigor or tonic promised to grant greater vitality. He went through these quickly—it had been a guilty pleasure of his to indulge in formulas for prolonged youth. But nothing could compare to his true goal: To return to the secret place he had begun his work in. A place on Earth, yet unlike it.

          But here he found himself in hiding, at the Harbortown ports. It was not so long ago that he had been in Arcadia, Harbortown’s neighboring concrete jungle of art deco. And Dieter had yet more distance to travel. He had to get overseas, away from here. And after that, an even more tremendous distance the likes of which the world had never known.

          “Bumbling oaf!”

          Dieter cursed all the while: Money could buy him the strong arm of thugs. But these local toughs were too clumsy for him. Unforgivably so: He was far more forgiving of his creations. Mankind squandered its potential, where his creations only had the capacity to keep learning. And without complaint!

          “Be careful with my shipment! One wrong move and everything will be ruined!”

          “Cut us some slack, Prof!” wheezed a goon, as they and their gang carefully brought the wide crate down in front of Dieter. “This thing weighs a ton. What’d you get, a new fridge?”

          “Hardly. Once it’s assembled we’ll be home free.”

          The thing in the crate was an archaic archway. The goons were more than a little annoyed at this bout of admiring archaeological findings: They had been expecting something more obviously capable of helping them out of their present situation. That is, until Dieter had started to use his instruments to toy with the stones. The tracing of his instruments over the stones revealed etched grooves. Symbols patterned into each face of the archway’s stones rather than alphabetic characters. Patterns that Dieter had studied for some time now.

          “Dieter Leistung…”

          Even in his anger, the voice that Dr. Dieter Leistung heard now gave him chills. He turned to look in every direction. But could not pinpoint the source of the sound. Nor could his hired goons, who were getting to be on high alert. A prankster would hardly pose a threat to such a watchful bunch.

          But this was no prankster. It was however, one of those times where misdirection made bedfellows of folks and foolishness: For the sting of .45 caliber bullets knocked away any melee weapon or firearm that might have been brandished.

          “Justice finds you, Doctor.” the voice from no discernable direction continued.

          “Impossible! Though I abandoned my work, I left no trail!” thundered Leistung.

          The voice offered laughter. Mocking laughter.

          “Think of me as the guilty conscience you thought yourself above having. Ever-watching, ever-judging.”

          A fist lashed out to send one of Dieter Leistung’s men a couple of steps back. It wasn’t an immediate knockout. But it had them startled, ready to lash out at the first sign of another person close-by. It served to scatter them, despite their boasts to the darkness. If the shadows did not heed them, would they fare any better with their vigilante tormentor?

          “An extra thousand to the man who can gut The Junker!”

          Leistung set about introducing some chemicals and copper wiring to set points on the gate and activating a portable generator. All the while behind him, several of his thugs were knocked around, fighting with their phantom foe. They scored a few punches but only blindly so, never with consistency.

          “I’ve got him!” one goon exclaimed, gesturing to a white scarf he’d grabbed. “Someone grab the tommy gun while I’ve got him all choked up!”

          Another goon dived for the weapon that they’d been disarmed of earlier, preparing to fire. They caught the briefest glimpse of a raven-haired figure in an aviator’s jacket, the white scarf, and goggles. Goggles whose lenses gave off a light green glow. Even for the darkly colored ensemble, this hardly seemed a figure that should have been able to escape their sight. And yet he did, along with all the other senses.

          “AUGH!”

          A swift motion from two gloved hands locked the arm that had held the scarf. What few features of the mystery man that were visible only offered a minute displeasure at having his breathing briefly constricted. This prompted the goon with the tommy gun to cut loose, showering the area ahead with gunfire. The bullets stopped abruptly following two clicks: One of the submachine gun’s ammo drum being suddenly removed, and the second being as the goon reflexively continued to shoot. At least, until he was hit in the mouth with his own ammo drum.

          The Junker loomed over this body, drawing his dual pistols once again to threaten Leistung. But the mad doctor was already going through the archway, as a shimmering effect occurred in the space beneath and between the stone archway that caused his disappearance, before the generator shorted out and damaged the arch.

          But, that wasn’t to say the Junker lacked for an idea as to where Leistung was going. Junker did after all, recognize the patterns of the archway…

X

          Elsewhere, world-renowned occult detective Solomon Callahan awoke from his slumber. He had recalled that he’d traveled to the markets of Morocco after some such artifact or trinket of interest. Perhaps inquire about any local issues with the paranormal, or other exceptional forces that might have been troubling folks. And he did so with the company of his students, all of whom drew closer and closer to being professionals under his guiding influence.

          Almost all of them, at least. Solomon didn’t wish to dwell on that, at this moment where there was little he could do about the past. Not when he was needed here and now as a guide. To put forth all his learned skill as a mystic to use against the forces of evil, as was the trade of investigators and explorers—the noble adventurer.

          “Monsieur Callahan, are you well?”

          Where Solomon’s hair turned snow white from stress, Katrina Kafka’s hair was more of a silver, accented by her favorite red hairband. Her eyes and complexion were like the paled terror of one who appeared haunted. But in spite of that, the former Parisian inhabitant had traveled overseas with her mentor to stay with him while she honed her psychic abilities.

          “I can’t hide much from you, can I dear?” chuckled Solomon.

          But Katrina shook her head. “This is not being the most ideal state, let alone just before important actions are to be taken. And I know it is made worse, by hearing of the Junker.”

          Solomon frowned.

          “That vindicator is all the way back in Arcadia, stateside. I can only hope he’s not stirring the proverbial hornet’s nest.”

          “Yes, but—”

          Katrina meant to ask Solomon more about his ties to the mystery man, before there came a familiar pair of dueling voices: Returning to their shared hostel were two lively sorts: A tall, umber-skinned woman whose pockets were lined with a couple of test tubes, and her shorter companion who might have passed for an escaped orangutan with his messy reddish-brown head of hair and full side-burns about his round cheeks.

          “And I say to ye again, Ez!” bellowed cryptozoologist Tycho Gallagher. “That ye be missin’ out on some mighty fine Turkish coffee. That ladle-thing set in the hot sand. Makes for a stronger drink than most sell it as such elsewhere.”

          “And I say to you, my hirsute accomplice.” spat emininent bio-chemist Esmerelda “Ez” Broughton. “You may enjoy your deplorable bean waters without bringing me into it! Just as I was set to find fine fabrics with which I might set upon making my own fashions. Katrina dear, I’m so sorry that Tycho prevented me from finding a proper souvenir!”

          “Th-that is quite alright, Esmerelda!” chuckled Katrina, nervously. “Might we perhaps resume our original goal first?”

          “Yeah well, I don’t see much stock in it.” said Tycho, as he stuck a tongue out at Ez. “Shooing a lion from a movie theater was all the action I got to see. Nary a true disturbance by cryptid or any other manner of monster. I shoulda stayed back in Arcadia and continued at the university!”

          “Indeed, save us the trouble.” Ez playfully jabbed, as was her custom with Tycho. The two were always friends beneath the taunting. “I for one, have done splendidly on my analysis and restoration of artifacts. Say, has anyone seen Felix?”

X

          Felix Basra was a very serious Pakistani woman, in training since adolescence to become a detective like her aunt Malika, or Solomon. Versed in the martial arts, preferring the use of a hooked rod known as the jutte, perfect for catching blades and striking foes bluntly. And maybe, Felix also had taken to leadership well. For it was her efforts that brought together and now kept alive the adventuring alliance known as the Rally Company. She was following in the tradition Solomon and his colleagues had begun, righting wrongs and using specialized knowledge and skills to tackle strange situations.

          And that included this one, in which she had personally set about finding back alley leads on the crime cult of the Golden Shadow. A supposed necromancer, but for certain a gangster of mystery. Felix specifically wanted revenge against the assassin that injured her aunt, forcing her out of investigative work. Felix owed this to her after Malika cared for her like Felix was her own daughter.

          She deftly avoided the thrust of several daggers, their steel clanging against that of her jutte. The battle was back and forth for a time until finally not one, but two of her would-be slayers erred and got their blades caught on the hook of the jutte. A strong twist later, they were disarmed of their knives. The remainder sought to throw their blades, Felix just barely catching their glint in the light as she drew her revolver and fired. When the gunsmoke cleared, every cheap hitman in the room had been subdued.

          “The Golden Shadow. Who are his most favored assassins?!” demanded Felix, huffing all the while from her exertion, as well as her anxiety over finding answers.

          “We don’t know! They come and go so swiftly through our neutral grounds.”

          “And outside of it?”

          “Fool! Rival assassins are at each other’s throats all the time. Any who might know would never live to tell the tale.”

          “Then why did your lot work so intently on those?”

          The assassin turned: Nearby was a large set of large, lidded vases. And Felix pointed to them, seemingly for no reason.

          “Have you gone mad?”

          “When I walked in it was the only container with holes drilled into the lid.”

          Just then, the container in question tipped over and was smashed open to reveal a fellow wearing a poncho over surplus military gear.

          “You oaf…” grunted the assassin. “I can’t believe we paid him so much to come here—AGH!"

          Felix shoved aside the assassin to address the foreign mercenary.

          “The mercenary, Duke Luke, I presume?”

          The man threw his poncho at Felix in the hopes it would give him the chance to get up to his feet. He lunged, trying to go for a pistol hidden under a desk. Felix dived for cover behind a sofa, revolver in hand. Duke Luke was at a disadvantage: He was afraid. If Felix hadn’t gotten such a workout from fighting off those assassins just now, she might have captured the mercenary by now.

          “Give it up. Even if these killers weren’t writhing in pain, I’ve smashed your illusion.”

          “The hell you have! I’m a soldier of fortune. I’ve fought in conflicts around the world!”

          “Mm. And always lived to tell about it. You’re a smart little chicken, aren’t you?”

          Duke Luke roared. He emerged from his hiding spot to fire. There were only a couple reports from his weapon, bullets drilling through the furniture Felix was behind as she gave off an anguished cry. Duke Luke’s laughter was boisterous, as he approached to confirm his kill. So boisterous that he almost missed the sound of Felix’s foot kicking the gun from his hand.

           “Damn you! I’m going to make it out of here! They swore it!”

          “Swear all you want, Duke. You’re going to tell me all about your time as an employee of the Golden Shadow.”

          Felix finally had a lead. This was it! While the rest of Rally Co. had managed to find the artifact being smuggled, she had pressed the possibility that the Golden Shadow’s gang was behind this caper. She did have to wonder why Solomon was not as forthcoming with that information as he should have been though.

          And then a velociraptor broke through a padlocked door.

Duke Luke screamed, Felix’s own vocal chords freezing in fear. She turned her gun to fire, grazing the beast. Duke Luke saw something in the room it emerged from, and sprinted towards it while Felix rolled out of the path of the raptor, adrenaline pushing her to avoid its tooth-and-nail attacks, as she received a few fresh cuts and some spots on her jacket were torn. Finally, Felix forced a chair into the jaw of the beast, before running into the room after Duke Luke.

And there stood the carved stones in an arch, not unlike the one she’d seen the Golden Shadow attempt to use not so long ago. Within the center of the arch was a shimmering light that also seemed to move like the surface of troubled waters. She could make out greens—even purples and other shades of jungle foliage along with craggy rocks and dimly lit tunnels. There she saw Duke Luke sprinting with no regard for his own safety.

The wooden chair Felix had used to stave off the velociraptor was broken to splinters. The dinosaur charged ahead at her, aiming to whip her with its tail. Felix dived to the side as the tail lashed upon the stone arch, with sufficient force to damage it as it stumbled through the portal just before it closed.

Felix would have to find the nearest payphone or teletype: The others had to get here immediately to examine this before it was too late. The trail couldn’t end here, and perhaps it was leading to something bigger.

[imacoffeecup]

all of us ;)

ambi

bambi

kiiani

spine/sapnap

non

prime

kyleigh

kibe

corpse

tubbo/toby

veins

arrow/monster

lillie

george

dream (clay)

ranboo (protecter)

alter with no name

tristian/gk

lyss/lyssah/wubba

karl

cookie/lucas

?(autistic)

eirin

karl jacobs

keane

flower/flowers

alice

quackity

sapnap/nick

tubbo

saber/sabertooth

c!dream (perpetrator)

mr anxious

ali

technoblade

allyssa (gatekeeper)

scar/scarra (gatekeeper)

c!lucas

billy

fiona gallagher

tommy

shubble

strawberry

trauma holder

karl (trauma holder)

clarity

jack manifold

kiana

tommy

ender/endrod

cade/cadence

bomb

tylar/tyler

justin

dylan

phia/astrouxx

benkro/domiar

toby/gloop (host)

luka

puppy/tiger

!karl

alyssah

foolish_g

amber (gatekeeper or trauma holder)

--maybe--

peegreen

andi

9

tooth

wilbur soot

currently unnamed end portal looking alter - could use name sender

-- definite, dont know name --

gatekeeper (scar/scarra)

gatekeeper (allyssa)

gatekeeper (tristian/gk)

gatekeeper (possibly amber)

trauma holder

trauma holder

[beemansclub]

Wrestling Tags Master Post

I’ve been gaining some followers, so if you need help navigating my wrestling head-space here ya go.

Singles

fight grumpy bear fight – Kevin Owens ➡️ high flyin murder bear – Kevin doing rope moves and/or being acrobatic ➡️ you are such a little shit and i live for it – Kevin being a turd sunshine bear cub – Sami Zayn / El Generico sourpuss has a tag – Seth Rollins / Tyler Black nui honu o ka naau – Roman Reigns dreadlocked swamp bear – Bray Wyatt yeti monster hurls a xmas tree – Braun Strowman ohno is hero – Kassius Ohno / Chris Hero bayley aka pure sunlight – Bayley murder lioness – Nia Jax asskicking cupcake – Candice LeRae dogg always be dancin – Road Dogg / BG James nxt dad – HHH aj the king of petulance – AJ Styles jack the gentleman – Jack Gallagher rudeboy neville – Neville / PAC halfdragon ember moon – Ember Moon prince mustafa – Mustafa Ali smol demon prince – Finn Balor / Prince Devitt gloriously roode – Bobby Roode queen heel – Steph McMahon what is it with you and elbows through the announce tables? – Shane McMahon everyone’s favorite omega – Kenny Omega aa and his banana – Austin Aries dolph gunn – Dolph Ziggler (he’ll always be Billy Gunn’s son to me) uncle samoa joe – Samoa Joe a perfect tye – Tye Dillinger tozawa – Akira Tozawa handsome rusev – Rusev glow queen – Naomi dutch antihero – Aliester Black / Tommy End trashy snarlboy – Pete Dunn mustache mountain the youger – Tyler Bate mustache mountain the elder – Trent Seven wolfie bear – Wolfgang villain☔️ – Marty Scurll adam bay bay – Adam Cole the greatest peacock – Dalton Castle ricochet👑 – Ricochet / Prince Puma dusty – Dusty Rhodes goldie – Golddust baby dream – Cody (Rhodes) / Stardust royal nattie cat – Natalya jimmy jacobs – Jimmy Jacobs kinshasa king – Shinsuke Nakamura not a cat (wo) – Will Ospreay takahashi and daryl – Hiromu Takahashi (and Daryl) tranquilo naito – Naito walking with elias – Elias (Sampson) thumbs up thumbs down – Sami Callihan / Soloman Crowe / Jeremiah Crane ruby riot – Ruby Riot hippie juice – Juice Robinson / CJ Parker philly boy gulak – Drew Gulak hottest dad – Joey Ryan no ham dar – Noam Dar foxycase – Alicia Fox he thinks his name is trent – Trent(?) Beretta chuckie t – Chuck Taylor mr crazy posture – Kyle O'Reilly fishie butt – Bobby Fish sterling graves – Corey Graves / Sterling James Keenan kogane no hoshi – Kota Ibushi we can roll – Rickey Shane Page / Christian Faith lil kazu – Okada Kazuchika cabana!!! – Colt Cabana lone wolf – Baron Corbin gresham 🐙🌈 –Jonathan Gresham penta – Pentagon Jr / Penta El Zero (0) M rising fenix – Fenix mjeff – MJF cedric – Cedric Alexander cien – Andrade Cien Almas ds david starr – David Starr jack sexsmith – Jack Sexsmith the lights not right for velveteen – Velveteen Dream / Patrick Clark pagefabe3.0 - Adam "Hangman" Page jersey bred fighter – Sonya Deville friesian clydesdale – Drew McIntyre tilly's bad boy – Joey Janela prince tana – Hiroshi Tanahashi tom tim philippe phillips – Tom Philips (WWE Commentator) deathmatch ref – Drake Wuertz / Drake Younger 316 – Stone Cold Steve Austin y2j – Chris Jericho brodie – Luke Harper / Brodie i like this boy who wrestles barefoot! – Matt Riddle star factory – Curt Hawkins / Brian Myers #zsj🇬🇧 – Zack Saber Jr miz the wiz – The Miz slam dancer – Zachary Wentz officer o'scare – Dan O'Hare

Teams and Groups

milk and honey tag team – Sheamus and Cesaro (Sheasaro) ➡️ cesaro is so underrated – Antonio Cesaro / Claudio Castagnoli ➡️ this irish idiot – Sheamus jeriko experiment – Chris Jericho and Kevin Owens storyline ➡️➡️ crash and burn ending – JeriKO (Festival of Friendship and after) ➡️➡️ its ending :( – JeriKO (buildup to Roadblock: End of the Line 2016) unicornmen of a new day – The New Day ➡️ big e is a national treasure – Big E ➡️ xavier austin creed woods phd – Xavier Woods ➡️ kofi the goat – Kofi Kingston thicc southern bears – The Revival ( Dash Wilder and Scott Dawson) the polyamorous tag team – DIY (Johnny Gargano, Tommaso Ciampa, {Candice LeRae}) ➡️ not replaceable – Tommaso Ciampa (was originally for DIY break-up) beauty and the man beast – Heath Slater and Rhyno fashion po po – Breezango (Tyler Breeze and Fandango) ➡️➡️ The Fashion Files are Amazing Comedy started from the bottom now we here – anything with Kevin and Sami/Generico ➡️➡️ cute but evil guardian angels – Sami & Kevin as friends post HiaC 2017 bullet club brothers – Luke Gallows and Karl Anderson sheasaro and their daughter bayley – Cesaro, Sheamus, and Bayley ladder kings – Matt and Jeff Hardy ➡️ broken and woken – Matt Hardy ➡️ brother eagle – Jeff Hardy superkick party animals – The Young Bucks (Matt Jackson and Nick Jackson) red shoes white shoes – Street Profits (Montez Ford and Angelo Dawkins) royal 1s – AJ Styles and Charlotte grindkore ascending – The Ascension (Konnor and Viktor) deuce uce – The Usos (Jimmy and Jey Uso) 🤙 – Samoa Joe and Roman Reigns big guys soft hearts – War Machine aop – Authors of Pain (Akam and Rezar) axe n bow – The B Team / The Miztourage (Curtis Axel and Bo Dallas) the rep – The REP.

General Wrestling Tags

wwe after dark – anything not “live” on USA uudd is (➡️ and it’s beautiful ) – up up down down content house show  wrestling is beautiful – stuff I find funny, abnormal, and/or cool; storyline paralells; sportsmanship wrestling is a serious thing – when they do off the wall bullshit (actually used once for a serious post.. so I guess can go both ways ) i just cant quit you wwe – now used as a generic “untagged” for wwe content indies posts  indies time machine  smackdown lovelies – I’m a RAW Brand person so this is the guys on Blue I like cross promotion stuff impersonating other characters mmc – Mix Match Challenge yes yes yes yes – Bray’s heavyweight title run frenemies making magic – When rivals team up to beat a third (or fourth) rival during a match southpaw regional wrestling excited panda rolls – wrestlers rolling around with their newly won title aesthetic

Extra Special Tags

otp: kev + titles – Kevin kissing, hugging, or cuddling his titles otp: kev + zoos *kevin speaking french *sami speaking french *sami speaking arabic *joe sensually promising murder !cesaro voice: fellaaaaa – Cesaro using “fella” to refer to Sheamus !kevin owens voice: i never once felt bad i feel great [ripping signs] – Kevin ripping people’s signs that's deep kevin – interviews where he gets deep this is more for kevin’s hands than anything – he talks with them a lot, they’re expressive wonderful blue thunder bombs the guerrero gag – "Using" weapons behind the ref's back to trick them for DQ

[slyke25]

2014-16

Below are the shows I covered from ‘2014-16.

(v) = Video included in review

(p&s) = photos were taken with a point & shoot camera (early concerts)

5.9.16  Frightened Rabbit (HOB)

5.9.16  Caveman (HOB)

5.7.16  Fruit Bats (Once Ballroom) (v)

5.7.16  Horse Feathers (Once Ballroom) (v)

5.1.16  Bob Mould (Paradise)

5.1.16  Ted Leo (Paradise)

4.30.16  Matthew Logan Vasquez (Cafe 939) (v)

4.30.16  Dustin Lovelis (Cafe 939)

4.23.16  Operators (Middle East Upstairs)

4.23.16  Bogan Via (Middle East Upstairs)

4.4.16  Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros (Sinclair)

4.3.16  Wolf Alice (Brighton Music Hall)

4.3.16 Slaves (Brighton Music Hall)

3.23.16  Lake Street Dive (HOB)

3.23.16  The Suffers (HOB)

3.16.16  Deer Tick (Somerville Theatre)

3.16.16  Mutual Benefit (Somerville Theatre)

3.4.16  Daughter (Somerville Theatre)

3.4.16  Wilsen (Somerville Theatre)

2.26.16  Kaleo (Brighton Music Hall)

2.26.16 Firekid (Brighton Music Hall)

2.25.16  Joe Pug (Sinclair)

2.25.16  Mandolin Orange (Sinclair)

2.19.16  Josh Ritter (HOB)

2.19.16  Elephant Revival (HOB)

2.13.16  The Devil Makes Three (HOB)

2.13.16  Langhorne Slim (HOB)

2015 Favorite Photos (Review)

11.18.15  Lake Street Dive (Club Passim) (v)

11.6.15  Nathaniel Rateliff & The Nightsweats (Royale)

11.6.15  Landlines (Royale)

10.19.15  Josh Ritter (Sinclair) (v)

9.27.15  Boston Calling Day #3 (Alabama Shakes, Dirty Bangs, Bully, Fidlar, Daughter, Twin Shadow, Mister Wives, Nate Ruess, Ben Howard, Hozier)

9.26.15  Boston Calling Day #2 (Grey Season, Skylar Spence, Doomtree, Stephen Malkmus, Sturgill Simpson, Father John Misty, Walk the Moon, Chromeo, Chvrches, Alt-J)

9.25.15  Boston Calling Day #1 (Gregory Alan Isakov, Of Monsters and Men, The Avett Brothers)

9.14.15  Langhorne Slim & The Law (Sinclair)

9.14.15  Twain (Sinclair)

8.1.15  Van Halen (Xfinity Center)

7.26.15  Newport Folk Festival Day 3 (The Ballroom Thieves, Christopher Paul Stelling, Brian Fallon, Jon Batiste, Rodrigo Amarante, Nathaniel Rateliff & the Nightsweats, Lord Huron, Field Report, The Felice Brothers, First Aid Kit, Blake Mills, Laura Marling, Hozier, J Macis, Shakey Graves, Dylan ‘65 Tribute, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, Willie Watson, Dawes, Robyn Hitchcock)

7.25.15  Heartbreaker Banquet NFF - Jane Pickens Theatre (Madisen Ward and the Mama Bear, Erica Wennerstrom of the Heartless Bastards, Shakey Graves, Nikki Lane, Jonny Fritz, Dave Rawlings, Lucius) (v)

7.25.15  Newport Folk Festival Day 2 - (Spirit Family Reunion, Joe Fletcher, The Barr Brothers, Joe Pug, Bela Fleck & Abigail Washburn, Traveller, Langhorne Slim and the Law, Nikki Lane, Jason Isbell, Courtney Barnett, Sturgill Simpson, Tommy Stinson, James Taylor, Sufjan Stevens, The Decemberists)

7.24.15  Newport Folk Festival Day 1 - (Haunt the House, The Goodbye Girls, Joe Pug, Bahamas, Elephant Revival, Angel Olsen, Leon Bridges, The Lone Bellow, Calexico, Strand Of Oaks, The Tallest Man On Earth, Iron & Wine and Ben Bridwell, Heartless Bastards, My Morning Jacket, Roger Waters)

7.23.15  Watkins Family Hour & Friends (Jane Pickens Theatre) - Sara Watkins, Fiona Apple, Joe Pug, Hiss Golden Messenger, The Lone Bellow (v)

7.11.15  Levitate Music Festival (Marshfield) - The Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Stick Figure, Galactic, Dr. Dog, Trombone Shorty and Orleans Avenue

6.23.15  The Hunts (Cafe 939) (v)

6.23.15  Panic Is Perfect (Cafe 939)

6.8.15  Mumford and Sons (Xfinity Center)

6.8.15  The Maccabees (Xfinity Center)

6.8.15  Son Little (Xfinity Center)

6.6.15  Noel Gallagher (Opera House)

5.24.15  Boston Calling Day #3 (The Ballroom Thieves, Halsey, The Lone Bellow, Lucius, Jason Isbell, Vance Joy, TV On the Radio, Tenacious D, Jack Black, The Pixies)

5.23.15  Boston Calling Day #2 (Krill, DMAs, Mo, Run the Jewels, Tove Lo, Gerard Way, Marina and the Diamonds, St. Vincent, Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals, My Morning Jacket)

5.22.15  Boston Calling Day #1 (Sharon Van Etten, Tame Impala, Beck)

5.18.15  Courtney Barnett (Sinclair)

5.18.15  Chastity Belt (Sinclair)

5.18.15  Darren Hanlon (Sinclair)

5.13.15  The Tallest Man On Earth (Calvin Theatre) (v)

5.13.15  Madisen Ward and Mama Bear (Calvin Theatre)

5.11.15  Faith No More (Orpheum)

5.11.15  La Butcherettes (Orpheum)

5.8.15  Of Monsters and Men (Orpheum) (v)

5.4.2015  Sufjan Stevens (Citi Wang Theatre) (v)

4.7.15  Damien Rice (Orpheum)

4.7.15  My Bubba (Orpheum)

3.28.15  Shakey Graves (Royale)

3.28.15  Nikki Lane (Royale)

2.20.15  Sturgill Simpson (Paradise Rock Club)

2.20.15 Anderson East (Paradise Rock Club)

2.13.15  Chris Robinson Brotherhood (Paradise)

2.12.15  The Lone Bellow  (Paradise Rock Club) (v)

2.12.15  Will Daily (Paradise Rock)

1.26.15  London Grammar (House of Blues)

1.26.15  Until the Ribbon Breaks (House of Blues)

1.10.15 The Devil Makes Three (House of Blues)

1.10.15  Joe Pug (House of Blues)

2015 Favorite Concert Photos (Review)

2015 Favorite Concert Videos (Review)

11.24.14  Bear’s Den (Sinclair) (v)

11.24.14  Dan Mangan + Blacksmith (Sinclair)

11.18.14  Ryan Adams (Citi Performance Center)

11.16.14  Fitz and the Tantrums (House of Blues)

11.16.14  Big Data (House of Blues)

11.11.14  Empires (Church) (v)

11.11.14  Cold Fronts (Church)

11.10.14  Pete Yorn (Middle East) (v)

10.29.14  Vance Joy (Paradise)

10.29.14  Jaymes Young (Paradise)

10.20.14  Cold War Kids (Sinclair)

10.20.14  Avid Dancer (Sinclair)

10.13.14  Bastille (Agganis Arena)

10.13.14  Grizfolk (Agganis Arena)

10.10.14  Priory (Sincliar)

10.10.14  CliffLight (Sinclair)

10.3.14  Catfish and the Bottlemen (Great Scott) (v)

10.3.14  Air Traffic Controller (Great Scott)

9.30.14  Blake Mills (Sinclair (v)

9.30.14  Fiona Apple (Sinclair) (v)

9.30.14  Ymusic (Sinclair)

9.26.14  Tweedy (Berklee Performance Center)

9.26.14  Hospitality (Berklee Performance Center)

9.17.14  Jack White (Fenway Park) (V)

9.13.14  Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (XL Center)

9.13.14  Steve Winwood (XL Center)

9.10.14  Sylvan Esso (Sinclair)

9.10.14  Doe Paoro (Sinclair)

9.5.14  Boston Calling Day #1 (Future Islands, Neutral Milk Hotel, The National)

9.6.14  Boston Calling Day #2 (St. Nothing, Clifflight, S. Carey, Sky Ferreira, Bleachers, The Hold Steady, Lorde, Childish Gambino)

9.7.14  Boston Calling Day #3 (Gentlemen Hall, San Fermin, The War On Drugs, Lake Street Dive, Twenty One Pilots, The 1975, Spoon, The Replacements, Nas)

8.13.14  Passenger (House of Blues)

8.13.14  The Once (House of Blues)

8.13.14  Stu Larsen (House of Blues)

8.1.14 David Gray (BHB Pavilion)

8.1.14  John Smith (BHB Pavilion)

7.28.14  Drenge (Great Scott) (v)

7.28.14  Wax Witches (Great Scott)

7.28.14  Yellabird (Great Scott)

7.27.14  Newport Folk Festival Day #3 (The Deslondes, Ages and Ages, Caitlin Rose, Pegi Young & The Survivors, Gregory Alan Isakov, Dawes, Jeff Tweedy, Hozier, Hurray For the Riff Raff, Conor Oberst, Valerie June, Trampled By Turtles, Lucero, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Mavis Staples)

7.26.14  Heartbreaker Banquet - Jane Pickens Theatre (Shakey Graves, Shovels and Rope, Lucuis, Valerie June) (v)

7.26.14  Newport Folk Festival Day #2 (Willie Watson, John Reilly, The Oh Hellos, Pokey Lafarge, J. Roddy Walston & The Business, Benjamin Booker, Shovels and Rope, Shakey Graves, Houndmouth, Deer Tick, Lucuis, The Milk Carton Kids, Nickel Creek, Puss n’ Boots,Jack White)  (v)

7.25.14  Newport Folk Festival Day #1 (Mandolin Orange, Anais Mitchell and Jefferson Hammer, Death Vessel, Phox, The Devil Makes Three, Leif Vollebekk, Hozier, Jenny Lewis, Reignwolf, Robert Hunter, Lake Street Dive, Langhorne Slim and Spirit Family Reunion, Band of Horses, Bear’s Den, Jimmy Cliff, Ryan Adams (v)

7.10.14  Hamilton Leithauser (Sinclair)

7.10.14  Torres (Sinclair)

7.1.14  Phish (Xfinity Center)

6.26.14  Billy Joel (Fenway Park) (v)

6.26.14  Gavin Degraw (Fenway Park)

6.25.14  Iron and Wine (Casino Ballroom) NH

6.25.14  The Secret Sisters (Casino Ballroom) NH

6.23.14  Jamestown Revival (Sinclair)

6.23.14  The Wind and the Wave (Sinclair)

6.23.14  Kris Orlowski (Sinclair)

6.9.14  Damon Albarn (Royale) (v)

5.27.14  Delta Spirit (Midde East) (v)

5.25.14  Boston Calling Day #3 - (The Box Tiger, Tigerman Whoa!, The Districts, Built To Spill, Kurt Vile, Phosphorescent, Tegan and Sara, Bastille, Brand New, Modest Mouse)

5.24.14  Boston Calling Day #2 - (Magic Man, Maximo Park, Walk Off the Earth, Warpaint, The Neighborhood, Jenny Lewis, Frank Turner & the Sleeping Souls, The Head and the Heart, The Decemberists, Death Can For Cutie)

5.23.14  Boston Calling Day #1 - (Cass McCombs, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Jack Johnson)

5.9.14  Foster the People (House of Blues)

5.9.14  St. Lucia (House of Blues)

5.4.14  Cage the Elephant (Orpheum) (v)

5.4.14  Foals (Orpheum)

5.3.14  David Gray (Colonial Theatre) (v)

4.30.14  The Milk Carton Kids (Paradise) (v)

4.30.14  Brian Wright (Paradise)

4.24.14  Twenty One Pilots (House of Blues)

4.24.14  NONONO (House of Blues)

4.24.14  Hunter Hunted (House of Blues)

4.21.14  Horse Feathers (Sinclair) (v)

4.21.14  Skinny Bones (Sinclair)

4.17.14  The War On Drugs (Paradise) (v)

4.17.14  White Laces (Paradise)

4.17.14  Sore Eros (Paradise)

4.8.14  The Silver Palms (Great Scott)

4.8.14  Indian Twin (Great Scott)

4.4.14  James Vincent McMorrow (v)

4.4.14  Aidan Knight

3.26.14  Boy & Bear (Sinclair)

3.26.14  Dresses (Sinclair)

3.23.14  Typhoon (Sinclair)

3.23.14  Lady Lamb the Beekeeper (Sinclair)

3.23.14  The Wild Ones (Sinclair)

3.8.14  Avett Brothers (TD Garden)

3.8.14  Old Crow Medicine Show (TD Garden)

3.6.14  Josh Ritter (Somerville Theatre) (v)

3.6.14  Gregory Alan Isakov (Somerville Theatre) (v)

3.5.14  Augustines (Brighton Music Hall) (v)

3.5.14  My Goodness (Brighton Music Hall)

2.25.14  Band of Horses (Somerville Theatre) (v)

2.25.14  Sera Cahoone (Somerville Theatre)

2.24.14  Bob Weir & Ratdog (House of Blues) (v)

2.21.14  Lake Street Dive (Sinclair (v)

2.21.14  Lazer Cake (Cafe 939)

2.18.14  Art Decade (Cafe 939)

2.18.14  These Wild Plains (Cafe 939)

2,18.14  AERS (Cafe 939)

2.14.14  Kodaline (Paradise Rock Club) (v)

2.14.14  LP (Paradise Rock Club)

2.13.14  Blackberry Smoke (House of Blues)

2.13.14  Delta Saints (House of Blues)

2.9.14  The Wild Feathers (Brighton Music Hall) (v)

2.9.14  Saints of Valory (Brighton Music Hall)

2.9.14 Jamestown Revival (Brighton Music Hall)

2.8.14  Speedy Ortiz (Tasty Burger)

2.8.14  Sneeze (Tasty Burger)

2.8.14  Idiot Genes (Tasty Burger)

2.8.14  The Channels (Tasty Burger)

2.6.14  Arctic Monkeys (Agganis Arena)

2.6.14  Deerhunter (Agganis Arena)

2.6.14  The Orwells (Agganis Arena)

2.4.14  Lord Huron (Royale) (v)

2.4.14  Night Moves (Royale)

1.31.14  Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (Alec Ounsworth solo) (J.P) (v)

1.23.14  Damien Jurado (Brighton Music Hall) (v)

1.23.14  Courtney Marie Andrews (Brighton Music Hall)

1.18.2014  The Pixies (Orpheum Theatre) (v)

1.18.2014  Fidlar (Orpheum Theatre)

1.17.2014  Swear and Shake (Great Scott) (v)

1.17.2014  Smoke Signals (Great Scott)

1.17.2014  The Novel Ideas (Great Scott)

1.16.2014  Neutral Milk Hotel (Orpheum Theatre)  (audio)

1.6.2014  Benefit For David Lamb of Brown Bird (Club Passim) (v)

[unbridgeabledistances]

kings of the southside: CHAPTER 2

The storefronts on the block were different now— fragile minimalist displays and organic coffee shops uprooting the aged wooden bar signs with peeling paint and bullet holes— but against all odds, and with everyone else moving on, he and Mickey had decided to stay.

(a canon divergent fic in which ian and mickey stay on the southside and take over the alibi)

read chapter 2 here on ao3, or below the cut! (see notes on ao3 for various credits)

--

The end of the first weekend of them running the Alibi came quickly, and with it came Mickey’s focus being pulled in a million goddamn directions; they still had to unpack all of their shit upstairs, still had to figure out inventory and restock the bar and balance the books. Between all of the swirling and circling tasks Mickey felt like his head was going to explode, a sharp shift after the smooth waters of doing fuck-all for the past few months before the weed security business took off and he’d been forced to snap back into business mode.

Ian had bounced back from that first Saturday night of running the bar, the slump relaxing and fading out of his shoulders, and he was chipper as ever all Sunday afternoon, constantly grabbing at Mickey’s waist and singing fucking songs in his ear as they brushed elbows while pouring beers beside each other at the bar. As always, Ian fucking sunshine Gallagher’s mood seemed to have some sort of trickle-down effect on Mickey on Sunday, despite Mickey’s best efforts to not be a love-crazed loon. So even though they had a million things to do for Ian’s 80s night bullshit and Mickey had every reason to be stressed, he found himself fucking whistling when he rinsed the dishes behind the bar on Sunday night, and Tommy started giving him shit— and Mickey realized that he didn’t think there was a time he’d remembered whistling, ever, in his goddamn life.

He couldn’t really help it; Ian was radiating this new, breezy energy that Mickey still hadn’t had the time to feel the past few months, with all the bullshit going on with Terry and his family next door that set his teeth on edge— but now Ian was melting into their new life, acting settled, acting like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world and everything was all figured out. And Mickey started to realize, in the fuzzy back corners of his brain, that maybe, just maybe— he could start to feel that way about their new gig at the Alibi and their new place, too.

They didn’t have to run from anything anymore.

**

Mickey practically couldn’t believe his ears the other week when Ian had willingly accepted custody of the Alibi with a too-relaxed air of nonchalance, with a well, maybe Mick and I could take it off your hands, on one of their final days scarfing down sugary cereal in the late hours of the morning in the Gallagher house kitchen. There was no way Gallagher was being serious about this— Ian was always talking about going somewhere, about being something bigger than he was, so there was no way he was offering to Kev that they would take over his dump of a bar. Except he definitely was— and for a sharp and splintering instant Mickey was worried Ian was saying this for him; that once again, he was holding Ian Gallagher back.

But Mickey had felt Ian’s warm palm resting on his leg under the kitchen table— and he’d seen the warmth, that fucking warmth that always heated Mickey’s insides, as Ian turned to him with his eyebrows raised in a question, in a wordless proposition— and once again it struck Mickey like a goddamn lightning bolt just how much Ian Gallagher loved him, if he looked this blissed out about the prospect of living in a shitty Southside apartment and running an even shittier bar with Mickey Milkovich for the rest of his days.

Mickey knew part of Ian doing this was for him, after all the Westside bullshit that Mickey had resisted at every turn. Mickey knew he’d lost his shit when he made that yuppie poodle lady rip their lease to shreds, but could anyone blame him? The few hours they’d spent at the apartment complex made Mickey feel like he was going to crawl out of his fucking skin, like the glares of everyone he passed by in the too-clean, air-freshened hallways made him itch from the inside out. There was no fucking way he could stay in a place like that. But he was going to try, if Ian wanted.

But with a simple sentence, with a simple maybe Mick and I could take it off your hands spoken into the dusty kitchen of the Gallagher house, Mickey was saved. This Alibi plan pulled them both above water, gave them both a shore to rest on— and now they were finally, finally on the same fucking page, after figuratively (and literally) butting heads about the future for so long.

So now they were here, and they were doing it, and it was scary as fuck. Mickey had never lived in a place so quiet, a small space so devoid of the press of other people screeching and fighting and leaving trails of clutter, and he knew that Ian hadn’t either; both of their childhood homes were always crawling with various drunks or Russian prostitutes or batshit crazy relatives, and the silence of their too-small studio, in the morning hours before the bar was opened downstairs, was deafening.

Mickey could feel his jaw start to clench as he laid twisted in the sheets on Monday morning, when Ian had gone for a run and Mickey was left in the apartment alone for an hour and it was quiet, too quiet— but instantly the boisterous noise of the Southside streets had started to flow just outside the open window, a cacophony of honking horns and shouted slurs and gunshots, and the trickling in of the sounds tickled Mickey’s scalp, and reminded him that he was still rooted— he was still home.

And then Ian came clomping up the stairs like a sweaty monster after his run and tackled Mickey into the mattress, flopping onto him like a fucking Saint Bernard—and Mickey remembered why they did this, why this was good for both of them.

Against every single one of Mickey’s instincts, against everything he’d always known— he was going to let himself have this.

**

Ian’s brows were furrowed, a pressed series of creases narrowed in focus, as he stared at the paint swatches with a too-sharp glare.

“Mick, I really don’t see the fucking difference between Charcoal Gray and Burnt Ember.”

Mickey huffed, snatching the series of paint swatches out of his hand. “Nevermind then. You’ve got no eye for this shit, Gallagher. Charcoal Gray has cool undertones, Burnt Ember has a warmer vibe. We’ve definitely gotta go with Burnt Ember, the lighting in this place is shit and I wanna make sure the kitchen has a good ambiance.”

Ian’s lips curved into a smile of disbelief, rolling his eyes. Annoying motherfucker. “They both look like gray to me.”

Mickey flashed a grin in reply, then swatted Ian’s chest with the remaining paint swatches he was holding. “It’s a good thing you’re good at manual labor. If we wanna have this place painted by Wednesday, we’ve gotta get moving.”

“On it. Lip’s coming by with the paint for the main room and the wallpaper stuff, too.”

And just then, there was a gentle tap at the door. “Ey, it’s me and Liam.”

Ian bounded across the room to pull the paint-chipped door open. “Speak of the devil.”

Lip strode into their shithole apartment carrying cans of paint and a wrench clenched between his fingers, Liam trailing behind him.

“Damn. It’s only been two days and I already forgot what a dump this place is.”

Ian shoved Lip’s shoulder. “Fuck you. If you can renovate our shitty house, fixing this place up should be a piece of cake.”

Mickey noticed Liam scanning the room— in a fit of annoyance the other morning, with the bright fucking sun streaming in because they hadn’t gotten curtains yet with the bar pulling focus downstairs, Mickey had sliced a black trashbag and pinned it to the window as a makeshift curtain. Liam’s eyes lingered on the hanging trashbag, and he raised a judgmental eyebrow at Mickey.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Ian chuckled. “Yeah, Mick’s a real interior designer.”

Liam just sighed. “You guys need all the help you can get.”

Mickey’s brows furrowed. “Fuck you both. That was a temporary solution.” He walked over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer, just so he had something to do.

Ian grinned again, then reached out to ruffle Liam’s hair. “How’s the new place, superstar?”

Liam shrugged nonchalantly. “I like it. I just hung up all of my posters. Added a bit of vibrancy to the color palette that Tami chose to paint my room.”

Ian smirked, and nodded a head towards Mickey, who was standing by the fridge and fumbling with his beer bottle. “You should talk to Mickey about color palettes—we’ve been arguing for the last half hour about what shade of gray to paint the kitchen. Something about cool and warm undertones?”

Liam turned to examine the kitchenette in the back of the studio, hand on his hips. “Definitely warm undertones in a small space like this, unless you get some updated light fixtures.

Ian grinned. “Damn. Guess I really do have two interior designers in my family.”

Liam smiled back, his eyes lighting up. “You need any other advice? Mickey, I’d love to hear what unified aesthetic you’re aiming for with the décor.”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with the rhythm of smooth paint rollers sliding against the wall, the old radio in the corner of the room (that had probably been there for decades) turned to a low hum— Liam and Lip helped them shuffle through their belongings in the trash bags, moving the mattress to the center of the room and not even bothering to cover the already-stained hardwood floors with a drop cloth before they coated the studio’s walls in thick layers of paint.

Mickey and Liam were tackling the kitchen, priming the walls in a comfortable silence. Frank’s death had hit Liam pretty hard, and Mickey could only imagine how fucked up it was, to have all the heaviness and all those complicated clumps of emotion that came with Terry dying inside you when you were only a kid— losing a shitty father was almost harder than losing a good one.

But Liam seemed enthusiastic about helping with the renovation efforts— he covered the walls dutifully in multiple coats of primer, ran to the corner store to pick up canned pints of “Burnt Ember,” and even offered Mickey advice on various wallpaper swatches for a feature wall in the studio (which Mickey actually appreciated, because he was still learning all this shit and fuck if he knew what a “feature wall” was or how to make it look good). Liam also gave his review of the various pieces of furniture Mickey had circled in an Ikea catalogue with a black Sharpie. Mickey was flipping through the catalogue, Liam methodically painting a final coat of paint in the kitchen beside him in a comfortable silence, when Mickey tuned in to Lip and Ian’s conversation from where they were painting in the main room.

“So, you guys are really doing this shit, huh? Running the Alibi?”

Ian paused, presumably taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Don’t know, man. The neighborhood’s changing. My bet is the crowds’ll get thinner and thinner.” Lip paused, ripping a paper towel to wipe his hands. “You sure that you and Mick have thought this through?”

Mickey tried to hold back an audible scoff from the kitchen. There were a number of things he could’ve yelled from the other room— for starters, when in the last 12 months had fucking Phillip Gallagher thought anything through— but he decided to hold his tongue, listening for Ian’s reply.

“Jesus, Lip. Yes. We’re already living in the place, not gonna give it up now.”

A pause.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.”

Mickey could hear Lip twisting open the soda can he’d been drinking from.

“I don’t know, man. It’s my job to care about this shit, isn’t it? I thought Fiona taking over the laundromat was a bad idea, and she still did it anyways.”

Ian gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah.”

The soft tempo of the paint rollers on the wall continued.

“You sure this is what you wanna do with your life?”

Mickey felt that twist in his stomach again— the ice cold one, the feeling of fear that always sunk into his bones in moments like this, when he knew other people saw what he saw: that Ian Gallagher was far, far too good for him, and that all Mickey doing was ensnaring him in the dirty streets of the Southside and holding him back, when everyone else was moving on with their lives into gentrified apartment complexes.

But he’d heard the smile in Ian’s voice as he replied.

“Absolutely.”

**

Finally, after a long fucking day, Lip and Liam had left the creaky apartment— the place was looking pretty good, the kitchen and the main room both painted, and Lip had even been able to do a bit of work on the plumbing and fixed the leaky sputter of the upstairs bathroom faucet (he had also tried to convince Ian to install some sort of fucking backsplash thing in the kitchen, a multi-day project that they’d both resisted). Now, with Lip and Liam out the door, he and Ian were ready to crash. Mickey strode across the room and opened all the windows as wide as they could possibly go, trying to dispel all the paint fumes and let in gusts of humid summer air so they could collapse on the mattress. They probably could’ve crashed at one of the other Gallaghers’ places for the night if they felt suffocated by the fumes— but for now the light evening breeze was quickly drying the paint, circulating the almost-too-small room.

Across the room Ian flopped onto the mattress, a ridiculous streak of gray paint smeared across his forehead. Mickey smirked, and crawled into bed next to him, sitting so his legs were pressed against Ian’s upper torso.

“I can’t wait to get a fucking bedframe,” Ian breathed out—his face buried in the pillow, his eyelids drooping. “And a new mattress. Not this shitty one with stains all over it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey smirked, reaching a hand over to card through Ian’s hair.

“Mm.” Ian hummed happily in reply as he kept his eyes closed, probably starting to drift off to sleep.

While was probably a horrible idea— at the very least, Ian should change out of his paint-streaked clothes and wash his fucking face. There were flecks of paint all over his face and in his hair, mingling and dried in his copper curls, from when he and Mickey had gotten into a moderate paint-splattering war like a couple of teenage boys when they were trying to paint the living room walls later in the day. He prodded Ian in his side, who was now laying curled beside him with a dreamy fucking smile on his face.

“Hey. Mumbles. Get the fuck up. You’re gonna fall asleep with that toxic shit all over your face.”

Ian yawned, his nose crinkling. “Don’t care,” he said into the pillow.

“C’mon, Ian.”

And all at once Ian’s eyes were open, and he was crawling his way on top of Mickey, boxing him in with his arms on both sides of Mickey’s head. Mickey felt a gust of air whoosh out of his lungs in surprise—and in an instant he was reminded of when they used to live at the Milkovich house, in his shitty bedroom with far too many bad memories for Ian’s presence to completely tip the scale and outweigh them with the good ones, when Ian would be laying sleepy beside him and they’d get into little wrestling matches and tussles like this, with grips of hair and breathed out “C’mere, army!”s. There was the same energy buzzing between them in this moment—but god, they were so fucking different than they’d been then. They were fuller, more solid; Ian was measured in a way that still made Mickey’s toes curl when he looked at him and compared him to the scrawny and glassy-eyed teenager that he’d been, to the hollow frame he’d been on the worst days when Mickey placed a hand on a too-cold ribcage curled under thin blankets and run a hand through his hair and whispered “please,” trying to will the light back into Ian’s eyes.

But that light was there all the goddamn time now— and it was there right now as Ian dipped down and kissed at Mickey’s neck, Mickey breathing out as a no-longer-sleepy Ian made his way downward.

He guessed Ian could probably just shower all the dried paint out of his hair tomorrow morning.

**

Tuesday was a blur of getting ready for Ian’s idea to host fucking 80s night, and getting ready for Franny to stay— Mickey had thought the extent of Ian’s plan for this party thing was going to just be playing some tunes and charging a little extra for beers, but apparently Ian wanted to go all out. He’d had Debbie make some sort of poster with a colorful font and stapled them all over random bulletin boards and telephone poles on the Southside, and posted a bunch of shit on her Instagram (which had a weirdly large following because of her whole “hot handywoman” thing, which was still a complete fucking mystery to Mickey). Mickey wasn’t sure that Ian’s plan of throwing a party at their random Southside bar on a Friday night was going to fix all of their financial problems— but hey, if they needed cash then they needed cash. And while Mickey’s preferred way of procuring cash was heading down to the local corner store with a gun stowed at his waistband, for once in his life he was trying to do this shit right. So maybe his goody-two-shoes husband was making him soft (he definitely, definitely fucking was)— but when his jackass ginger giant of a husband looked at him with fucking puppy dog eyes and asked him to go along with this plan, instead of Mickey’s not-quite-joking suggestions that they just rob the bodega two doors over instead to fix all of the Alibi’s money problems, there really wasn’t much that Mickey could do about it.

He and Ian were wiping the bar, Mickey mentally running through the list of shit they had to order to prep for Friday’s crowd, when their phone screens both illuminated with text messages on the bartop.

Debbie (2:34 PM): everyone make sure to post the 80s night flyer on ur socials!!!!

Lip (2:34 PM): What the fuck are socials

Debbie (2:35 PM): 🙄

Debbie (2:35 PM): u aren’t an old man, phillip. instagram, twitter, even facebook for dinosaurs like u🦖

Liam (2:35 PM): 👍👍 Already posted.

Liam (2:36 PM): But I don’t know how useful advertising to a bunch of 11 year olds will be…

Carl (2:36 PM): me and a bunch of the boys r gonna roll through- get ready to rage motherfuckers!!!

Ian (2:37 PM): ❤️❤️

Ian (2:37 PM): Thanks for all your help Debs

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Sappy motherfucker.”

He decided to reply to the groupchat in the way that he knew best:

Mickey (2:37 PM): 🖕

Mickey remembered the first day that he’d been initiated into the Gallagher family group chat, nearly a week after returning from their “honeymoon” in the dingy motel that smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke— he and Ian had been back at the Gallagher house for about a week, sleeping in most long lazy mornings and getting up to… various activities. It was one of those lazy mornings in bed when Ian had gotten decidedly distracted from said activities by the series of notifications that were lighting up Mickey’s phone on the nightstand from the groupchat Gallagher Fam:

Debbie (11:34 AM): the jonas brothers are playing upstairs. everybody take cover

Lip (11:34 AM): Thank god I don’t live there anymore

Debbie (11:35 AM): also welcome to the group chat mickey xoxo

Liam (11:35 AM): Noise-cancelling headphones are on. An excellent investment

Carl (11:35 AM): i’m just seeking shelter & keeping it real in the basement 😎

Mickey had never been part of a fucking family group chat before—he’d barely been involved in any group chats, since the extent of his smartphone use before prison was nonexistent, and he’d relied on burner phones to do all of Terry’s shady bidding after he got out of jail up until the wedding. He’d used some of their wedding cash to get himself an iPhone—even though he barely fucking knew how to use it half the time, except for shitty multiplayer games he and Ian liked to mess around with— but he’d barely had an excuse to text anyone except Sandy about various wedding logistics, and obviously Ian.

But now he was crashing with Ian’s family, and he and Ian were fucking married, and he was a part of this shit for real— it was group chat official. Which strangely felt all the more real, even though Mickey already had a fucking ring on his finger. And he’d never tell a fucking soul, not even Ian, but it made something warm pool in his stomach— to have siblings to fucking banter with about who ate the last of the potato chips, or who could pick Franny up from school, or whining about whoever was making too much noise, in the same ways he and Mandy and his brother used to get on each other’s fucking nerves.

Ian smiled down at his phone at Mickey’s reply to Debbie’s nudge about the posters. “Excellent contribution. Thanks for showing Debs how grateful you are.”

Mickey brought his emoji to life and flipped Ian off. “You’re welcome.”

Ian bit at his thumbnail, looking down at his phone. “Debbie says she can get us a karaoke machine for Friday. That might be kind of fun, right?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Whatever you think, man. It’s your idea.”

Ian started tapping away at his phone, and Mickey turned back to tidying the bar, the rows and columns of those fucking black binders from the Alibi’s storeroom still lingering in the murky corners of his mind. He didn’t want to blow too much money on this shit— he had no idea how much a karaoke machine costed, but it probably wasn’t cheap. Why the fuck couldn’t they just steal one? Mickey gritted his teeth. He could crunch numbers any day, could make enough bank to stay afloat— but something about this, about running a fully legit business, was making him start to feel like he was being pulled underwater.

Mickey stayed tense the rest of the day, feeling like a bundle of fucking nerves without really knowing why— there was just so much going on, between moving and painting and Ian’s nervous excitement at planning this event bullshit. They’d both stumbled through the slow day at the bar, and now were collapsed in bed for the evening; Mickey was scrolling through various furniture store websites, weighing their options, while Ian was curled next to him, talking about something in a low voice that Mickey wasn’t really paying attention to.

“Sorry, what?”

Ian breathed out and smirked. “Nevermind. You weren’t listening.”

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry, man. Just distracted.”

“Why’re you distracted?”

“Just thinking about all this shit. Furniture shopping, unpacking, whatever.”

Ian smiled. “Yeah? We can probably just pick stuff out when we go in person, we don’t have to overthink it.”

Mickey blew out a breath. “Yeah. Guess so.” He stretched his arms over his head— when the fuck did his shoulders get so tight?

“You ready for bed?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab the light.”

Mickey stood to pull the string for the bare lightbulb hanging directly above them, then thudded onto his stomach on the mattress. Immediately he heard Ian rustling under the sheets, moving closer to him, and eventually lifting on his arms to hover over Mickey’s back.

“The fuck’re you doing?”

“Relax, Mick. Just take a deep breath. Lemme take care of you.”

Mickey blew a breath out of his mouth into the pillow. “Not in the mood right now, Ian. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Not like that— just lemme make your shoulders hurt less, at least.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s hot breath on the back of his neck as Ian settled, sitting back on Mickey’s upper thighs and leaning over him. He ran his hands along Mickey’s upper shoulders, delicately rubbing his thumbs up and down near his spine and trying to work at the permanent knots there.

“R’you giving me a fucking massage?” Mickey mumbled the words into the pillow, letting his eyelids droop. It did feel pretty fucking good, if he was being honest—the tension was draining from where he’d been holding it in his shoulders all week long, absorbing the impact of all the changes swirling around them and trying to keep them both afloat.

“Mm.” Ian hummed in reply, working his hands down to Mickey’s lower back and digging his thumbs in right where there were bundles of dull pain. Mickey almost flinched—not because it hurt, really, but because Ian’s fingertips gliding across his skin felt so fucking good.

He remembered the first 17 years of his life, the years when he’d been touch-starved without even realizing it, when the only touches his nerve-endings knew were high-impact beat downs and fists connecting with his jawbone. Milkoviches didn’t fucking hug, aside from a casual slap on the shoulder or side-hug when one of them was released from juvie—and even after he and Ian got together it took fucking forever to know what being held, what being gently touched, felt like. Those first few times when Ian had dragged his fingers over Mickey’s hipbones when they were fucking made Mickey nearly shudder, his nerve endings sparking like goddamn fireworks; and he couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. It was like his body was going on alert, like there was an invader breaching and he was always used to bracing for impact; but despite himself, all Mickey wanted was more— all he wanted was to press his cheek to Gallagher’s fucking jawbone and just keep it there and breathe in the scent of him, absorbing the warmth of his skin.

He still wasn’t totally used to this shit, the luxury of a warm body next to his after those years in a narrow prison cot, and on the run— but as he drifted off to sleep, his shoulders now unclenched and Ian’s warm, sturdy limbs circled around him, he thanked god, if god even did fucking exist anyways, that living in the shitty apartment over the Alibi was where he ended up in his life right now, with Ian by his side.

**

The next evening, just as the sun was setting pink outside the windows and Mickey was finishing up organizing everything behind the bar, Debbie towed Franny into the main room of the Alibi, wearing some sort of pink frilly shirt and carrying a kid-sized backpack with her pajamas and toothbrush inside.

“Thanks for watching Franny tonight, you guys are the best!” Debbie had barely set foot in the door before she was out it again and letting it swing shut behind her. Seconds later, Mickey could hear the distinct roaring of a too-expensive car engine coming from the street outside the bar.

Ian peered out the front window to inspected Heidi’s ride. “Jesus. It’s some sort of Ferrari convertible.” He scooped up Franny’s backpack from the floor, slinging the comically small bag onto his broad shoulders as he crouched to give Franny a hug. “Hey Fran, it’s so good to see you!”

“I missed you, Uncle Ian!” Franny enthusiastically squeezed Ian back.

Ian pressed a peck to the top of her head. “Missed you too. We’ve gotta have a talk with your mommy when she gets back about child road safety. That Ferrari was noticeably lacking a car seat.”

“Uncle Mickey!!!” Franny nearly squealed as she spotted Mickey behind the bar, running up and trying to jump up onto a stool so she could reach him. Ian laughed and lifted Franny so she was perched on a stool, her legs dangling as she reached forward. Mickey reached out an arm to fist-bump Franny, the best he could do with the bartop between them.

“Hey there, Little Red. Missed ya.”

Franny immediately looked Mickey up and down, like she was assessing if he’d changed at all since she last saw him. Her brows furrowed—then finally she spoke.

“Uncle Mickey, I have a question.”

Mickey reached across the bar to ruffle her hair. “What’s up, kid?”

She paused. “Can I rip the sleeves off my shirt too, like you?”

Mickey chuckled in surprise. He was wearing one of his flannel tank-tops with the arms ripped off—a white trash summer look in every way. “Let’s see what we can do. I think Uncle Ian’s got some old shirts packed upstairs that we can mess around with.”

Luckily, the bar was totally empty for the evening, aside from their three or four regulars— so Ian and Franny got to go upstairs and play dress-up while Mickey dealt with shit at the bar for an hour or so, deciding they’d close early so they could pay attention to Franny.

“Hey, Mick! We’ve got a surprise for you.” Ian’s voice wafted down from the back stairway that led up to the apartment.

“What’s up?”

“One sec. Stay downstairs.” Mickey could hear two sets of pattering footsteps coming down the staircase—and Franny dashed into the room, wearing a very baggy white tank top that reached her knees and an oversized flannel with the sleeves ripped off, an exact replica of Mickey’s outfit.

“Look, Uncle Mickey! I have an outfit like you! Now we can play liquor store robbery.” She looked at him seriously—then her face contorted, her brows furrowed and her lip sticking out in a face that Ian had taken to calling the “Milkovich scowl,” a trait that Franny had adopted in her many hours of playing “robbers” in the backyard with Mickey with her fake guns he’d gotten her for her birthday.

“Gimme all of your money!”

Mickey chuckled, and threw his hands up in surrender. “You got me, Wonder Woman.”

Ian walked towards the bar, lifting Franny up so she was perched on the countertop. “You like Franny’s new look? She was pretty insistent about wearing the tank top too.”

But Franny was still peering over at Mickey, like something had caught her eye.

“Uncle Mickey, can I have drawings on my fingers too? Like you? All the real robbers on TV have those.”

This time it was Ian who was laughing. “Oh my god. Debbie’s gonna kill us. If Franny gets knuckle tattoos by the time she’s seventeen, I’m blaming you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nothing wrong with family tradition. Fuck you.”

Ian tapped his fingers on the counter. “Wait, I have an idea. Franny, wait here.” Ian rushed upstairs, and came back down holding the black Sharpie that had Mickey had been using to circle pictures in the Ikea catalogue.

“Here, hold out your hand Fran.”

Franny held out her hand for Ian to hold—and he started to draw blocky letters between each of her knuckles. When he finished, he held Franny’s hand up for Mickey to see the doodled serifs, smiling sheepishly.

“L T T L   R E D  ♡”

Mickey grinned. “Now you’re a real robber, Rockstar.” Franny looked at her hands and smiled contentedly, running her thumb over the letters.

“L. T. T. L. I know all these letters. They’re different from Uncle Mickey’s. Mommy said his say ‘fuck.’”

Ian snorted. “Yeah, you get your own special letters Franny. They say ‘little red.’”

Franny beamed. “That’s what Uncle Mickey calls me!”

“You got it, kiddo.”

The rest of the afternoon involved many rounds of playing “liquor store robbery,” and Ian lifting up Franny to “help” behind the bar by pulling the lever of the beer tap— and by the early evening, when even fucking Kermit and Tommy had gone, Ian had the idea to make a fort out of the leftover empty inventory boxes, and Franny had repeatedly busted through the tower of boxes and shouted “Put your hands in the air!” as she pretended to blow up fictional liquor store walls.

Now it was late and they were all upstairs—Franny had crashed after dinnertime, after bouncing on the bed with a sugar high from the Poptarts Mickey had snuck her after dinner (to supplement some bullshit pasta thing that Ian had forced Mickey to feed her, even though he never remembered wanting to eat that shit when he was five— he practically lived on Honey Buns and pork rinds from the nearby gas station).

They still didn’t have furniture, and at one point they’d perched on the mattress so Mickey could show Franny videos of monster trucks on his phone— and now Franny was totally passed out against Mickey’s chest, breathing those raspy, loud breaths kids make when they’re deeply asleep.  

Ian came in the room from the semi-divided wall of the kitchen, wiping his hands after finishing rinsing the dishes (two plates, and a bowl that Franny ate from because they’d only swiped two of everything from the Gallagher house last week); and Mickey saw Ian’s lips curve upward in a knowing smile as he noticed Franny curled in the bedsheets, half-leaning on Mickey’s chest. Franny and Mickey were smack in the middle of the mattress, taking up most of the room; but Ian crouched to sit on the edge of the mattress beside Mickey, hooking his chin on Mickey’s shoulder casually as he peered over at Franny, still wearing her oversized flannel and smudged knuckle tattoos.

“Guess our babysitting duties are over.” He breathed out, trying not to unsettle Franny’s steady breathing. “Hope we didn’t corrupt her too much.”

Mickey scoffed. “Debbie’s dating someone who’s more of a fuck-up than we’ll ever be. Don’t think the ball’s really in our court on that one.”

“Fair.”

Franny scrunched her nose in her sleep, sighing out heavily before nestling deeper into the bedsheets.

“I kinda missed her, man.”

Mickey was surprised by the words as he heard them coming out of his mouth— they were true, but he hadn’t even voiced them to himself until now. As shitty as he’d always been with kids, he had to admit that goofing around with Franny was pretty fucking fun.

Ian smiled from where his mouth was pressed against Mickey’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a silence, the room filled with the soft sound of Franny’s steady breathing. And then:

“Maybe… we’ll have a kid of our own sometime.”

Immediately, Mickey felt his gut lurch. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about this shit—they definitely had, in the abstract moments before the wedding; before everything blew up in their face and the pandemic took hold and any thought of kids was pushed way, way to the sidelines. And it wasn’t like Mickey was avoiding the topic— but he wasn’t exactly bringing it up, either, and neither was Ian.

Mickey thought back to that moment before the wedding, back to the hushed “you want kids?” Ian had placed between them— and how in that moment Mickey had known how much Ian wanted kids, how much Ian constantly cared for other people, how his voice got all soft and mushy around the edges in the vicinity of a baby. He knew how much Ian wanted this— but even broaching the topic made Mickey’s muscles start to clench.

Mickey tried to keep his cool—even though he felt the tides starting to roll inside of him, threatening to pull him under.

“I’d be a shitty dad, man.”

Ian’s head pulled away from where it had been nestled against the crook of Mickey’s neck—and Mickey turned his head to meet Ian’s piercing gaze.

“No you wouldn’t.” Ian’s voice was soft, surprised.

Mickey swallowed. “What if I like. Beat it. Or—” he cut himself off, knowing his voice was starting to waver.

Ian’s voice was firm when he replied. “You won’t. You’re great with Franny.” Ian paused.” “You were great with Yev.”

And there it was—the other fucking elephant in the room, beside all of Mickey’s other daddy issues; the fact that Mickey already was a father, was forced to be a father against his own will, giving him some sort of complex that he didn’t even have the energy to dig into about the potential of scooping up some kid to raise with Ian…. when there was already one out there with his gene pool that he didn’t want, that he couldn’t want, whose existence was forced onto him at gunpoint and who he didn’t have the strength to take care of.

Mickey felt Ian’s hand, feather light, tracing down his side— pulling him out of the current of his internal monologue. Ian’s hand hooked around his hip; a touch to root him, giving Mickey solid ground to hold on to.

“Hey.”

“What.”

“You’re gonna be a great dad.”

Mickey swallowed down the lump in his throat—and with it he tried to swallow down whatever bullshit was holding him back from letting himself have this. He thought about Ian—despite all his own reservations, he knew Ian must be having the same type of feelings about all of this shit; Ian was the one who had stolen Yev, who had worked so hard to get himself to the person he was today—a stable place where he was allowed to dream about being a parent, allowed to dream about shit like this.

“I hate this.”

Mickey didn’t really know what he was referring to in particular as he said the words—he hated all of this, he hated the churning emotions inside him. He felt so fucking uncomfortable—but that was always the first thing he felt, wasn’t it, when there was something deeper inside? It was the first thing he’d felt when he started to fall for Ian, when he started to realize he much preferred scrawny redheads to the busty figures with long hair; the pushing and heaving of no no no from somewhere in his ribcage, because he knew how much letting himself have this was going to hurt, how much shit he was going to have to wade through.

But he’d fucking done it—and look where he was now: Ian curled against his back, their fucking niece sound asleep beside him.

“Hey.” Ian’s voice was soft, nearly tickling Mickey’s ears. “There’s no rush for any of this shit. I’m just talking about… big picture. Eventually. When we’ve got all our shit settled.”

There it was again—that word, the one Ian had been saying all the time lately, the one that had been radiating out of his pores. Settled.

Mickey clearing his throat, trying to dispel the huskiness he knew would be there when he spoke. “Yeah. Maybe someday.”

He looked down at his hands. He knew that saying that wasn’t enough— Ian had to know how much he meant it.

“I— I wanna give you that shit. Someday.”

Mickey knew that was still an inadequate expression of everything he was feeling, of how much he wished he could just race carefreely into making fucking forts and playing dress-up with a kid of their own; but he also knew that for tonight, Ian understood. He knew in the way Ian pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw, and said into the silence of the room:

“You’re so fucking good at taking care of people, Mick.”

Mickey let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. They were going to do this—someday.

“You know… now that we’ve got our own place.” Ian’s voice trailed off.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well— we could be good millennials and start with a dog. Y’know, as a practice run. Get your fucking Milkovich pit bulls or whatever.”

Mickey instantly felt whatever remaining tense energy that had been clinging to him dissipate. He felt a grin creep onto his face. “Hell yeah. I’m in.”

Ian pecked his shoulder. “Cool. We can check out shelters sometime next week.”

Mickey shook his head, still smiling in relief. “A pit bull, I can handle. We’re gonna treat her like a fucking princess. Who needs kids anyways?”

Ian smiled back. “The first step in starting our own Southside family.”

Mickey’s insides instantly got warm and gushy at the words— and again, it was that mix of no no no and you don’t deserve this alongside something deeper, something more solid. He tried to do what Ian always told him to do, in the moments that he felt like this: he forced a breath in, forced himself to expand his ribcage. He forced himself to think:

You deserve this.

**

The next day had been uneventful, other than Franny’s tearful goodbye— and now it was the early afternoon on Friday, far too early for any sort of rush. Once again only Tommy and fucking Kermit were seated at the bar, but today he and Ian were barely paying attention to them, despite Tommy’s halfhearted attempts to drag Mickey into some sort of bullshit banter (as much as Tommy said he preferred silence at the bar, everyone knew that was a lie. Why the fuck else would be have been coming here every day for the last eleven years?).

Today, Ian had dragged a chalkboard out from the clutter of the dingy back closet of the Alibi, a sandwich board meant to be placed on the curb to promote the bar that looked like it had hardly been used. Ian continued to shuffle through the various boxes in the back room, making a shit ton of noise, until he finally found whatever else he’d been looking for.

“Aha!”

He held up a bent cardboard box of multicolor sidewalk chalk— half empty, and half broken, but it would get the job done.

He strode over to the bar, laying the chalkboard on it— then turned to Mickey, folding his arms in front of him.

“Alright, bartender extraordinaire. What drinks should we make for 80s night?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, puffing out a breath. “I don’t fucking know. Most of the guys who come in on Fridays just drink beer. We don’t gotta overcomplicate shit.”

Ian pressed his lips together, contemplative and looking down at the blank canvas of the chalkboard. “I’m not saying we should force out the regulars, because that’s definitely not what we’re going for with the event— but it’d be nice to have a couple of new things, in case the new people in the neighborhood do some by. Nothing too fancy or frilly or whatever.”

Ian dug in the cardboard box, plucking out a piece of chalk.

“And we should make our own signature drinks anyways, since we’re taking over the place. Make our mark on the Alibi.” He grinned. “Got any fun drink name ideas?”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, and felt the corners of his lips turn upwards in an amused smile against his will, thawing. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Ian continued smiling. “How about… the Milkovich Mojito.”

Mickey puffed out a breath of air, shoving Ian in the chest and furrowing his brows. “No fucking way.”

Ian just waggled his eyebrows. “C’mon, we own the place. It’ll just be a mojito with a shit ton of rum, only enough for someone with Milkovich-level tolerance. People will think it’s funny.”

Mickey felt his eyebrows lift upwards a bit, and he could see from the expression on Ian’s face that he’d lost this one. “Fine.”

Ian smirked, penciling in “Milkovich Mojito” on the chalkboard and drawing a little design around it. Mickey forgot how good Ian was at this— at the little details like this, at making shit look nice.

Ian rose from where he was hunched over the chalkboard when his masterpiece was completed, hands on his hips. “Alright. What else?”

Mickey shrugged. “I don’t know. How about ‘just fucking beer’?”

Ian laughed, and a warm feeling pooled in Mickey’s stomach despite himself. “Yeah. We should spell that out on the menu, so people know that’s our standard.” He leaned to write “JUST FUCKING BEER” on the chalkboard, drawing a little cartoon beer stein with foam on the top next to it. Mickey reached out, smudging a bit of the chalk of the drawing to annoy Ian, just because he could.

Ian swatted his arm away. “Hey! No touching the masterpiece.” He drew over the part Mickey smudged as best he could, biting his lip in concentration. Fuckin’ dork.

Ian stood tall again, admiring the finished product. “There. One more?”

Mickey shrugged again, feeling utterly out of ideas. He could balance a budget, sure, but he was useless with all the creative shit like this.

Ian bit his lip again, thinking. “What’re even mixed drinks people like? Sex on the beach?”

Mickey smirked. “There ain’t a lot of beaches in Chicago, man.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I guess it’s more like ‘sex behind a dumpster.’ Or ‘sex on your twin bed at your family’s house.’”

Mickey grinned, catching Ian’s drift. “Sex in the dugouts.”

Ian laughed, then made a little gesture with his hands like inspiration had struck. “Mick, I think we have our final drink name.” He turned to write it on the chalkboard.

“What the fuck are we gonna put in it? Just a fuckin’ lukewarm beer?”

Ian smirked, looking off dreamily. “Ah, memories.”

Mickey prodded him in the sternum. “You’re a fucking sap.” He shoved Ian over. “Here, let me write this one.” He took the chalk from Ian’s hand. “No peeking.”

He scratched on the chalkboard for a moment, then stood back to reveal his work. “Ta-da.”

In scratchy handwriting, not unlike the “STAY THE FUCK OUT” sign that used to be taped to his door, read “SEX IN THE DUGOUTS”—and next to it was two drawings, of a cartoon dick and two stick figures fucking doggy-style.

Ian grinned wide. “It’s perfect. Definitely captures the vibe of the new owners.”

Mickey just smiled back.

**

It was 6 p.m. now, and the bar was just about ready—Ian had compulsively swept the floor during the lull in the afternoon, even though it would be dirtied and scuffed within seconds of the usual Friday blue-collar crowd streaming in through the doors, and Mickey was perched on a stool at the end of the bar, laboring over his playlist. He usually didn’t overthink this shit— he’d included all the classics, from Bon Jovi to Queen to fucking Cyndi Lauper, but there was something so public about he and Ian running this thing now, and about throwing a loud event to proclaim it, that make Mickey’s stomach start to do somersaults for some reason as the first huddled crowd of Southsiders shuffled their way in through the door.

The bar did look good— Ian had got some sort of lighting gels to put over the lamps in the Alibi, and the room’s lighting was tinted a suave blue color, making the small space feel a little hipper, a little cooler, while still retaining its comforting dingy feel. It almost reminded Mickey of the soft, colorful lighting in that random Westside bar they’d gotten engaged in, with the shitty overpriced beer and the sparkly fucking lights when they’d watched that god-awful harp band with Barry or whatever the fuck his name was— but the lighting here looked cooler, more deliberate, and cast a calculated glow across the room that added to the vibe. The bass was thrumming low through the speakers Ian had rented from somewhere— right now it was just playing some mellow Joy Division song as people continued streaming into the bar.

Ian had crept upstairs at some point, probably to change out of whatever sweaty t-shirt he’d been wearing all day; and Mickey saw a flash of red hair emerging from the stairway now, turning the corner to stride into the dark room.

“Hey! Oh my god, it’s great to see you guys!”

Immediately Ian was swept away by some group of people in their mid-twenties near the swinging door that led to the back of the bar, who were chattering away about how they’d seen the poster on Debbie’s Instagram or some shit. Mickey assumed they were some people Ian had known when he’d been locked up, one of the unfamiliar faces from their wedding that got involved with Ian’s “Gay Jesus” bullshit—and as much as Mickey knew Ian’s relationship with those figures from a very different time in his life was complicated to say the least, it was nice to see Ian leaning comfortably against the bar, chatting away with someone that wasn’t him or Lip— chatting with friends. Looking settled.

Mickey smirked, knowing his gaze was lingering for too long when Ian locked eyes with him from across the bar, tilting his head towards the stairway. Giving Mickey a chance to go upstairs, to freshen up, to take a deep breath if he wanted to.

Fuck it. Mickey strode across the bar, heading upstairs to the quiet sanctuary of the studio and its fresh-painted walls. He shuffled through the various shirts and baggy jeans that were now in their designated-clothes-pile in the corner of the room, at least until they got a dresser and hangers and all that shit. He decided to peel off his sweaty tank top and change into a blue Hawaiian-print shirt, the one he’d swiped from the laundry room at the yuppie fucking Westside apartment complex before he’d burned that bridge, to amp himself up and fit the vibe downstairs. The shirt was only a little bit creased from being shoved in a pile in the corner of the room, which felt like a bonus— and Mickey smoothed a hand through his hair and fixed the collar of the shirt as he caught his own eye in the cracked bathroom mirror. There weren’t lots of times Mickey really gave a shit about what he wore—he and Ian pretty much lived in tank tops and boxers at home, and tank tops and denim at the bar especially on hot fucking days like these ones— but he had to admit that it did feel pretty nice to put on a shirt with a collar, a shirt with bright colors and patterns on it that, fuck it, he knew made his eyes pop—just because he wanted to have fun, just because he could.

He ruffled his hair one last time, then clomped back down the back staircase towards the light chatter swirling in the room below. Immediately he noticed the line at the bar starting to grow, and walked with intention over to behind the bar to start taking orders from a mixed sea of regulars and younger, new faces.

“Looking pretty festive there, Mick.”

Mickey held up a middle finger to where Tommy was seated on his usual stool. “Fuck you. I look hot and you know it.”

“You definitely do.” Ian slid behind him, speaking low into Mickey’s ear and his hands gliding to bracket Mickey’s waist for a moment as he shuffled by to pass a beer to a customer, then walked to the end of the bar and start to take more orders without a glance back. Mickey felt his neck flush red, just for a second— Ian was always just saying shit like that, about how good Mickey was, whenever he looked nice. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

After a few hours the party was fully humming, and both he and Ian could barely glance up from the bar because of how many people were streaming through and placing their orders. Courtesy of Debbie, a karaoke machine was up and running in the corner of the room, the speakers blasting a series of poppy instrumentals across the small space—and as much as Mickey hated to admit it, he had to say that this event bullshit was actually a pretty fucking good idea. There were a handful of new faces in the crowd, a bunch of fucking millennials with man-buns and Ray-Bans and brimmed hats; but most of the crowd was the typical neighborhood crew, blue-collar workers with beer guts who were dropping slightly more money than their usual tab on an extra beer, and walking sloshed to the corner of the room to serenade their buddies with “Livin’ on a Prayer” (which made Ian stare across the bar at Mickey with a knowing smile between pouring drink orders).

At some point in the evening Debbie rolled in with a group of people from some gay bar she’d been pregaming her evening at, and Carl came by with some of his cop buddies; and all in all, the place had all the makings of a good fucking party. Which meant they were making good cash—beyond the wads of bills left on the bartop as tips, all the millennial jokers filtering through the space were surprisingly biting on the overpriced cocktails Ian had concocted, and they were racking up a good profit as the night went on.

Maybe they could fucking run this place after all.

Right now, a very sloshed Debbie was singing on the karaoke machine in the corner, belting out the final verse of “I Will Always Love You” and practically eye-fucking her new Grand Theft Auto girlfriend— an image that Mickey was trying not to pay attention to at all costs as he scanned the room, trying to mentally calculate just how well they’d done for the night. There’d been a good crowd streaming in for hours— and now the numbers were finally dwindling, and at last he and Ian could finally slow their pace for a bit, instead of being pulled in a million goddamn directions to wipe up beer spills or clear tables or refill the ice cubes in the freezer.

“Heeeyyyyy everyone! Listen up!” Debbie’s muffled voice took over the fade of the final chords of the song, her mouth a little too close to the microphone and making it screech as she spoke out to the crowd in the bar. “I just wanna say a shoutout to Ian and Mickey for taking over the Alibi! And for being the heroes that kept this place alive!” She teetered slightly. “Southside forever!”

Mickey scowled, and locked eyes with an amused Ian across the bar. “Control your fucking sister, man.”

Ian shrugged. “Eh. She’s the one that helped plan half this shit. Let Debs have some fun.”

Debbie pointed a finger over to where Ian and Mickey were standing behind the bar. “Everyone give them a round of applause! C’mon, they deserve it! C’mon!”

There were a couple of chuckles from the crowd, at Debbie’s deeply inebriated state as she tried to put the microphone back in its stand and drag herself away from the small TV showing song lyrics— but then, one by one, people at the bar started to clap— regulars, random newcomers, and even Tommy gave a little whoop as the cheers grew louder and louder and started to erupt.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, but Ian straightened his spine and smiled as he addressed the crowd. “Couldn’t have done it without all of you guys!” He wiped his hands with a towel, and went back to wiping down the bar as the applause settled.

Just then, Debbie turned and fumbled to grab the microphone once more. “Wait! Ian, Mickey! Come up here and sing a song.”

If Mickey thought he was scowling the first time Debbie had stumbled her way into the mic, now he was on a whole different level. He flashed a glance to Ian, and saw the sappy grin starting to grow on his face, like it always did when Ian had some dumbass idea. Jesus Christ.

Mickey needed to pump the brakes on this one fast. “No fucking way, Gallagher.”

Ian stepped closer to Mickey, reaching a placating hand onto his elbow. “C’mon, Mick. It’ll be fun.” Ian raised his eyebrows— and his stupid fucking eyes were shining again, doing that fucking thing where Mickey could feel in his bones that Ian was so ridiculously happy that they got to do sappy, mundane shit like this together…

Mickey blew out a breath. “I gotta do a shot or some shit before we do this.”

Ian’s grin grew ten sizes as he dropped the towel hanging from his shoulder onto the bar and swiftly turned to pour Mickey a shot of Jameson. Mickey’s frown deepened as he lifted his head back to pour the liquid fire down the back of his throat, bracing himself for battle; of course his stupid fucking American-Idol-wannabe husband couldn’t resist a call to do goddamn karaoke. Mickey blamed himself—he should’ve known Ian anywhere in the 1-mile radius of a karaoke machine would inevitably be a recipe for disaster.

Ian strode past the length of the bar and toward the corner of the Alibi where the illuminated screen of the karaoke machine was sitting there waiting— Mickey trudged behind him, shooting a glance at where Tommy and Kermit were seated on their regular stools.

“You two are in charge of the bar for 2 fucking minutes. Don’t fuck this up.” Kermit raised his hands in surrender, and Tommy just raised an eyebrow.

Ian was already punching at the little arrows on the machine. “What song d’you wanna do?”

“I could give less than a fuck, man. This is your fucking idea.”

Ian just flashed him a grin as he scrolled through the preselected song options. “Here, let’s do this one.”

He handed Mickey a microphone, and reached over to grab the second mic from Debbie’s hand (who was now successfully being corralled back to a booth by Heidi).

Instantly, the techno intro rhythms to the song began—and Ian started bobbing his head, causing the onlookers at the bar to laugh and one person to whistle. Mickey just shoved his upper arm.

“I fucking hate you so much.”

Ian just raised his eyebrows, and in a very off-key voice, started to sing:

“You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar

When I met you

I picked you out, I shook up and turned you around

Turned you into someone new”

Mickey felt his heart thudding in his chest—and fuck that. He owned the fucking bar, he could fucking sing with his goddamn husband if he wanted to. Fuck whatever everyone else was thinking.

So when the first verse ended, and quickly streamed into the second, Mickey clutched the microphone and half-spoke, half-sang the illuminated words on the screen:

“Now five years later on you’ve got the world at your feet

Success has been so easy for you

But don’t forget it’s me who put you where you are now

And I can put you back down too”

Ian’s grin was splitting across his face— and once again Mickey had to reach out and prod him in the chest.

“Stop looking so fucking sappy!”

Ian just held the microphone in both of his hands, and playfully started to sing the chorus:

“Don't

Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it

When I hear that you won't see me”

He looked over at Mickey, raising his eyebrows. “C’mon, Mick!”

Fuck it.

Mickey swallowed down whatever lingering… feelings were happening about all of this shit, and let the people watching them melt away, fading into the hazy blue lighting— because fuck all those assholes, anyways. He and Ian had been through way too much shit in the main room of the Alibi for Mickey to be afraid of doing fucking karaoke right now; he’d literally come out to his dad in these four walls. He’d had his face bashed in the moment he decided right here, rooted in this same spot on the scuffed hardwood floors, that he would do fucking anything to always be by Ian Gallagher’s side. So he squeezed his eyes shut, just for a second— and pretended it was just him and Ian, singing fucking Lady Gaga in their bathroom as they brushed their teeth (which, yes, they had been prone to do since Chromatica came out, fucking sue him)— and let himself actually sing, deep from his gut in the same goofy, lighthearted way that Ian was doing along with him:

“Don’t you want me baby?

Don’t you want me? Oh!

Don’t you want me baby?

Don’t you want me? Oh!”

Ian’s face was slightly flushed, still grinning from ear to ear, his eyes shining as he bobbed his head along with the music— and as they both finished singing the chorus, everyone in the bar started to lose their shit. Everyone was clapping and whistling; even some of the old regulars Mickey had pegged as homophobes a long time ago were cracking smiles through their scraggly beards and clapping their hands together.

When the song finally ended, Ian took a dramatic bow— then he took Mickey’s hand, clasping it and raising it over their heads. The applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, and someone yelled out:

“Let’s hear it for the new owners!”

After that, for the rest of the night Mickey loosened the fuck up— and maybe it was the couple of shots in his system, or maybe it was the fact that there weren’t that many people in the bar now at all except for a thin crowd of familiar faces— but he was feeling happy and warm as he milled through the crowd picking up empty glasses. At some point Debbie switched up the playlist to more dance-y stuff, causing her and Heidi to start spinning in the middle of the room, and a couple others to push the bar tables to the side and follow suit.

And now, people were dancing—and some random middle-aged neighborhood lady grabbed Mickey by the wrist, a smile on her face, to come dance with them—and usually Mickey would scowl and say “Fuck no” to dancing with some random fucking stranger in a situation like this, but he was feeling the blood rushing through his veins, feeling fucking settled—so for just this once, he decided to dance like a fucking goof in his Hawaiian shirt with the random lady for a while, til he locked eyes with where Ian was standing across the bar.

And maybe they were supposed to be paying attention, because they were still the ones running the fucking bar— but all Mickey wanted to do in that moment was walk across the room and press himself closer, closer, and reach his hand up to the side of Ian’s neck, and drag him to lean down to just the right height to press their lips together, to feel the warmth between them.

So that’s what he did, in the midst of the whirring of their neighbors and strangers in the Alibi around them.

We don’t have to run anymore.

[tozinhofernandes-blog]

ORANGE COUNTY CHOPPERS

Psychedelic motorcycles with high handlebars, thin tanks and tire in the front. The big difference is that they are thematic and for the few: they do not leave the workshop for less than US $ 40 thousand. The client list is starred. Lance Armstrong, Keanu Reaves, Ewan McGregor, Joe Perry (Aerosmith guitarist) and Peter Fonda are some of those who own an exclusive machine from ORANGE COUNTY CHOPPERS, a family owned company run by Paul Teutul, and his bad guy who makes millions of dollars selling rebellion and creativity on two wheels.

The story The concept of motorcycle choppers originated in the United States was disseminated throughout the film "Easy Rider", released in 1969, in which actors Peter Fonda and Denis Hopper interpret the two motorcyclists who travel by America about their incredible machines. The movie's bikes, which had a name (they were called: Captain America and Billy Bike), may be the most famous Choppers in the world today. Another famous film of the time that featured the choppers motorcycles featured was "The Wild One", played by the heartthrob Marlon Brando. With their powerful bikes, Hollywood stars inspired many young people in the 1960s and 1970s.

It was in this context, from the fever of motorcycle choppers of Hollywood movies, that the American Paul Teutul, owner of an unmistakable and big mustache, tattooed arms and face of bad, had his love awakened by the machines of two wheels. However, the origin of the business of the Teutul family was another. In the 1970s, Paul started a steel framing company called Orange County Ironworks (known as OCI) in Montgomery, New York. At the time, the firm's address was the bucket of Paul's van and made from apartment stairs to car bodies. At the same time that the OCI was thriving, the entrepreneur developed the idea of ​​using his passion for motorcycles to create a new business. It was the success of the pioneering OCI that allowed Paul to develop the dream of riding motorcycles in the off-hours with the help of his son, Paul Jr.

At only 12 years old, Paul Jr. spent most of his school holidays at his father's company, learning everything about using steel, which would later be used to assemble motorcycles. While still attending the gym, he participated in the Cooperative Educational Service program, improving his assembly skills. Soon after graduating, he went to work with his father at Orange County Ironworks, becoming head of the railing and grille session. In 1999, with three factories of his own, the entrepreneur decided to transform his hobby - the assembly of "chopper" motorcycles - into a new company located in Rock Tavern, 130 kilometers from New York: the OCC (ORANGE COUNTY CHOPPERS). That was when Paul Jr.'s talent came on the scene, leaving OCI to head the design and manufacturing of the newly created company. ORANGE COUNTY CHOPPERS took the initial step in the world of custom machines at the Daytona Motorcycle Festival, known as "Biketoberfest", in 1999, featuring the "True Blue" motorcycle, manufactured in the basement of the family home.

The creation of the team, formed by father and son, caused a great interest in the consumers. Other themed motorcycles came next, such as "Spider Bike" (in red tones, with fenders imitating cobwebs), drawn from the comic book character Spider-Man and bought by Wyclef Jean from The Fugees.

The fate of the small and familiar company would change in 2001 due to the huge success of the famous reality shows. Because of the success of custom-built car shows like "Monster Garage," Sean Gallagher, development director for the Discovery television channel, intended to expand this genre with a different kind of "reality show" that portrayed a manufacturer of motorcycles with excellent design and talent. In the search for motorcycle manufacturers, the director found the OCC website. The Teutul family had a distinctive talent in the manufacture of custom-made motorcycles. From a list of more than 20 motorcycle shops he had in mind, the relationship between a father and his son, working together on a successful family business, attracted the interest of the producer and the OCC was chosen to make the program . On September 29, 2002, the first installment of the AMERICAN CHOPPER series was broadcast on the BBC's People + Arts and Discovery Networks, a lifestyle channel.

The grand balcony of the program and the Teutul family to make rapid success was to explore American patriotism at a delicate moment in its history. The TV program, no wonder the word "American" at the beginning of the name, became extremely popular when Paul Jr. invented a motorcycle to honor the firefighters killed in the tragic terrorist attack on September 11. Then came a model for soldiers fighting in Afghanistan and another called "Air Force One" (like the United States presidential plane). Not surprisingly, at the company headquarters was posted a plaque sent by the Pentagon, with the words: "Orange County Choppers - True American Heroes." The tension between the members of the program and the public's fascination with the super machines ensured the program's audience.

Taking advantage of the success, Paul Teutul did what almost all the stars of the American media were doing: he lent his image to products. From there came the miniature motorcycles, manufactured by Matchbox, and even the colony aftershave. The series established a connection with viewers because the Teutul family represented the true hero of the American working class: they came out of nowhere, set up shop and are on TV. Driven by success in television the company began to stand out worldwide as a reference in the manufacture of motorcycle choppers. In 2002, OCC was recognized by American Iron Magazine as one of the 12 best motorcycle manufacturers in the world; as was quoted in the book Haute Motor: The Art of Chopper (November 2003), among the 19 best automakers. The bikes of the workshop were also covers of renowned magazines such as "American Iron Freeway" (France), "Norsk Biker Journal" (Norway), "Street Chopper" and "V-Twin Motorcycles".

The success of the program, and consequently of the company ORANGE COUNTY CHOPPERS, can be measured when Teutul family revenues reached $ 360 million. Of this total, only about a little more than 10% came from custom bikes. The remainder came from the contract with Discovery and the sale of products licensed under the OCC brand. At that time, the phenomenon had already taken over the world. So much so that the store of licensed products receives orders from Japan, Russia, South Korea, Nigeria and even Brazil. Among other famous models built and created by the company are "The Comanche" (that has as reference the helicopter Bell RAH 66, used by the American army); the futuristic "I Robot" (inspired by the film "I, Robot" and commissioned by actor Will Smith), two of the most famous machines, whose constructions were exhibited in episodes of great audience of the program; and "The Original," a black and silver bike with blue details and a 1638-horsepower S & S (Smith and Smith) engine. In addition, in 2009, OCC presented SMART CHOPPER, its first electric motorcycle, built in partnership with Siemens, which provided battery technology, engine and recharging system. The motorcycle went on auction in 2010 to raise funds for a charity project.

The company's customer list has several famous names. At a cost between $ 35,000 and $ 150,000 (a traditional Harley-Davidson costs an average of $ 20,000), the company's choppers have already been sold to stars such as cyclist Lance Armstrong, rocker Tommy Lee, actor Will Smith and host Jay Leno.

The Reality Show

The initial idea of ​​the program (seen in more than 170 countries) was to centralize actions in the creation and assembly of motorcycles, which was almost left in the background when watching what was happening on the television screen. The members of the family had an intense and explosive relationship and this jumped in the eyes of the directors of the program. AMERICAN CHOPPER has become less about motorcycles and more about the dynamics behind manufacturing them. In the relationship between Paul Teutul and Paul Jr., his work styles are contrasting (they were always struggling with problems in building motorcycles or even for small reasons, such as a lost drill or dirt in the workshop), but note a series interesting "father-son" conversations, while striving to meet, with delivery deadlines seemingly impossible to accomplish, a high-quality job that represents the OCC. Each week, they created a new model and presented throughout the program the entire process of designing the bikes. Thematic designs are trademarks of the family. In addition to Paul Teutul and Paul Jr., Michael Teutul (the "Mikey") was also featured in the show's plot. In the United States, each episode of the show has attracted an average of four million viewers. In Brazil, the attraction was also a resounding success of pay-TV audience. At Orkut, there are more than 70 Brazilian communities dedicated to the program and its characters. In 2010, the program ended early in February, as a result of the final fight between Paul Sr. and his son, Paul Jr., to have been taken to the New York State Courts. He continued with OCC and his son opened his own company. Well, it was not long before the two returned to work in one program, only with separate recordings. The program, dubbed "Paul Senior Vs. Paul Junior ", was recorded with two production teams, independent and without any form of communication between them, where father and son entered a dispute building different motorcycles, which compete with each other.