#he painted a target on their backs with this shit. his company deserves to go up in flames. fuck attrakt

[citnamora]

PLEASE stand with the members of Fifty Fifty. The record label they're under, Attrakt, has leveraged serious allegations against them in articles that were proven to be the product of bribery. There is documentation proving they were abused by their CEO and overworked even when sick. There is more evidence stacked against the CEO than the girls themselves. If you do any bit of research you'll see this.

The Fifty Fifty situation is only a sliver of the horrors faced by Kpop idols. Suicide is not uncommon. There need to be laws in place protecting idols and ensuring companies cannot exploit their image and talents without fair pay. Mental health is horrible within the industry as a result of idols being overworked. This should not be the norm.

Join the boycott, support the girls, don't let the corruption sway you. Any idols facing workplace mistreatment deserve our full support. After all, you can't have kpop without them.

[chevelleneech]

Watching Frankie Biggz react to the BTS guide, and apparently he said at some point that Tae was acting bitchy during episode 3 of AYS, and got attacked by people who claims he called Tae a bitch.

I don’t watch his reactions to AYS, so I have no idea how that situation went down, but in his reaction to the guide he’s explaining himself and is saying people apparently told him AYS is scripted, and that the show wrote Tae acting the way he did.

I hate that. Tae’s solos in particular are so fucking loud and obnoxious, that they’ve genuinely convincing people AYS is a scripted travel series, just because someone said Tae was acting bitchy. I disagree with Frankie, personally. I didn’t see any difference in Tae’s actions or words, but I’m also a long time fan of the group. I have a better understanding of his personality than someone just coming into the fandom, but that goes for all fans.

Those of us who have been around for 2+ years let alone 10, will obviously know Tae is much more dry and comes across as bitchy at times, and that’s fine. That’s his personality, but it doesn’t mean he can’t also be funny and care free. But to blatantly lie to someone and claim the entire show has been pre-determined and scripted, is such bullshit. Because going forward, Frankie isn’t going to have a true understanding of who Jimin and Jungkook are.

Do I anticipate this older man shipping them? Obviously fucking not, but him feeling as if he was manipulated by a script into viewing Tae a certain way, means he’s going to watch the remainder of the series with the wrong assumption. He’s going to think Jimin and JK are doing and saying things they’ve been written to do and say, and that paints an entirely different picture of their bond.

I truly fucking hate Tkkrs and toxic solos, because one single misunderstanding has led to a new fan stepping into an entirely different mindset now. Because not only is he goi g forward thinking AYS is fake, thus JM and JK likely don’t interact the way they’re shown in the show, but he’s also going to go forward believing Tae is a target of the company in some way, because he was written to come across as bitchy, when the fan made guide show him as being upbeat.

So ridiculous how easy it is to trick new fans, and it’s asinine that the majority of the fandom in Frankie’s comments aren’t calling it out. They’re just saying to not let negative fans get to him, and other (deserved) commented about how it’s okay to take a step back if he wants to. But no one is telling him those toxic fans stem from one specific issue, and that’s them hating Jimin. That’s them hating the fact that Jimin has a relationship (or whatever status) with Jungkook that Tae doesn’t, so they make up bullshit ass lies to make the importance JK himself has put upon Jimin in his life, seem less than what it is.

A handful of people trying to tell him the show wasn’t scripted and that’s just how Tae is, in a metaphorically crowded ass room of people yelling fuck shit, is just not working either. Especially when some of the people telling the truth, are also tacking on their own lies. Saying Tae was probably just tired or upset in episode 3, the same was JK was irritated in episode 6. IRRITATED WHERE!? The entire episode is him saying how happy he was to be back in Sapporo, and having fucking snowball fights with Jimin. He was smiling and laughing the entire damn episode, but one single moment of him JOKINGLY saying he’s being angry for the the sake of the show trumps all?

Fuck those people man. And I know I should be so frustrated, but Frankie Biggz seems like an alright dude so far. He’s a little older and says what he thinks, and the fandom hates that, but some people also welcome it, and that’s cool. But he also seems genuinely interested in the groups musicality as opposed to just wanting to watch them because he sees other people getting into kpop. So it’s incredibly annoying that Tkkrs got to him and are lying to him about who Tae is, as well painting a false image of Jimin and Jungkook’s dynamic.

[rosuuu]

Beyond the Music Room - Chapter 1: The Moment feelings overlap

TWST Idol AU x Reader (Twisted Idolland)

Everyone has a dream, that’s what I believe, wholeheartedly no matter how naive I may come off. Everyone deserves to have at least one of their dreams come true- er mostly everyone.

According my philosophy I should be happy for him, he’s never out rightly said he wanted to be an Idol but he always was so gifted with the art of music. Regardless maybe I was being selfish after all he never hindered my happiness

“You’re going to… audition? And to Pomefiore none the less!”

I felt a lump grow in my throat, how selfish of me.

He pursed his lips together, before clenching his hands into fists where he sat across from me in the small cafe we frequented.

“Yes…”

A long and agonizing silence followed, and for once we couldn’t tell what each other were thinking, I didn’t know what to say, what do you say in the situation? The once mundane conversations were now gone and for once I was itching to end this encounter

Panic hit me like a tsunami, shakily taking a bit of my pastry I choke out my next words

“Are….are you sure you really want to do this?”

Epel slightly glares at me, and I hold the teacup between my hands a bit tighter, he was always like this, taking concern as being pitied, looked down on. The idol industry was no playground, the slightest move and your career is over, you so much as smile the wrong way and everything is over

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“What do you mean, Epel I- I’m just- are you really sure! Like what about your grandma who’s gonna take care of her when you busy with concerts and rehearsals I-!”

My voice dies in my mouth and I trail off I look down at the table in front of me, embarrassed from my out burst and His eyes, once swirling with a raging ocean of anger, soften, he places his hands over one of mine and out of reflex I slap it away. Much to the shock of us both

“Epel- I”

The soft vibrations of my phone cut me off

It was cowardly, I won’t deny but when I saw the familiar glow on my cellphone, the caller’s name could be painted in a positive light, for once in my life. Sparing Epel a glance he clicked his tounge as I sighed and lifted my phone to my ear

“..Mother.”

The name rolled of my tounge bitterly

“Oh (Y/N), darling! Why the hostile tone after all I’m I your doting mother aren’t I?”

No response

“What do you want, Mother”

“Honestly I wonder where you got your manners from, No matter, your father and I have a meeting with a potential business, both he and his son will be coming over in a bit, I expect you to be on you best behaviour, his son is around your age after all”

I shouldn’t be suprised, I was basically an insurance policy for my parents if a business deal should fail, not that It’s ever happend though my distaste towards them they knew their way around the business world

After all how else would they go from a picture perfect family living happily in the country side to one of the biggest fruit produce companies in Twisted Wonderland

“Yes mother.”

“Good I expect you to not dissapoint me.”

Click

Letting out the breath I didn’t know I was holding I shakily lowered the phone from my ear, I looked back at Epel, I knew that look, he always hated when my parents dragged me into their business ploys especially when it involved me to entertain the sons’ though I never did know why

“Look Epel, I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you around”

Securing my bag on my shoulder I payed and left, still unaware of the 2 pairs or eyes glued to us

“Shit” Epel mumbled, burying his head in his hands

-??? POV-

“Rook, why are we here?” I spoke up as our targets companion left, I must admit they weren’t unpleasant to see though.

“Oh, Rui du Poison, you wound me so, we still need a third member and if my intuition is correct. This boy might check off all the boxes

-Epel POV-

In the darkness of my room I stare the the bright words illuminating my room, my curtains were closed preventing the bright afternoon sun from disturbing me.

‘Application Submitted!’

It wasn’t like I would get accepted anyway, there had to be what millions of applicants’ if I was lucky they wouldn’t even look at mine. According to that logic I’m not exactly sure why I took the time to submit an application maybe for closure, or the hope that card was meant for me.

The application process was simple, a resume including your standard mana level, age, height, and finally an application video, if anything would make of break my chances it was that damn video, it could be so much better. No it would be if (Y/N) was there too.

“Ahh what are I even thinking, I must be delusional”

Walking toward my curtains and swiftly opening them I glare at the apple trees I’ve gotten so used too. Taking a seat by the ledge of my window I pull my left leg to my chest, resting my head on it I close my eyes.

“…I wonder how (Y/N) is doing”

-(Y/N) POV-

I hate this, you’d think that after all these years something would change, then again maybe it was too much to wish for, Epel was stubborn, and he didn’t take shit from anyone besides I didn’t even tell him that I didn’t want him to apply

I can’t just expect him to always know what I’m thinking, that’s not fair, I should support him , I should be there for him, when did I get so selfish, I wonder if he decided to apply, should I cal him

Shifting onto my side from where I laid on my bed I check my notifications

‘You have no new notifications’

What did I even expect I need to get my head out of the clouds rolling back onto my back I close my eyes for a moment rest

“(Y/N)! Our guests are here!”

Dammit

Beyond the Music Room - Chapter 1: The Moment feelings overlap

TWST Idol AU x Reader (Twisted Idolland)

-end-

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Author’s Note~

I feel like this chapter was short I’ll make sure to write more for chapter 2. Btw who do you think the special guest is?

Taglist! (Ask or Dm to be added or Removed)

@sunnyshineblaze @lionar0und @cupids-chamber

@hearts-like-iron @raix-lv @lucian-kinnder

[drspencr]

dating matthew would include...

a/n: hi hi here’s a little short hc because i haven’t posted anything in a while :) but other than that my requests are open rn and i don’t have a lot to do nowaday!!

content warning: mentions of an age gap

masterlist

definitely keeping your relationship a secret for a while

spotted out in public in the early stages in the relationship

but everybody attacked you guys even when no one confirmed anything

especially getting on your guys asses for the substantial age gap

so ever since then, you two kept it on the downlow until everyone forgot about it

BUT two years later matthew finally convinced you to go public

you posted a nice picture of him sitting across from you and captioned it “happy anniversary, my love”

and matthew posted a pic of you just waking up and captioned it “i can’t believe i get to wake up to this every morning ❤️”

when you finally look at your notifications and see the photo he posted you completely freak

“matthew you chose the worst photo of me!!!”

“oh please, you’re beautiful”

the fans finally accepting you two as a couple

all of them coming to terms with your guys relationship and having to live vicariously through you

horsing around everywhere you go

he’s probably the kind of person to play tag at target

super! fun! dates!

picnic dates

water park dates

disneyland dates

bubble bath dates

but as playful the casual dates are, he seriously knows how to wine and dine

sneaking into abandoned places for fun and clinging onto his arm the whole time

“matthew can we please get out of here? this place is giving me the creeps”

“you don’t want to say hi to the ghosts? they’re really nice once you get to know them”

“matthew!”

“im kidding, im kidding”

color coordinated outfits

he insists

(tons of) naked mirror selfies

like getting out of the shower and putting your leg on his hips

or simply just standing in front of the mirror and hugging each other, skin to skin

he’ll probably be obsessed with your body and thinks it’s the most beautiful thing in the world

taking pictures, kissing and touching every inch of your skin, etc

it’s no doubt that he’s very intimate

calls you the step mom/dad of rumple buttercup

it was his way of saying that you’re somewhat of a family

CALLING EACH OTHER BUTTERCUP

and actually having a conversation about naming your first child rumple

kissing his forehead every chance you get

sometimes he gets insecure and thinks that he’s too touchy

so he’ll just stare at you from afar

probably looking up from his drawing every 30 seconds because he wants to hold you so badly

and you can feel him staring so you just open your arms and he just sheepishly walks over to you, sits down on your lap, and cuddles his head into your neck like a koala

buying him weird patterned socks to add to his collection!

it always brings a smile to his face no matter what it is

tickle fights

all the time

but you always end up winning and he always ends up on the floor with you on top of him

and he tries to ask you to stop but he can’t because he’s laughing too much

staying up because matthew literally doesn’t sleep until 4 am

but he realizes how much of a toll it’s putting on you so he starts going to sleep at a reasonable time

for your sake

watching binging criminal minds

matthew claiming that you probably like reid more than you like him

although, you were never going to admit that to his face jk

“you know that’s not true, baby. i love you and not the character you play, okay?”

“okay”

“but spencer reid still deserves better, fuck the cm writers”

“y/n!!”

“it’s true, don’t deny it”

letting you paint his nails

as long as it matched with the socks he was wearing that day

probably the hottest, wildest sex

like constantly experimenting and seeing what works best

and the aftercare? WHEW

he cooks you breakfast the morning after :)

matthew sneaking you onto set so you can watch him do his thing

also because he misses you

and when he has nothing to do and you’re not with him, he draws you from memory with flowers and hearts all around your face

“hey buttercup, how was work?”

“i drew you again”

“so a slow day, huh?”

dinners with his parents!

and it’s great because you and his mom get along so well and he loves seeing his two favorite people enjoying each other’s company

taking walks

like old couples

you would go in the morning, still in your pajamas probably

and just walk around the neighborhood talking about random shit and pointing out the chalk art on the sidewalk

he always has a new magic trick to show you and never runs out of cheesy jokes

sometimes he would pretend to be offended when you call him “grandpa” or “old man”

but other times, he would use his age as an excuse to get out of things

“matthew, do you want to eat dinner with me and my friend?”

“which friend?”

“bethany”

“oh uh,, i– my back hurts, yknow, old joints and all. maybe next time?”

you knowing damn well he just doesn’t want to see bethany

being friends with the whole cast (yk despite the drama and everything)

and going to all the cm parties

being friends with all of matthews friends honestly

another reason for him to love you so much

matthew wanting to propose for a long time but gets nervous and wants to wait for the right moment

he takes the ring with him everywhere he goes just in case

one day you’re just talking and laughing and he asks you out of nowhere

and takes the ring from his pocket like nothing

being matthew’s forever and having the most fulfilling married life 🥰

taglist:

@timey-wimey-lovi @harrys-creature @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @redbullchick @etherealsxnder @httpnxtt @blushingspencer @groovyreid @plazathehag @anditsdoctor @spenciereiddd @danandphilfan6 @estate-euphoric @yoongi-holland @la-vie-en-amour1

[camdentown-library]

Dancing with the beast || Ivarr Ragnarsson x fem!reader

( GIF belong to ithlinnesprophecy )

𝕺𝖍, 𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋, 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊?

Summary: After helping Ubba and Ivarr with the Ledecestrescire issue, you and your travel friends Eivor and Sigurd take a break at a banquet to celebrate the victory organized by the Ragnarsson brothers.

Requested? No

Genre: SFW

Words: 2278

In the air was the melody of lively music, laughter, and the pungent scent of mead. Probably in your eyes as a foreigner all this could be the perfect portrait of the legends that Eivor told you about the Valhalla...well maybe the gods were missing in all their glory, but people seemed to be enjoying themselves.

After all, it had been a tough battle and despite the rather large losses, everyone deserved a slice of tranquility.

To be honest you didn't have many opportunities to attend banquets, your mentor was always busy on some missions, and obviously you and Hytham had to follow him as good and obedient students, yet you could perceive, like a dim light in the distance on the horizon , the oriental music of Constantinople superimposed on the Danish one; If you had closed your eyes you could still see people throwing flower petals into the square, women and men dancing, the scent of spices and incense.

For a Hidden-One no land is their homeland, but you would have lied if you had admitted that Constantinople, your home, your people, your colorful culture did not miss you.

"Do you have fun, little one?" Eivor asked with a horn overflowing with mead, followed by a cheerful Sigurd.

"Enough, in short, I've almost never been to parties, but I know some dances...well, those of my tradition" you explained politely, sipping a bit of mead when Eivor gently approached his horn, in a tacit offer to share .

"Ah! I remember well, in Miklagard they often entertained very colorful parties in the square, and once I saw (y/n) dancing, a real beauty for the eyes to learn new traditions, brother" explained Sigurd, encouraging you in his way to melt more and join the dances.

"First I'll try to put something in my stomach, I'm tired of eating only what the forest offers, but don't worry my friends, you will see me dance one day" you answered bringing your hands in a friendly way on the shoulders of the two brothers, smiling friendly and then having dismissed them you approached the banquet to taste some dishes, it was all quite good...but it lacked seasoning and spices, how did the Vikings eat so bland?

Maybe in the end he felt like you? Like two fishes out of water?

Your eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, as if you wanted to immortalize every moment, or maybe it was your usual Hidden-one way of finding clues even when there was absolutely nothing to investigate...

Your eyes finally landed on an empty table in the room, there was only one man sitting on the bench, with his back resting on the table. No one was by his side, no one was talking to him, it seemed a sad contrast to the rest of the hall who was dancing and partying.

You decided to advance towards the area where everyone was dancing, while as you arrived at your goal you could feel a slight resistance from poor Ivarr. Was he afraid of too much attention on himself? Or cringed?

As you slowly approached your target, you could tell from his unusual hairstyle that it was Ivarr Ragnarsson. You haven't had many opportunities to talk. Perhaps because he was too rude and threatening at times, perhaps unfounded you feared slightly his moody and unpredictable personality.

"Hello" you said as you stood in front of him, he was sitting very relaxed and not very decorous, with his legs spread and both elbows placed on the table. Ivarr looked up at you, studying you from top to bottom, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"I've already seen you little girl...are you Wolfsmal's friend...Jamila?" he said trying to guess your name, probably unknown for his language. You shook your head smiling.

"Y/n" you corrected it.

"Y/n..." Ivarr repeated your name slowly nodding to himself "What a strange name, for Thor 'sake, your father was drunk when he gave you the name? I'll call you...Eagle-cub, will easier to remember” he replied with his usual elephantine delicacy in a crystal shop.

"If you say so...then you won't mind if I call you: rush? Ivarr is too weird even for me" you said with an amused smirk, while he gave you an amazed look raising both eyebrows.

"You know, I can read on your face that you are a foreigner, Eagle-cub" he commented, raising his chin a little towards you.

"Because your name is strange to my ears?" you asked raising an eyebrow.

"No" he replied sharply, shaking his head "You wander around lost just like an Eagle-cub, and what do you do? Come and annoying Ivarr Ragnarsson. Either you're too stupid, or you're probably a reckless chick" on his lips was painted a devious smile, he was probably testing you, he wanted to discourage you, but you wouldn't let go so easily.

"My intent is to receive your friendship. With Eivor you had become a friend" you explained with a vague but sincere way.

"Yes, but I don't like you" Ivarr replied with a kind face and forked tongue.

"Because am I a woman?"

"Because you are a foreigner"

"No man likes what remains difficult to understand, you are probably the one too stupid between the two" you replied with a troublemaker smile, enjoying the slightly displaced eyes of the man who, however, seemed not to give up.

Ivarr then tilted his head to one side, observing you even inside your bones, those eyes of his seemed to study every possible way in which he could pierce you with a weapon, yet you seemed not to be afraid. Maybe Ivarr was right, you were a reckless little girl.

"Huh..." he replied with fake surprise, and then smiled in a very mischievous way "You like to talk huh, Eagle-cub? You should make friends with Ubba, oooh he really likes to talk, an effective cure for those who have too much ear wax" he replied, selflessly taking a sip of alcohol.

"Yet I am here...and you are not Ubba" you finally answered crossing your arms to your chest observing him "Why don't you participate in the dances?" you asked to sweeten that speech that had turned sour like mead. Ivarr shrugged, glancing at the people dancing and chattering.

"If that wasn't obvious enough, I don't like to dance" he said raising his arms, then resting them heavily on the table, you then raised a curious eyebrow.

"Or...you don't like it, because you're not capable" you asked ironically letting yourself escape a little laugh, while Ivarr let out a sulky snort.

When Ivarr looked back at you he noticed that you had brought a hand towards him with a small amused smile.

"Usually it is a man who asks the woman to dance, but not being in my land, so I have all the freedom to ask you if you would like to dance with me" the boy looked at you not completely convinced and you looking up to the sky you said "Come on, are you afraid Ragnarsson?" and at that point he let himself take the callused hand and let himself be dragged after emitting a slight annoyed growl.

"Ok I will be magnanimous with you, give me your hands" you said to the young Viking, who offered you his wide and calloused hands, and you gently grasping them placed one on your side and the other joined it with your "Well now come closer” He took just a step and you giggled, rolling your eyes. "Closer, Ragnarsson. You said so, I'm an Eagle-cub, so I'm harmless and I don't bite” you replied as he came closer to you.

Your chests came almost touching, now that you thought about it, Ivarr was slightly taller than you, but he had a very strong and massive musculature, covered in tattoos with strange runes, part of you wondered what on earth those marks could mean.

"Now?" he asked slightly annoyed as he looked around.

"Now you just have to relax and watch me, listen to the music and let yourself be lulled. You will soon forget the people who are watching you" Ivarr in response sighed in exasperation and then brought his eyes to yours, as you had indicated, was a little stiff. beginning, but your sunshine and your fluid movements masked his slightly wrong movements.

"Why?" he asked at one point as you made a slight twist accompanied by his hand.

"Mh?"

"Why me?" you looked at him puzzled "Why did you choose to invite me to dance? Sigurd and Eivor seemed more inclined to accept your invitation" he explained, frowning to mask an almost invisible embarrassment.

"Oh, were you eavesdropping?" you asked your dance partner who replied even more sulky.

"Yes and then?" you rested your forehead on his armored chest and giggled under his breath, god, he was really hopeless.

"Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop, Ragnarsson?" you asked ironically, raising your head and meeting again his face contracted in a grimace.

"Do I really look like the guy who gives a shit about manners?" he asked then, his hand lightly squeezed your side.

"No" you smiled amused "That's why I like you" Ivarr almost stepped on your foot shocked.

"...Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Why should I?"

"Why should you ever want the company of someone like me, I'm a damn warrior who likes the smell of blood, not..." but all of a sudden he stopped and shaking his head went back to dance, you a little confused you looked for him look of his dull eyes but you could not.

"What?" you asked, bringing your hand from his shoulder to his slightly rough face due to his short beard, he almost seemed to reject the contact at first glance.

"I don't deserve the affection" he murmured.

"Why?" you asked again, he rolled his eyes.

"Fuck, did you see me? Or are you blind? I can't even grow a couple of balls for Ceolbert, I can't build anything, I'm good at killing people, that's what fuck I am. And you come here and tell me that you want to be my friend, that you like me, and you touch me as if this were not repulsive” he said, squeezing your side too tightly, starting to hurt.

"Ivarr..." you whispered placing your gaze on his hand, and when he sensed he let go, returning soft. There was a dead silence between you two as the music continued to lead you into that cheerful rhythm. Ivarr glanced fleetingly between the participants and no one seemed to care so much anymore.

"When people touch you like a monster, you probably start believing. Often those who consider themselves a monster think they don't deserve the affection of others, because they probably fear that their hands will be dirty with their blood" you were serious "But I'm not the others, luckily for me I can kill as much as you and I know how to defend myself. But I know I don't need it...You could say to me to go to hell when I got close to you, but you didn't. I know you won't hurt me" you finally concluded, as the Viking listened attentively to you reflecting on your words.

"Well...I was going to tear off your hip with that hand" he commented a little in trouble and you smiled slightly.

"And you were about to step on my foot. I have to admit that you really are a sucker at dancing" you commented amused. He made a slight smirk.

"You insisted on making me dance with you, foreigner, then perish" he said, squeezing your side even more, but this time with a joke, while you in return pinched his neck.

The music you were dancing to ended, leaving you perhaps a little disappointed, perhaps the time was up when Ivarr had started to melt a little. But you weren't completely unhappy, it was always better to have taken small steps than to have not moved at all from your starting point.

Ivarr also seemed to have enjoyed this short dance, in short, he was not a great dancer, but at least he felt less out of place than before. Sure, he wouldn't admit it even under torture, but okay.

"This dance has exhausted me, I'm going to prepare a fire to warm up and a tent to stay in tonight" you said, moving away from the Viking who, feeling at first glance the lack of contact between your bodies, was a little disappointed.

"If by any chance you reached me to help me at least to light the fire, then I will take it as a sign of friendship" you said placing a hand on your chest with a playful way to distance him even further from you, while turning around you walked out of the banquet hall, leaving an uncertain Ivarr in the middle of the ballroom.

A calloused and broad hand collided with the back of the latter, who coughed slightly in shock and when he turned he found his brother Ubba who was watching him slyly.

"The fuck you want?" Ivarr then asked grumpily.

"And so Ivar the boneless, got carried away by a woman to dance?" Ubba asked at that point and in response the younger brother slipped out of his grip growling like a nervous cat.

"You're so drunk that now you're also hallucinating, brother. I'm going to piss" and with those words that were anything but pretty, the Viking also came out of the banquet hall, but there were different actions he intended to do as soon as he crossed the exit.

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 15

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Previous chapter | Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

THE NEXT DAY

GRIZZLIES WEST

Resting a hand on the journal’s worn pages, Dutch hesitated to turn to the next chapter as he thought back on the things he’d just read, wondering where everything went wrong.

Just this morning, he finally took the time to sit down and skim through some of Arthur’s private thoughts, only to end up discovering that they were much worse than he expected.

It was evident from the entries that Arthur lost his faith in their gang years ago. His words had no motivation behind them. No hope. No purpose.

They were all just so... bleak, and so full of finality.

It only made Dutch wonder if things were always meant to end this way. If, perhaps, Arthur was meant to turn on him from the start.

He knew the man wouldn’t be able to stick around forever. No one would. Not even Hosea. But the fact that he lost Arthur so quickly and so easily made Dutch question if there was ever a true relationship between them.

If there was, he would’ve given anything to get it back.

“Boss!” Micah’s voice suddenly barked from behind, leading Dutch to look up from the journal.

“What is it?” He asked, still somewhat preoccupied.

The other man sniffed, strolling in his direction through thick snow.

“...We got a problem, Dutch. It’s Bill.” Micah stepped next to him, letting out a disappointed sigh. “I think... he’s cut loose.”

Dutch snapped his head towards Micah in surprise, furrowing his brow.

“What? What do you mean he’s cut loose?”

Micah gestured towards the horizon, casually explaining his thought process.

“I saw some tracks leadin’ to the south from where I sent Bill to investigate last night. His horse is gone too. You ask me, I think he made a run for it. Probably decided to make his way back to New Austin. Try to survive on his own in the desert. He certainly talked about it a lot.”

“You sure it wasn’t somebody else’s tracks?”

The outlaw chuckled. “Who else could it have been? The Pinkertons? They’re mean bastards, I’ll give you that, but I reckon we’re the only ones crazy enough to actually come out here, Dutch. No... I’m pretty sure it was Bill.”

Dutch firmly shut the journal closed, storming off into the distance. “Dammit...! That goddamn coward.”

Micah gazed after him, shrugging in confusion. “You wanna try findin’ him?”

The older man coughed before waving a dismissive hand. “No. We’re here for Arthur and Isaac. No one else. If Bill wants to leave us behind and freeze to death in these mountains, then so be it.”

“Of course, of course. But you should know, Dutch... it’s gonna be trickier, now that it’s just the two of us. ‘Cause as much as I hate Arthur and his lil’ brat, I can’t deny that them boys know how to fight. I mean, look at what they did to my goddamn eye.”

Dutch glanced down at the journal, mindlessly tightening his grip on it. “...I’ll fight Arthur myself if need be. I raised him ever since he was a boy. I know how he thinks.”

The man coughed a few more times, his strength wavering with every jagged breath as the wind howled loudly around them.

“...Listen, son,” Dutch continued, his tone much softer now, “I don’t know how all this is gonna end. I don’t know if... Arthur will kill me, or if the tuberculosis will, but... whatever happens, I appreciate you stayin’ by my side this whole time. You’ve always had my back ever since you joined us, and I won’t forget it.”

Micah grinned, his eyes dark with insincerity. “Of course, Dutch. You’re practically family to me now. There ain’t much I wouldn’t do for you.”

Dutch nodded in reassurance. “I know, son. I know.” 

Slipping the journal back into his satchel, Dutch walked over to his horse and began mounting up, eager to continue his search for Arthur while the day was still young.

“C’mon, Micah.” He beckoned. “We’ve got one last score to settle.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

NEAR LAKE ISABELLA

“Here,” Isaac said, handing a warm mug to Arthur as the campfire crackled between them. “Drink this.”

The man took the cup in hand, curiously examining the dark liquid inside. “What is it?”

“It’s... medicine, I guess you could say,” Isaac answered. “I made it from some herbs I picked. I was gonna brew it when we got done fishing yesterday, but I never had the chance. It should calm your cough down a bit.”

Arthur raised the mug in appreciation, beaming at the boy. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Isaac held up a hand just before his father could consume the drink, giving him a last-minute warning.

“Oh, um, just so you know -- it’s probably gonna taste like shit.”

Arthur chuckled, bringing the mug to his lips. “Yeah, I figured as much. That tends to be the case with most medicines. Though, it can’t be worse than salted offal.”

He took a sip, immediately grimacing from the bizarre taste. “Jesus Christ, you wasn’t kidding. What kinda herbs did you make this with?”

Isaac smirked at his father’s disgusted expression. “English Mace and Alaskan Ginseng. They’re pretty hard to find in Ambarino, but they’re a common mixture when it comes to curing illnesses. I remember mom always used to make this when I got sick.”

Arthur cocked a brow in interest. “Did she?”

The boy smiled fondly at the memory. “Yeah. I’d always get nervous whenever I saw her makin’ it in the kitchen ‘cause I knew it would taste horrible. But... I can’t really complain. It did its job, after all.”

The older man nodded in a nostalgic manner. “Yep. Eliza always had a knack for takin’ care of people. I remember she’d fret over me every single time I came home, lookin’ to see if I had any stray bullets stuck in me and whatnot.” A sigh escaped Arthur. “Your mother was such a sweet woman. She didn’t deserve the stress I put her through.”

Isaac gave Arthur a gentle look, reminiscing about his times with Eliza. “...She loved you, you know.”

Arthur cupped the warm mug in his hands, setting it down for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mom always talked about you whenever you was away. She could never say much since she didn’t want me to know about your work, but I could tell she missed you. She was never angry, though. She understood why you couldn’t be around.”

Arthur felt a tinge of guilt. “...Did you?”

“Not at the time,” Isaac admitted. “But I do now. You had people to look after. A gang to protect. You couldn’t just abandon them.”

The older man glanced at the ground in remorse. “I guess that’s true. But I still wish I could’ve protected you and Eliza. You were in danger, and I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Isaac shook his head in disagreement. “It was four men against a woman and her child. Even if you had been there, you probably just would’ve gotten shot with her. And trust me, that’s not what mom woulda wanted. For either of us.”

Arthur found some peace in those words. “...Maybe you’re right.”

Falling into silence for a moment, the two of them quietly enjoyed each other’s company as snowflakes gently fluttered down from the sky, painting the ground around them with a new layer of snow.

The weather was getting colder in this region, or so it felt. It was probably due to the fact that they were further up north than before, but the sun seemed to appear less often these days, and Isaac couldn’t remember the last time he saw anything apart from dying grass and naked trees.

It just made the boy wonder how much longer they had until they’d reach Canada’s border. He had never been anywhere outside of the United States, so the idea of finding freedom in a different country was admittedly daunting for him... but he knew they had to do it.

There was nothing left for them in America. Both of their gangs had scattered to the winds, and it was more than obvious that the age of outlaws was finally dying out. 

Civilization was moving on without them, and if they didn’t catch up, they wouldn’t survive. It was a sad truth about their lives, but one they had to accept.

“Hey, Dad,” Isaac said. “I gotta ask. Did you... hear what Bill said last night? About Dutch bein’ sick with TB?”

Arthur nodded, his tone more serious now. “Yep. It would explain why we’ve both been coughin’ so much.”

The boy sighed. “...I’m sorry. I wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

The older man coughed into his elbow a few times. “You’ve done more than enough, Isaac. Don’t go blamin’ yourself, now. We talked about this.”

“I know,” Isaac replied. “It’s just... hard to accept, you know?”

Arthur took another sip of his drink. “I understand.”

Finishing the rest of his medicine, Arthur put the empty mug down and stood up from his seat, stretching out his arms as he began gathering their stuff.

“Hey, Isaac, why don’t you go make sure the horses are ready? I think it’s time we get movin’ again. We’ve been stuck here long enough.”

The boy followed his father’s actions and headed over to the hitching posts, helping to pack up their camp.

“Okay. You think this weather will hold up? It got pretty bad last night. I just hope there won’t be another storm blowin’ through here before we can... we can...”

Stopping mid-sentence, Isaac’s voice suddenly trailed off into silence as the young man noticed something in the distance, leading Arthur to follow his gaze.

“Isaac?” He called out. “Everything okay?”

The man glanced at Arthur, his tone now low with caution. “Dad, I think I see Pinkertons.”

Taking hold of his gun, the older man instantly strode over to Isaac’s side and stepped protectively in front of him, looking to see who it was approaching them from the horizon.

Their uniforms certainly resembled that of the Pinkertons, but unlike before, it wasn’t just Edgar Ross and Agent Fordham. This time, it looked like they had an entire group of men riding with them, ready to take Arthur and Isaac in at a moment’s notice.

Arthur whispered quietly to the young man as the Pinkertons rode in their direction, making sure to keep his movements subtle.

“Keep your gun close, boy. And be ready to ride when I say so.”

Isaac nodded, taking position near the horses. “Got it.”

Standing his ground, Arthur readied his pistol as the Pinkertons got closer to their camp, causing a trail of snow to wildly spray behind their mounts.

So far, no one was shooting at them, so Arthur took that as a sign that the Pinkertons wanted them alive. But based on the heavy amount of security Ross had brought with him this time, he assumed that lethal force was no longer out of the question.

Arthur would have to do his best to keep things peaceful. There weren’t a lot of places for them to hide out here, and if anyone started firing, he and Isaac would be caught dead in the open.

It was unlikely that they’d be able to run away from this without a fight, but for the sake of not getting Isaac killed, Arthur was sure as hell going to try.

He just had to trust that the boy would do the same.

“Mr. Morgan.” Agent Ross greeted upon reaching the camp, remaining mounted on his horse. The rest of the Pinkertons lined up beside him, keeping their rifles at the ready.

“I’m surprised to see you all the way out here,” Edgar confessed. “I didn’t think you’d risk trying to survive out in this cold, but it seems Mr. Bell was correct.”

That caught Arthur off-guard. “You spoke with Micah?”

The Pinkerton casually adjusted his sleeves, straightening the cuffs. “Regrettably, yes. Not too long ago, actually. He was quite the informant. Said he didn’t know exactly where to find you, but that he suspected you were wandering somewhere in Grizzlies West. Looks like he knew what he was talking about. For once.”

Arthur grunted at that. “I’m sure he did.” He coughed a number of times, trying to stifle it as he spoke. “Look, what d’you want? It’s clear you ain’t just here to chat.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not. We’re done giving second chances, I’m afraid. Though, I’ve given you far more than that, haven’t I?”

The agent took a few steps forward, signaling the other Pinkertons to brace themselves.

“Look, Mr. Morgan, I know we’re both tired of having this same conversation over and over again. Lord knows I am. But I need you to listen to me. Ideally, we would like to capture you alive and have you face full justice, but I think it’s safe to assume by now that you’re not the type to cooperate with the law. Or with anyone, really.”

Ross held up a cautionary finger. “This is why I’m only giving you one last opportunity to comply. Surrender your weapons, and come with us peacefully. Do this, and you have my word that you and your son will not be harmed. Not for now, anyway. Once we return to civilization though, your lives will be in the hands of the law. You will both face a trial, and a judge will sentence you. What happens after that is up to them. If you refuse to surrender, however...”

The Pinkertons prepared their weapons, causing Isaac to grow restless in his position. Arthur threw a side-glance at him, reminding him to stay calm.

“...well,” Edgar continued, “I think you know what’ll come next.”

The outlaw scoffed at the meager offer, glaring at Ross in disbelief. “So, my only options are to either die right here, or let you drag me and my son all the way to Blackwater where you can parade us around before havin’ us swing? You really think that I’ll--” a cough interrupted him, “--that I’ll--”

Another series of coughs came bursting from Arthur’s throat, causing the man to keel over slightly as the Pinkertons watched him from their mounts, waiting for a response.

Meanwhile, Isaac stared at his father in concern and felt the need to rush over to him, but restrained himself out of fear of alarming the Pinkertons.

“...That’s quite a cough.” Edgar remarked plainly.

Arthur spat some blood onto the snow, wiping his mouth. “TB will do that to you. I got it from Dutch himself, apparently.”

“That’s a tough disease.”

“Sure. But it makes your job easier, I suppose.”

Edgar rested his arms on the saddle’s horn. “I know you see us as the bad guys, Mr. Morgan. We’re the ones threatening your livelihood, after all. But what’ll it take for you to see that you’re also threatening the livelihood of others? You people are all about violence, and living in the wild. Your code revolves entirely around one man and his gun versus another man. It’s survival of the fittest, put simply. It’s a living hell.”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re talkin’ philosophy with the wrong man, agent. I done some bad things in my time -- that, I won’t deny -- but I don’t care about any of that no more. Right now, only concern is my son. And as much as you and I may disagree, you are right about one thing. You are a threat to my son’s safety, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do that’ll convince me to let you lay your hands on him.”

The agent sighed in disappointment. “Well, unfortunately for you, there’s nothing that can stop us.”

Realizing that it was pointless trying to dissuade Arthur from the inevitable, Edgar decided to put an end to this chase and reached for his gun, swiftly pulling it out so that he could shoot the man.

Just before he could properly aim however, Arthur quickly caught wind of his intentions and hastily fired a stray bullet, shooting Edgar’s horse in the neck. The creature reared in panic and collapsed to the ground, causing the agent to be trapped under its massive body. 

Though, that didn’t stop the man from pulling the trigger. Despite the unexpected turn of events, Edgar still attempted to take a shot at the outlaw, and before Arthur even had time to react, he suddenly felt a sharp pain hitting him in the abdomen.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out what just happened.

“Father!” Isaac shouted in horror, hurrying to Arthur’s side. He fired two bullets into the line of Pinkertons, taking down an agent with each of them. 

Letting out a strained groan, the boy desperately dragged Arthur over to his horse as the agents continued to fire back at him, only to end up shooting a large tree that stood between them.

“Stay with me, Dad...!” Isaac urged, helping his father onto his horse.

Climbing onto the saddle in front of Arthur, the young man let loose another bullet in the Pinkertons’ direction before bolting off in the other, causing Agent Ross to yell after them.

“Goddammit!” He barked. “Don’t let them escape! And somebody help me out from under this horse!”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

NORTHEAST OF LAKE ISABELLA, COLTER

Galloping frantically through the snow as the Pinkertons fervently chased after him, Isaac found himself riding into what looked an abandoned settlement not too far away from Lake Isabella, leading him to come to a halt.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was give the Pinkertons a chance to catch up to him, but with the state that Arthur was currently in, he needed someone to look after his wounds. 

There was already a worrying amount of blood staining the fabric of his shirt, and judging by the roughness of the man’s breathing, Isaac assumed the horse’s sporadic movement wasn’t helping him much either.

He hopped off of Aldo’s saddle, quickly bringing Arthur into his arms.

“I got you, Dad.” Isaac whispered, letting the older man lean on him as he headed inside one of the cabins. “Just hold on.”

Arthur groaned sharply at the pain piercing through him, struggling to keep up with the boy’s pace.

“...What the hell’re you doing...?” He wheezed, pressing a hand on his stomach where the bullet had hit him. “You need... to run...! The Pinkertons--”

“--I’ll worry about the goddamn Pinkertons later!” Isaac dismissed. “I ain’t lettin’ you die. Not like this.”

Kicking the cabin’s flimsy door open, Isaac practically hurled Arthur inside before shutting the entrance again, giving the older man some time to rest on the floor. They couldn’t hear any of the Pinkertons’ voices at the moment, but Isaac knew it wouldn’t be long before they picked up their trail again.

He crouched down next to Arthur, taking a closer look at his injury.

“Shit...” Isaac muttered under his breath, unsure of what to do. He fumbled through his pockets for a minute, desperately searching for anything that could’ve helped. “I... I have some bandages left. Here.”

Stretching the bandages into one long strip, Isaac tightly wrapped them around Arthur’s waist as the man hissed in pain, trying not to make too much noise lest the Pinkertons hear them. 

Blood was already starting to seep through the thin layers of white cloth, and with every agonizing second that slipped by, the more Arthur could feel his energy escaping him.

No, Arthur thought to himself. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t give up. He just couldn’t. Not after fighting for so long. Not after finding his son after all these years.

He had to stay strong. For Isaac’s sake. The boy was counting on him to survive. He couldn’t die now. He refused to.

“...Dammit...!” Arthur cursed through clenched teeth as Isaac pulled on the bandages. “That son-of-a-bitch got me good...!” 

The outlaw’s body shook with another series of coughs, causing even more blood to gush from the open wound.

Isaac immediately placed his hands on top of the injury and pressed down, doing whatever he could to stop the bleeding. But it was no use.

The red liquid only ended up leaking through the cracks between his fingers, and by now, Arthur’s skin had transformed into an alarmingly pale color. 

His eye sockets were almost purple, and judging by how the man could barely walk right now, Isaac knew there wasn’t much of a chance of him getting out of this alive. But that didn’t mean he was willing to quit.

“Hold on, Dad...” the boy pleaded, “...please. Just hold on.”

“...Isaac...” Arthur groaned out, his voice grating against his throat. 

“You’re gonna be fine.” The boy insisted. “Don’t you give up on me now.”

The outlaw coughed weakly, struggling to get his next words out. “...Isaac, listen to me.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” He repeated, but Arthur knew what was coming. “We just... we just need to...”

“Isaac...!” He said more firmly, gripping the boy’s arm this time. “Listen to me.”

The young man fell silent, his eyes glossy with tears. He looked up at his father, fully aware of what the future held. 

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” Arthur said softly, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. I know... this ain’t how we wanted things to end, but it’s what we’ve come to. It’s what we gotta deal with. You hear me...? I need you... to be strong, Isaac.”

The boy gazed downwards, unable to hide his true emotions. 

“I...I don’t know if I can, Dad. First mom, and now you? I can’t lose both of you. Not after we just found each other again.”

Arthur placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, urging the man to keep his composure. “I know it’s difficult, Isaac, but...” a cough rattled his chest, decimating what little energy he had left, “...I know you can still survive this. You’re strong. Much stronger than you realize. You just... have to keep pushing. Just for a little longer.”

Isaac shut his eyes, shaking his head in refusal. “...I ain’t goin’ to Canada without you, Dad. You’re outta your mind if you think I’m gonna leave you behind--”

“--You have to, Isaac...!” Arthur reiterated. “I wish things was different. I do. But look at me. I’m sick, I’m dying... I ain’t much use to anyone in this state. But you... you can still make it. You can still reach the border. You’ll be a free man. You’ll have the chance to start a new life for yourself. One that isn’t full of death, and violence, and fear. It’s the life your mother and I wanted for you.”

“But you said it yourself,” Isaac recalled. “What’s the point of survivin’ if you’ve got no one to care for?”

Arthur’s hand began to slide down Isaac’s shoulder, his exhaustion finally being reflected in his movement.

“You will find other people, Isaac. And besides, life don’t end just ‘cause you’re alone. I’m sure you’ll find someone you love. Someone who... you can start a family with.” A quiet chuckle escaped Arthur. “...Heh. Who knows...? You might even have a son of your own, someday. But whatever happens... you need to get out of Ambarino alive, first. You can’t stay here. You can’t... let me hold you back. You understand?”

Interrupted by the sound of men yelling at each other from outside, Isaac glanced out of one of the windows and suddenly noticed the large presence of Pinkertons closing in on the area, causing Arthur to reach for the boy’s hand.

“Isaac...!” He whispered urgently. “Tell me you understand.”

The young man gazed down at his father, still reluctant to leave him behind. The idea of leaving Arthur alone in the middle of these mountains tore Isaac apart with guilt, but deep down, he knew it had to be done if he wanted to live.

There were far too many Pinkertons for him to fight alone, and if they managed to corner him in this cabin, they’d both be finished.

Isaac would be shipped off to Blackwater to be executed, and all of Arthur’s efforts would’ve been in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“...O-Okay.” The boy finally agreed, his voice trembling softly. “I’ll... I’ll go.”

Arthur appeared content with that and let out a relieved breath, his shoulders now slouching due to the fatigue quickly overtaking his body.

“...Thank you, Isaac.” he murmured weakly. 

Reaching for his satchel’s strap, Arthur slowly pulled the bag off and reached for his gun before handing both of them to Isaac, ensuring that the boy would have some supplies in the wilderness.

“It ain’t much...” Arthur said with a cough, “...but there’re some provisions left in here. They should keep you goin’ for a few more days. And take my pistol, too. You’ll need the extra firepower.”

Isaac cradled the last-minute gifts in his palms, staying quiet as his father lived out his final moments.

“Oh,” the older man remembered, “and there’s one last thing... I want you to take...”

Lifting a shaky hand up, Arthur gently gripped the dented crown of his hat and gave the accessory to Isaac, placing it so that it sat proudly on top of his head.

The hat looked like it was made for the young man, and for just a split second, Arthur almost felt like he was looking at a reflection of his younger self. Isaac had the same ruffled hair, the same blue eyes, and if he looked closely enough, Arthur could’ve sworn he saw some of Eliza’s features hiding behind his expression.

It was the perfect fit, just like when Arthur took the hat from his own father.

“You look just like me when I was younger,” the outlaw reminisced with a faint smile. “...Eliza would’ve been so proud of you. You’ve grown so much.”

Isaac’s sharp gaze softened a bit at the remark. “You think?”

“Well, I know I am.”

Letting his head lean back against the wall, Arthur finally decided to rest and and gazed up at the cabin’s decrepit ceiling, sighing in peace as Isaac stood up from the floor.

This wasn’t quite the death he imagined he would experience, but no matter how cold these mountains were, or how desolate their environment remained, Arthur still considered himself lucky for being able to be with his son in his final moments.

Part of him wished he could simply ignore the pain and follow Isaac out of these woods, but as the edges of his vision started to go black, the more reality began to sink in... and the more Arthur came to accept the fate that had been given to him.

His job in this world was done. His time with Dutch’s gang was over, and his responsibility as a father had been fulfilled. 

Isaac was his own man now. The boy still had much to learn about life and the people around him, but from now on, Arthur would have to trust that he would do the right thing in the future.

It was his journey to lead from this point, and Arthur could only hope that the kid had a better chance at life than he ever did.

It was the only thing he ever wanted for the boy. The only thing he and Dutch ever dreamed of.

Freedom.

“...Isaac...” Arthur whispered, his breath faltering with every syllable, “...if you see Dutch again.... tell him I never hated him. And I’m sorry I weren’t there when he needed me.”

The young man nodded in an assuring manner, trying his best not to break down in front of his father. “I will.”

“...Thank you, son...” The older man said quietly, letting his head tilt to the side. “Thank you.”

On the outside, he might’ve looked miserable to the boy, but on the inside, he was surprisingly content. Arthur found himself flipping through all his memories like an old photo album and recalled the days from when Dutch first met him, all the way to when he finally reunited with Isaac in Tall Trees.

There were so many emotions flowing through him. So many what ifs. So many things he wished he could’ve said when he still had the chance to say them.

He thought about his parents. He thought about Dutch and Hosea -- about their gang. He remembered the days they’d spend riding freely through the open deserts of New Austin, and the nights where they’d share stories around the campfire.

He thought about the years he spent falling in love with Mary. About the life he wished he could’ve had with her.

He remembered the pain of her absence when she decided to marry another man, and the happiness that quickly replaced it when he ran into Eliza a few years later.

But most importantly, Arthur remembered the day Isaac was born. He remembered the feeling of holding him for the first time, and wondering how on earth he was going to raise a family.

The boy was so innocent back then. So pure. He was completely untouched by the troubles of the world, and every time Arthur came home to visit, he’d feel at peace seeing his son’s face again... only to be forced to leave a few days later.

In the beginning, Arthur thought he’d never see Isaac again. He thought that Shay and his men had finished the kid off for good, and that he was condemned to be alone for the rest of his life.

And yet, here he was -- fifteen years later -- a full grown man, and fighting against the world entirely on his own, stronger than ever.

He carried a lifetime of sorrow and remorse with him, but Arthur knew that Isaac was still good at heart. The young man had the same compassion that Eliza held for others, and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder of the boy if he tried.

He loved him more than life itself, but now... he had to leave him behind. One last time.

Finally reaching the end of the road, Arthur welcomed the cold sensation that embraced him and calmly shut his eyes, falling still as one final breath escaped him.

His body was completely motionless now. Completely devoid of life. And the longer Isaac stared at the corpse of his father, the more he could feel warm tears welling up in his eyes. 

He was alone again. After all those years of seeking vengeance for Eliza’s death and finding the strength to move on from it, the process of mourning had reset itself.

It felt like the world around him had stopped turning, and despite the urgent threat of the Pinkertons lurking close by, Isaac couldn’t help but feel nothing except emptiness.

But he knew there was no time to grieve. Not right now. Arthur would’ve wanted him to get out of here safely, and he wouldn’t have wanted him to look back.

So, with one last farewell, Isaac said a brief goodbye to his father before heading for the cabin’s exit, and taking his leave from the abandoned town.

He felt like the same scared, little boy that watched Eliza die again, but this time, he wasn’t going to let others determine his fate for him.

He wasn’t going to allow anyone to control him like Shay or his gang did, and he wasn’t going to lose himself to vengeance.

The only thing he was going to do was reach the border, and he’d be damned if he let anyone stop him.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE COLTER

Stepping back out into the unforgiving weather of Ambarino, Isaac removed himself from the confines of the cabin and began making his way back to Aldo, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed a man waiting for him outside.

The man was clearly a Pinkerton based on his uniform, but unlike his fellow lawmen, he seemed to display no hostility towards Isaac. His gun was resting in its holster, and even though the boy was obviously alone now, the agent showed no intentions of taking advantage of the situation.

In fact, his temperament suggested quite the opposite. The man wore a sympathetic expression on his face, and when his eyes landed on the signature hat sitting on Isaac’s head, a proverbial light bulb seemed to illuminate in his mind.

Isaac tentatively walked towards the man, analyzing his face.

It was Agent Fordham.

“There you are.” The Pinkerton said as he leaned against a wall, keeping his arms crossed. 

The boy kept a hand close to his gun, admittedly suspicious of the lawman’s motives.

“Archer Fordham...? What are... what are you doin’ here? You knew I was in there?”

The man nodded. “Yes. I saw you and your father go inside earlier, but I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.”

Archer sighed morosely, gazing at the snow-covered ground. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Morgan. Your father and I may have been on opposite sides of the law, but it sounds like he was a good man.”

Isaac replied halfheartedly, still somewhat shocked by the sudden death.

“He was.”

The Pinkerton steadily approached Isaac, careful not to alarm him.

“Listen, Mr. Morgan, I know this is a traumatic time for you, but you need to understand your current position. If Edgar finds you, you’ll be a dead man. After that little shootout he had with your father back at camp, he’s fully intent on taking you back to Blackwater as a corpse. He won’t let you walk out of here alive.”

Isaac picked up on the man’s tone. “...But you will?”

Fordham let out a conflicted breath, furrowing his brow in thought. “I believe in a world of law, Isaac, but I don’t believe that a world built on order has to be one without mercy. I’ve read your files. I know you’re only twenty-one years old. And I know that if I alert my superiors of your presence here, they’ll take away everything you’ve worked for. They’ll have you killed.”

The agent stepped closer to Isaac, looking around to make sure no one else was nearby.

“...I know Edgar disagrees with me on this, but I think you deserve a chance at life. It may be the unlawful thing to do -- letting you go -- but I believe it’s the right thing to do. After all, how much is civilization really worth if we reflect the same savagery we fight?”

Taken aback by Archer’s compassion, Isaac found himself at a loss for words and simply stared at the man incredulously, unable to believe his stroke of luck.

“You-- you’re--” Isaac stuttered, “...thank you, Fordham. I doubt your friends would’ve done the same.”

The Pinkerton maintained a stoic demeanor, but Isaac could tell he felt empathy for the young man.

“Just don’t mistake my mercy as a pardon. You’ll still be a wanted man in the United States, and the Pinkertons will take you in if they find you again -- myself included. So, if you have any plans to get out of the country, I’d use them now. This will be the only chance you get.”

Isaac nodded despondently, his mind still preoccupied with Arthur’s final words. “Of course. I understand.”

Archer turned on his heel and walked back to his horse, promptly ending the conversation there.

“Good. Then I think it’s best if you and I pretend we never had this talk.”

Mounting up, Agent Fordham took hold of the reins and clicked his tongue, urging the horse to begin trotting away.

“It’s a shame that it had to end this way, Mr. Morgan, but I wish you luck. For both our sakes, I hope we never cross paths again.”

Isaac watched the man slowly vanish into the distance, holding onto Arthur’s gun as if his father were still around. He was fully aware that the man wasn’t coming back, and yet, part of him couldn’t help but hope.

Strangely enough though, that just seemed to make it even worse.

“Yeah...” Isaac whispered solemnly, his tone burdened with loneliness. 

“...Me too.”

[just-call-me-johnny-archive]

The following contains mentions/implications of abuse, attempted sexual harrassment, mentions/implications of past sexual abuse/assault, graphic depictions of homicide/torture, mentions/implications of past suicide attempts, implications of police/military violence. Reader discretion is advised.

Johnny didn't learn for a while what the house wanted from him. It was clear that it demanded something of him. The ceiling seemed too low, mold-ridden even if he couldn't see any. The floors were freezing- wooden and splintering, but he hadn't bled once despite getting some shards embedded painfully into his hands when he searched the ground for his pencils after the moon went down. 

Every number he called about the electricity going out lead to a dial tone. His phone was strangely the only electronic- the only appliance- that still worked in the house. He had no idea how much time had passed since he'd been left in the bathroom to die and woke up with stark scars on his forearms, the shower curtain draped over his body, and the bathtub dry as a bone. And Vargas gone. For good it seemed. 

He almost wanted to believe it was a nightmare- that it all was a nightmare. So he tried to pick his life back up as he stepped out of the bathtub and went to find clothes and the thermostat.

One day, he found a bill on the table in front of the TV. He couldn't remember when he'd received any mail recently- let alone opened it. Even stranger than the bill was the message that had been printed on it. There wasn't any amount under 'AMOUNT DUE.' The only other print on the paper was red text reading 'UTILITY SERVICE TERMINATED DUE TO NONPAYMENT. REMIT PAYMENT TO CONTINUE SERVICE.'

There wasn't an address or a phone number to contact regarding the bill. Johnny was left confused over how to alleviate this debt. He didn't know who, when, where, or what. The only thing that he still had control over was the 'how.' He needed a job. 

 After digging around for a week or so, Johnny managed to uncover his portfolio that he'd submitted copies of alongside Edgar. He was not about to go back there- they loved his boyfriend and always doubted Johnny's judgment. 

There was a new comic publishing company; a start-up with a promising, rich CEO that was recruiting new styles. Macabre. Gothic. Grotesque. Mindfuck. It was perfect for Johnny. 

He put on the best outfit from his closet, something with a blazer and no rips in the jeans. He'd done his hair until the two antennae that hung over his face were hidden amongst the rest of his combed blue hair. Johnny walked into the office feeling confident that his second chance at life had been a blessing or a reward for surviving. 

Everyone working at the company currently was skinny, wired, and brutal. Nobody seemed to actually be creating anything- instead, they were all busy working on photo manipulation and advertisements. There also seemed to be someone altering a passport photo meticulously. 

Johnny's meeting with the CEO started off alright enough. The man listened to the artist speak about his work and he even asked a few things here or there. He asked something about the paint choice and Johnny responded in a way that he hoped didn't sound too try hard but also genuine. In truth, Vargas didn't let him use anything else.

Maybe he could sense that. Maybe the man could tell that Johnny was an easy target. Maybe Johnny had painted 'patsy' on his forehead in asshole-vision invisible ink.

Whatever had caused the conversation to turn towards Johnny's personal life- particularly his relationship status- was unimportant. He wanted to leave, but he figured that the man would probably ask that for reference purposes or perhaps personally-identifying information. Johnny told the CEO that he was single, recently left a relationship with his ex-fiance. The way that the man reacted should have said enough to him, but he tried to reason with his brain; he was overreacting. 

But to put it crudely, the CEO wanted fresh meat and Johnny was a free-bleeding fresh cut. Eyes still clear. Silent like a fish out of water, when he moved over and started massaging Johnny's shoulders, saying how awful that must have been. That he was there for him. That he was recently divorced himself. He understood. 

Johnny felt his hand being moved, heard a zipper being pulled down, and when the CEO moved his mouth to press against his ear, all Johnny remembered was that he had the other man's letter opener embedded in the space directly below his eye socket. He registered the crack of bone giving under unforgiving metal. The burst of red sprayed across his face and his shirt. The screaming. His screaming. 

He was on his knees over the blubbering, defaced CEO shouting out as if he was emptying every last moment of anger or shame or hurt into the puncture marks that kept adding up. Johnny wasn't sure if he was crying or that his body was finally catching up- maybe he was having a heart attack. 

He has no idea how long he kneeled on the grimey black floor of the CEO's office before he realized that nobody was coming. Surely, someone must have heard them. Was the police waiting right outside the door- bullets trained on him- ready to shoot to kill? The man who was under Johnny's blade was miraculously still alive- dying- but still actually alive and he only then heard the tiny whimpers of 'please, don't kill me' 'I'll change.' 

Johnny grabbed the man's stripped, bloodied face, digging his fingernails into the wounds, and his heart sung with the screeches that rung throughout the office. There was nothing else there except for Johnny and the filth disguised as a human being. 

He listened to him plead, held his face in his hands as the man continues to plead pathetically. Johnny's heart nearly jumped this time when he claimed 'he'd change'.

"No; you won't." His voice was venomous, low and angry in a way that sounded calm. "You will never change. You know what happens when I give people like you the opportunity to change? Do you? They stop for a little while, sometimes days, sometimes decades, because they're so fucking scared for their life. For jail time, for repercussion, Hell maybe for the Devil himself coming to fuck them up the ass for what they've done. But when the Devil doesn't come, when the tabloids remain silent, when the name becomes deceased or missing or disappears completely, you go right back to what you'd been doing before. You put your fingers or your face or your dick wherever you want because you think you're untouchable. You think you are above the lives that you've ruined. You think that they deserve it- or maybe that you deserve it for being so good for so long, right? Well, guess what?" 

"You won't get to do that because I'm going to end your life right here, right now. I'm going to end whatever cycle of abuse that may or may have swept you up and corrupted you - brought you to believe you somehow are entitled to this pain that you inflict on others. And I'm going to enjoy it."

The man was able to only let out a sharp 'please, no' before Johnny grabbed his skull and twisted it until he heard a snap and the person below him had turned into a corpse. Into a past tense. 

He was coated in blood. 

Johnny dropped the body unceremoniously before he shakily got onto his feet. It was copious. It was gruesome. He threw up into a potted plant near the door. He gathered his portfolio into his arms and picked up his application from the CEO's desk. Johnny slipped the single piece of paper into the paper shredder, watching it turn into dozens of tiny bits of future bunny bedding.  

He braced himself before he stepped into the workplace. He expected a lot of things. He expected to see a huge stack of chairs and terrified workers huddled behind them like frightened raccoons. He expected SWAT, FBI, CSI, NCSI, the Navy, Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, and the Marines. He expected to have a bunch of horrified, traumatized faces staring back at him.

Instead, they looked annoyed. And the only people who were annoyed were the ones whose desks were closest to the CEO's office door. They glared at him, sneering like he was covered in shit and not in blood. Then they were completely disinterested. He was just some freak. They gossiped amongst themselves, but otherwise didn't approach Johnny. 

The man tore out of the comic publishing building and ran all the way home. It was midday- in the middle of December or January, where the sun was absent and the wind was unforgiving. Johnny had sweat through his stained clothing and the temperature change between the outside and the inside of his house was minute. The only shelter he had from the Winter chill was just covering from the elements.

Johnny walked into the bathroom and over to the bathtub and tossed the downed shower curtain out of the way. The water was freezing and felt like needles against even his clothed skin as he attempted to wash away the blood. It streamed down, staining the white porcelain as it streaked off of him and into the drain. 

The man had put his head against the tile, directly under the showerhead as he held himself. His eyes were shut tight, so it took him a moment of brief confusion before he opened his eyes to the bright lights of the bathroom and a gradually increasing warm shower. 

The water was perfect now and after getting past the initial shock, he undressed and continued to clean himself off the best he could. All that remained after he finished was the blood caked under his fingernails. He would cut them later. 

Johnny dried off using a somewhat warm, scruffy towel, it had been hanging there on the rack since he first awoke in the bathroom. He wrapped it around himself before he explored the rest of the house. It was warm, and the lights were all on. The electronics were all buzzing in a way they hadn't unless in memories. He opened the fridge and found that the food in there had not rotted. He picked out some lunch meat from a drawer and savored the usually incorrigible processed salty ham. He couldn't remember the last time he ate. Or the last time he slept. 

He needed clothes. He needed to get rid of the clothes at the bottom of his tub. Johnny went over to the bedroom where he hadn't tread since awakening. The light was on. The bed was still done but looked slept in. He went and grabbed the first shirt and pants and underwear that he found and then quickly went to clean up the mess in the bathroom.

He wrung the blazer out, pink-red water had poured and then streamed and then dribbled. He repeated this with the pants and then the shirt and his underwear and socks. His boots were not salvageable. That's fine. It was all fine. 

At least for now he did not have to immediately worry about paying the bill. In fact, the house felt warmer when he returned inside after he buried the clothes under the dirt of his dead front lawn. Johnny found a new paper attached to his freezer. He figured he'd missed it when he first went for the ham. 

He took it down after he grabbed a bag of microwavable pizza pocket bites. Johnny didn't know what it meant and how it happened, but he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was given another chance for a reason. He gnawed at his fingernails as he watched the plate spin in the microwave and the house hummed with life as it was finally fed.

'PAYMENT RECEIVED. 

UTILITY SERVICE WILL RESUME AS NORMAL. 

EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. 

THANK YOU.' 

[hennessystevens-udaku]

My Bloody Valentine

A little twisted Love Day fic for my favorite rebel @thereturnofbadazz!

“I wonder how many lovers are gonna die today,” Aly’Sha said with sneer as she watched the news.

“What yo lil psycho ass talking about, Sha Sha,” Erik asked with a smirk.

“Yeah, it’s Valentine’s Day. Why you talking about folks dying?” Kimora chirped from the other side of the living room.

“It’s also Purge Day,” Aly’Sha responds casually.

“You mean poor man elimination day,” Angel says, cradling the twins closer. Now that she was older, she didn’t see the point of violence as a means of “cleansing” the country of its sins.

“Yeah that shit’s stupid,” Erik agreed, flipping the station. “Just another tactic white folks use to eradicate black folks. Alright ladies, if y’all don’t mind, me and Mama got a date,” Erik says with a sly grin in Hennessy’s direction.

“Actually baby, I was thinking maybe you could spend the day with another wife. You’ve spent the last 16 Valentine’s Days with me, spoil someone else,” she says not looking up from her MacBook. She was in the process of scouting out new locations for her dispensary and wasn’t exactly in the mood to break concentration. Before Erik could ask which of his wives would be the lucky lady this year, Ryley stormed into the house, chest rising and falling quickly with anger.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” he asked from his relaxed position on the couch.

“Them white bitches down the street keep fuckin with me. I’m trying to be nice and keep it cute since I’m a princess now and shit, but they about to make Ryley Badazz come out of retirement!” Erik chuckled at her, loving how sexy she got when she was angry.

“Calm down, Ry Ry. Tell Daddy what happened.” He listened intently, blood boiling as she explained how the Becky’s with the stringy hair had egged her car, slashed her tires, and had been overall mocking her for the past week.

“Calm down baby. You’re a princess, don’t lower your standards for peasants.”

“That’s cute and all, but look at what they spray painted on the house.” Erik’s smirk quickly faded to a menacing mug when he saw the words ‘Killmonger’s a bitch’ spray painted in bright red paint on the northern wall of The Kompound. Without another word, he made his way downstairs to his arsenal with Ryley hot on his heels.

“How about we show them white bitches who run shit,” he called over his shoulder.

“What you mean, Daka?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well it’s Valentine’s Day and it’s also Purge Day, so how about for our date we show them why they shouldn’t fuck with the Stevens-Udaku household?” Ryley’s face twisted into a devilish grin as she gazed upon the various weapons.

Wanna play, Candy Girl?” he asked as he handed her the Swarovski studded M-16.

“Let’s play, Daddy.”

--

“Y’all sure y’all don’t wanna get in on the action?” Erik asked the remaining wives as he prepared for the night’s festivities.

“This is Ryley’s night, why you inviting other people?” Henny scolded from her relaxed position between Charlie’s plush thighs. They had all agreed to watch the events from the body cameras Shuri had installed on his and Ryley’s protective armor, Angel not wanting to engage in the sport because she didn’t see the point of senseless violence.

“You right, Mama,” Erik replied solemnly, looking over at Ryley. “My bad, Princess.”

“It’s cool, Fathead. Now let’s go murder some white bitches,” she says with a laugh. She was all dolled up in a pink and black bejeweled bodysuit with a pink tutu and thigh high Louboutin Frenchissima boots. On her head, she donned a pink headdress that matched her bodysuit, each piece made out of vibranium to keep her safe. Not like anyone would dare try to harm a Princess of Wakanda.

“Damn you look good enough to eat, Ry Ry,” Erik said as he admired her attire.

“Later, Daka. We got business to handle first.” The announcement sounded as the pair finished adjusting their masks.

This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all.

At the sound of the alarm, Erik and Ryley made their way outside to his blacked out Lamborghini Aventador with butterfly doors. For aesthetic effect, he blasted the psycho version of I Got 5 On It as he maneuvered the car down the street.

“Which house baby?”

“That one, that last one on the right.”

“Sha Sha, do your thing, baby.”

In an instant, the target house went completely dark and all of their protective armor was disabled, leaving them completely exposed to the outside world.

“How did you even do that?” Kimora asked Aly’Sha, whose face was buried in her iPhone.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t really want the answer to,” Hennessy answered for her.

“You ready, Ry Ry?”

“Let’s go.”

The pair exited the vehicle and slowly crept to the bay window that displayed the living room. The owners of the dwelling could be seen crowded around one another, a desperate attempt to protect themselves. Idiots.

“Sha Sha, do the thing.”

With another press of a button, the living room began to fill with tear gas, forcing the occupants of the house to run off in different directions, unintentionally aiding the pair in their sadistic plan.

“Time to go hunting,” Erik says as he kicked the door in.

--

“Aye, Vita,” Bast called out quizzically to Big Sis meandering in her lab. “Why you not upstairs watching Erik and Ry Ry turn up on the Beckys?”

Vita had a theatrical setup with a projector and surround sound. It was as if she converted her space into a miniature IMAX theater.

“Because, I have some unfinished business that's about to play out on this computer screen,” she explained leaning back in her seat, gathering her snacks, getting comfortable.

“What unfinished business?”

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I came to own Amazon?”

“Since when did you own Amazo-”

“See, what had happened was…”

He bowed before me, kneeling with great shame and humility. Once a proud, vain man now driven to begging. It's his own fault you know, this present state of duress. Often times when you wish to destroy your enemy you don't have to pull the trigger yourself, you only have to had them the gun and watch them blow their own brains out.

What made him a target, you ask? They were the vices he frequently indulged himself in; greed, lust, hubris, all of which led him to being an easy mark.

What were the bullets I used? His disgruntled employees, his gullible mistress, his betrayed wife, his disloyal business associates. Each pawn having been strategically used for my benefit and mine alone.

What pulled the trigger? He dared to insult me as if I were anything less than greatness. He'd the nerve to belittle my life's work as if I weren't a force to be reckoned with. I had just finished a masterful presentation of my future plans for my then budding tech company and as everyone else showered me with my well deserved praise he thought it humorous to describe my exemplary business model as “cute”. I could not let such a slight get away with impunity, a lesson needed to be taught.

Shortly after his billion dollar divorce when his liaisons with another woman were “mysteriously” leaked he tried to push his already exhausted workers even further which led to an international strike, that lasted for several months due to strikers being funded by an “anonymous” donor that helped them pay their bills at home and even finance ad campaigns to expose the heinous labor practices of the company, causing a severe decline in business. With sales and online traffic on the decline stocks careened further into the economic abyss leaving investors dissatisfied. Receiving inside information from an “unknown” source, they collectively decided to relocate their interests into another expedition… Mine.

That's right, my “cute” little business became a worldwide conglomerate seemingly overnight. And he could have shared in that wealth had he not crossed me. Now I, Davita Roberson, tower over him as he's become a hollow shell of his former self, selling what remains of his share in his dying company for pennies of what it used to be. Both his ex wife and former flame have found new loves that I helped introduced them to, his former workers are living more fulfilled lives under my employ, and I've blackballed all of those crooked investors because they couldn't be trusted.

Jeff will have to live out the remainder of his life buried in debt and regret, but who cares. The moment he affronted me was the instant he sealed his fate…

“And that's what happened,” Vita concluded.

With a roll of her eyes Bast couldn't help but ask,“You righteously decided to pull a massive company takeover because he called your business cute?”

“He was being passive aggressive. By calling my business plan “cute” he was downplaying it as if I were some child. He was belittling me and underestimated my capabilities. So bitch had it comin!”

“Aight aight, so what does that have to do with this little personal movie night you got going?”

“Well, Bezos couldn't stand being broke so he sold his body for a Purge Feast. He was right back to living his old lifestyle only on someone else's dime.”

“OK? That sounds amazing, what's the catch and what is a Purge Feast? Is he about to be gangbanged, what?”

“He's about to be eaten.”

“WHAT?”

“When a person donates their body to a Purge Feast they are provided a lavish lifestyle, they have to be disease free, drug free, given massages to ensure their tenderness and are put on a supremely exquisite diet of delicacies so that they're meat is undeniably sweet. Jeff has been fattened, and now is the time for the slaughter.”

“Ooooooh shit scoot over, bitch!”

The two women watched as Bezos was guided onto a giant chopping block placed on a stage. He was stripped bare naked then instructed to lay face down on the human sized cutting board. The executioner came into view wielding a great axe with a long blade, sharp enough to split hairs. The massive weapon was hoisted into the air then brought down upon the back of the former CEO’s neck. A clean cut, in only one swipe the head was severed and the blood gushed forth like the intense orgasm of a woman. The executioner continued to dissect the body as a flock of chef's assistants scurried to pick up the pieces while avoiding the swings. Once completed, the good was quickly prepared and presented to a dinner party that catered to the adventurous elites of society. As the soiree carried on, Davita took a bite of her own snacks, inhaling deeply, savoring the moment.

“Mmmm, delicious.”

--

“My bloody valentine, sweet comic Valentine. You make me smile with my heart,” Erik’s deep voice sang from the body cam. Charlie, Kimora, Hennessy, and Aly’Sha watched with glee as their husband dismembered one of the sisters, impaling her on the banister of the grand staircase of the foyer. So far, the pair had murdered three of the six members of the family and were searching for the patriarchs of the family. They passed the young boy’s severed head and the second sister’s torso on the way upstairs. They found the mother and father huddled in their shared bedroom, the mother clutching a bible to her chest.

“Why white people always turn to God when they about to die?” Erik inquired, more rhetorically than anything.

“P-Please don’t hurt us. We’ll give you anything you want,” the woman attempted to bargain.

“Bitch I’m a Prince, I don’t need ya money. I’m just here to give your family a lesson in respect. Now, I’ll only ask this once, where’s Penelope?”

“What do you want with my daughter?” the father asked with a little too much bass in his voice. Erik fired a warning shot to his right thigh before answering.

“I ask the questions here, Bob, but if you must know, the little bitch vandalized my property and harassed my wife. She just wants an apology, right Ry Ry?”

“Yes Daddy,” Ryley said with mock sincerity.

“She’s downstairs, under the staircase.”

“Say less,” Ryley said, skipping downstairs to the girl’s hiding place. She growled with anger when she discovered the spot was empty.

“That bitch lying, Daddy!” Another set warning shots went off upstairs, this time striking the mother in the ribs and the father in the shoulder.

“See, I was tryna be nice about this. I’m already gone kill y’all, don’t expedite the process. Where the fuck is she?”

“I’m right here you black bastard!” Suddenly the entire room exploded in flames as Penelope appeared with a flamethrower. When the flames dispersed, Erik stood completely unharmed with a twisted grin on his face.

“You really though you did some shit, huh?” Penelope’s face twisted in horror as she watched Ryley appear behind her with a metal baseball bat, a weapon she’d gotten from the younger boy’s room. With one hard hit to the head, Penelope was out. Erik and Ryley the drug the bodies downstairs, tying them up in the center of the living room.

“We are gonna purge today, purge today, purge today. We are gonna purge today and burn this bitch down,” Ryley sang gleefully as they exited the house.

“Sha Sha, cue the fireworks.”

In an instant the entire house exploded, lighting up the entire neighborhood like the 4th of July. As a means to commemorate the night, the couple made love on the hood of the Lamborghini, the screams of the dying family serving as their background music.

“Wow. That was hot,” Charlie said as Erik emptied himself onto Ryley’s bloodsoaked face.

“Literally,” Hennessy said in agreement. Suddenly, Ryley’s voice could be heard from the cam.

“Happy Purge Day, sluts!”

***************************

TAGS: @itsangeludaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @poosypoosy @vikkidc @panthergoddessbast @blackpantherismyish @dameshaemonique @sydneebleu @amethyst1993 @blowmymbackout @trevantesbrat @thadelightfulone @princessstevens @princesskillmonger @killmongersgurl @tgigoldie @supersizemeplz @wawakanda-btch @bidibidibombaclaat @calitexastrillgoddess @thehomierobbstark @mareethequeen @iamrheaspeaks @forbeautyandlife @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove

[n0ttinghamshad0w]

The Game’s Afoot! || Crime Squad

In which Rob robs the Davis house, with a little help from Andrina, Desoto, and Sarina...

@andrina-the-amazingsupergenius @accendimi @desotosykes

[CW: uh crime? creepy gnomes, slight implied child abuse mention]

Here’s the plan as I’ve got it laid out, yeah? She’s movin’ stuff, I know this, been movin’ things for a while. Not sure why, but judgin’ from all the stuff, I think she’s got a new place and may be rentin’ this place out at one point — anyways, point is that she’s out this weekend, the 27th of July and that’s when we’re goin’ in —

We’ve got the van, picked up a spell from one of the sorcerers in town to make it look like a movers. We’ve got the uniforms. ‘Ts gonna be as simple as walkin’ right up to the front door, only we’ve got Andrina here to disable all the security. Once we’re in, we divide and conquer — one of yas, Sarina, yeah, get to the safe and pick it open. Take whatever else you want — we’ll ditch the van right as we leave, burn the uniforms, and divvy up the stuff to pawn....

ANDRINA: 

Today, after months of planning and foreplay, Andrina was going to help rob Crazy Gnome Lady.

 Fun! 

 She got to wear a super sexy, special crime outfit for the occasion-- a cookie-coloured jumpsuit with a logo stitched to the front advertising MIKE’S MOVERS AND SHAKERS. She had to hand it to Rob; he had really committed to accuracy for replicating the logo down to the terrible Comic Sans font (graphic design was Mike Mover’s passion). Her favourite part of the look was actually the baseball cap, which she threaded her long, curled ponytail through, and used to hide the headset that would let her talk to her version of Oprah’s Book Club-- some hot chick named Sarina, some Italian Mobster transported straight from the set of the Sopranos named DeSoto, and their fearless, foxy leader, Robin Hunt, posing as the infamous Mike Mover himself. 

Important supporting characters included the moving van they’d rented for the occasion, sporting the same logo. 

 Also, the gnomes inside the Crazy Gnome Lady’s house. 

 Phase One began here: parked right in front of the aforementioned target. It still felt slightly counterintuitive to Andy. When Rob had told her they were gonna just roll up to the driveway, she’d raised her eyebrows. You sure you’ve done this before? Shouldn’t we park down the street? Wait for the cover of night? Plan a diversion?

That’s more suspicious, he’d told her and flashed a toothy smile, his confident tipping over to a cockiness Andy found very sexy. The secret to gettin’ away with somethin’, he told her, is to pretend like there’s nothin’ to get away with.

 And so the mid-afternoon sun was their spotlight. It was time for Andrina’s debut. Cue Ashley O’s On a Roll from Andy’s phone hooked up to the aux, and Andy cracked her knuckles and got started. 

 Her laptop pulled up, she clacked her way into Gnome Lady’s wi-fi. “Leeeet’s see….” she said, her tongue edging out against the bottom of her lip as she started to poke around Gnome Bitch’s desktop remotely. While the rest of her daring, dashing crew were going old-school bulgery, she’d get a chance to mine the digital treasure trove for any extra goodies. But for now, she was looking for one thing and one thing only-- 

 “Annnnnd-- disabled,” Andrina chirped as she deactivated Gnome Bitch’s security system.

 The house remained perfect still and silent, a sleeping giant of brick and mortar and ugly beige. 

 Andy flashed her grin at her comrades. “It’s moving day.” 

DESOTO:

This whole thing was kinda strange for Des. Not in the way he’d never done it before. Naw. He’d broken into houses and even stores before when he was a helluva lot younger. And dumber. What was strange was the amount of planning that went into it. The team that was put together and the plan that had been laid out by the man that had contacted him what felt like months ago. It was smart. Brilliant even. And the fact they’d just be… waltzing into the house and taking shit? It made it even better. Maybe he’d have to invest in this sort of crime more often. It was stress free. Stress free crime. Ha.

Dutifully he waited for the okay to head inside, pulling the ball cap he wore down out of instinct. They had the disguise as a moving company but there was still that slight paranoia that made him want to be as unnoticeable as possible. It’s why they’d gotten the gloves, right? An added security measure to further protect their identities if anything happened.

Following the mental map that he’d created as Rob detailed what he would be charged with getting and where exactly it would be, DeSoto made his way through the too goddamn beige house to get to his target. The room was, surprise, beige with pictures of gnomes and pixies and were generally creepy. No matter where Des went in the room it felt like those creepy little eyes were on him, watching every step he took. Were those where the cameras were? Hiding in creepy pictures so that any wrong doer would know intrinsically that they were being watched? Would be crafty of her, honestly. Crafty and creepy. Right up this lady’s alley.

The room itself was huge. Bigger than any one person would need. DeSoto understood the need for space, though. His own room back home had been too large. He’d filled the space with a large bed and then let it get cluttered with a shit ton of things that didn’t exactly matter to him but filled the space. Almost as if he were trying to fill an empty spot within himself. This room felt like that. Though, certainly more like a strange tomb. It smelled of the kind of perfume that made your allergies act up and mothballs. Idly he wondered how he’d drawn this room but pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he began combing through the drawers of the huge vanity. 

Rob had told him that the old broad had a ton of jewelry but he hadn’t anticipated this damn much. Each drawer was filled to the brim with gaudy jewelry that was organized by style. Bracelets, necklaces, rings, those weird things old broad’s wore on their shirts. Obviously he wouldn’t take it all but a good amount would be missing next time she bothered to look at any of this crap. Easily DeSoto began packing shit away, filling the box he’d brought with random expensive looking pieces. They’d get a pretty fucking penny for all this shit and Des wouldn’t have to worry about funding his next batch of drugs for a good while. 

Next was the closet, the smell of mothballs even stronger as he began pulling dress after dress from the hangers they were on. Each was made of exquisite fabric and for a brief moment Des wondered where the hell this bitch wore these clothes. There certainly wasn’t any place in Swynlake that warranted this fashion. Not hat it mattered. He was here for a paycheck, basically.

JELLY:

Jelly had one last job in Swynlake before she left. A job that Sarina had accepted and why not. If she fucked up she would just kick someone's ass and bounce sooner than expected. She was already burning bridges that Sarina had so nothing would follow her. 

And neither would this rag tag group of people she was apparently robbing a house with. She however did admire the plan. Jelly didnt want to deal with them. Let her be alone and make sure Sarina's skills worked in her favour.

She was just sad she didnt wear her heels to listen to the sound of clicking on the hardwood floors as she proved to herself over and over why she was better than all of them.

And this stupid moving uniforms. It was gross. 

That was for another time though as Jelly walked into room. It was impressive. At least until she spotted that creepy ghome. What was with this bitch and Ghomes. For a human she really had a lack of family pictures. Wasnt that a high human thing. To look at your loved ones 24/7. Not that Jelly cared. 

Jelly almost wished she was here just so she could play with the obsession. Make the woman think she was shattering all of them. Actually Jelly would shatter all of them. Let's not lie.

Glancing around the room Jelly walked over to the creepy painting not wasting any time and pulling the thing off the hooks. If there was anything she knew about humans was that they were predictable even on the worse days.

And a safe behind the picture. Yeah that was obvious. Settling in Jelly pulled up to the safe focusing on Sarina's memories without giving the girl a chance to breath instead ripping them from her mind without a concern for the pain she caused her. 

Listen to the locks. Be smooth in your motions. The fact you could insert a wire in the right place to give you better access. It was all there and Jelly loved it. Sarina had to easily be one of her favourite hosts.

It didnt take long for her to have the safe swing open and there was the cash nicely bundled just asking to be taken and as Jelly grabbed it the numbers rang in her mind. 

1000. 

1500.

2000.

3000.

4680.

Not a bad haul for less than half a days work.

ROB:

He’d let his two accomplices handle the bulk of the haul. He dinnit care what they took, s’long as they weren’t stupid (and he knew they weren’t stupid — Sarina’d done this before and before, and Desoto had a stake in stayin’ in the town so he wouldn’t fuck up). While they plundered, Rob idlly walked through the halls of the house.

He was on the hunt, you see, but not for money or jewels or any of the stuff he’d promised Sarina and Desoto (he’d promised Andrina the thrill of the chase, and out of everyone, he hoped she got what she was after). Nah, you see, Rob was lookin’ for something else. 

Normally, see, he’d take something — a mug that said Number One Dad from a dad who dinnit deserve it; a mother’s flask tucked away under a pillow; gambling stubs; a belt used for punishment —

But this house was barren. There wasn’t a single indication that Mrs. Davis even had kids, let alone two, let alone one of the kindest souls Rob had ever known, let alone a boy buried in the ground.

Nothing he could take that would remind her of what she’d done.

As he walked by the fireplace, he glanced at the garish modern paintings on the mantle and the thought occured to him. 

He reached in his pocket, pullin’ out the photograph Tuck had given him, smoothin’ out the edges. It was a young Mrs. Davis, her first husband, and Tuck as a baby — already Mrs. Davis’ face was stern and she held her baby at a distance. This’d been taken a few months before they decided they dinnit want him. He’d been left unceremoniously on the doorstep of the orphanage, as if Mrs. Davis were some woman in a Victorian nove dying of a wastin’ disease.

Rob wasn’t sure how she got from Nottingham to here, wasn’t sure what she told everyone happened to the first kid.

What he did know was that she left Tuck. She left Tuck and she had another kid and she dinnit even remember that her son was dead, dinnit even act like he existed —

He didn’t want to leave the photo, the only thing of Tuck he had, but there was a spot open on the mantelpiece. 

With a gloved hand, he smoothed out the creases and left it right on the empty space. 

[cactusspatz]

January recs

Fables of the Reconstruction by Mugatu (Walking Dead, Daryl/Jesus)

It’s more than two years after the end of the world and six months after the war with the Saviors when Daryl Dixon returns to Alexandria.

AU from juuust after I stopped watching in S6, thus avoiding Certain Bullshit. This author has an A+ Daryl POV, and uses her non-linear structure well to shift between the past slow burn character stuff and the tension of the current-time search & rescue.

Missing Pieces by flailinginlove (Naruto, Kakashi/Iruka)

Shinobi Enforcement Agency is the only bounty station (un)officially recognized by all of the Five Great Nations. It'd be the best place to bring in targets, if only there wasn't so much paperwork involved.

When they don't seem interested in taking out the new missing-nin in town, Kakashi wants to know why.

(Or, the one where both Kakashi and Iruka are missing-nin bounty hunters who go after the same target.)

Cheerfully fun AU heavy on the humor and competence porn.

No Reservations: Narnia by Edonohana (Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations RPF, gen)

I’m crammed into a burrow so small that my knees are up around my ears and the boom mike keeps slamming into my head, inhaling the potent scent of toffee-apple brandy and trying to drink a talking mouse under the table. But is it really the boom mike that’s making my head pound? I know for sure that my camera man doesn’t usually have two heads. I have to face facts. The mouse is winning.

I finally read this after seeing it recced approximately everywhere, and holy shit did it deserve all of those recs. If the prospect of Anthony Bourdain getting into a drinking contest with Reepicheep doesn’t immediately snag you...idk, I can’t help you. A vivid, funny love letter to both Narnia and food, accessible even without knowing Bourdain’s work.

My Love Should Be Heard and Not Seen by lurknomoar (Welcome to Night Vale, Cecil/Carlos)

Cecil Palmer is the best phone sex operator in the small company called Night Vale.  One night, a slightly tipsy and very lonely scientist dials his number, and gets far more than he bargained for - a late night conversation about advanced biochemistry, a brand new fetish for surreal horror, a surprisingly reasonable internship program, some newts, and slowly, strangely, the love of his life.

Yes, I am also amused that I read two separate awesome phone sex AUs in one month. This one is sublimely weird and funny and sweetly romantic, as is right and proper for WTNV.

Tall Grass by aeli_kindara (Supernatural, Dean/Cas)

“I think we should have a garden,” Cas says.

Dean looks up from his beer. He hasn’t had that much to drink, but Cas still has a vague look of unreality about him, a splash of living color that doesn’t fit in the bunker’s echoing stillness. Dean didn’t hear him coming. A lot of the time, Cas is so unobtrusive it feels like Dean has the bunker to himself, with Sam away.

Dean shakes his head to clear it. “A — garden?” he repeats.

Man, this was such a great read but I’m not sure how to synopsize it? There’s a lush, warm, slow burn romance, domesticity a la Winchesters, road trip casefiles featuring various awesome ladies from the show, and a haunted plant! Highly recommended.

Follow the Heartlines by fakexpearls (Captive Prince, Damen/Laurent)

“Apologies, Exalted. What I meant – ”

 “What you meant is that you don’t know why I can’t remember anything since His Majesty flayed my back and had me dressed in gold paint and slave’s garb to serve him. But he was a prince then. And a king now.”

 Laurent tried to hide his flinch at the words, at his own memories. He looked away to the marble floor.

 Damianos continued: “You say that was four years ago. In that time, I seem to have aligned myself with him in country and in marriage. And no one tried to stop me.”

Look, the author had me at their note “An amnesia AU (with political intrigue)” and the story is pretty much exactly what you’d expect from that trope set (pining for someone you’re technically married to! trust issues! politics and competence porn!) but very well executed. I loved her character work for Laurent and how you can read a lot of how their marriage has been by how he keeps stumbling what isn’t there anymore. Right in the feels.

[bindy417]

A lot of Olicity fans are begging for Felicity to divorce Oliver. Good. He's piece of shit husband and she deserves better. He has continually mistreated her with lies and manipulation.

Hi Anon,

I don’t want Olicity to get divorced, but you’re right that Felicity Smoakdeserves better. The only way they can “fix” this next season is by allowingFelicity to be furious with Oliver and confront him when he’s released fromprison. They need to have a serious talk about him not including her indecisions. Oliver needs to apologize with an actual “I’m sorry,” and then heneeds to put words into action by opening up to his wife and respecting herinput. I love Oliver and believe his intentions are good; he’d do anything forhis family, but the writers need to work on how he goes about doingthings. Good intentions are no excuse for poor decisions, and he has to beallowed to evolve as a character and maintain his progress.

Although I’m hella pissed at Oliver right now, I can’t really put all theblame on him because he was done dirty this season just like every othercharacter on the show. My anger is directed at the writers, because this is100% on them. This season was one big careless, incoherent, sloppy mess! Here’sa brief rundown of how every character was mistreated:

Oliver Queen: betrayed by his team (excluding Felicity) and made outto be the bad guy when he did nothing wrong. Then is forced to apologize andsacrifice his life and family for the others’ sins and betrayal. He andFelicity were finally in a good place with trusting each other andcommunicating. By the end of the season, they regress him yet again by havinghim push Felicity away and making a decision without her. Then he paints atarget on his family’s back by outing himself. William already lost his mother,and it’s just wrong that Oliver would willingly sacrifice himself and let hisson lose yet another parent. As much as I love Felicity and William’s bond,they were abandoned and it’s not okay.

Felicity: starts off the season kicking ass as Overwatch, creatingher company, and making her own decisions about what she wants out of life.Then she’s forced out as Overwatch, her company storyline is hijacked by Curtisbefore being ignored completely, and she’s left to pick up the pieces ofOliver’s awful decision without any input. Her agency was obliterated, and it’sutterly unacceptable.

Thea: completely sidelined for almost two seasons and unable to fightas Speedy. For some reason, everyone else can still fight after the traumathey’ve faced but Thea is too “messed up” or “fragile” to continue wearing hermask. She’s made to uncharacteristically defend Oliver’s choice to lie toFelicity about William and defend newbies’ actions when her character has neverbeen okay with lying. When she does leave the show, she’s guilt-tripped intothinking it’s her responsibility to right Malcolm’s sins after he lied andmanipulated her for years. So, basically, she played into his hands again.

Dig: has no job outside of Team Arrow and no family backstory.Suddenly, being Spartan isn’t enough for him and he wants to be Green Arrow(even though he’s never expressed interest before and archery isn’t his skillset). He also gets mad at Oliver when he finally does show growth and maturity,and throws it all back in his face. It’s totally unfair considering that Digwas the one lying about taking drugs early on in the season and was willing togo out into the field without telling everyone he was injured and compromised.

Lance: behaves totally illogically and puts the city and his team indanger all to redeem a murderous doppelganger who isn’t his real daughter. It’sactually an insult to the real LL, who shouldn’t be so easily replaced by aclone in her father’s eyes. Also, he dies at the hands of a D-list villain bysacrificing himself for that undeserving dodo bird.

The newbies:  I never liked them to begin with. I barelytolerated them, because they seemed like entitled liabilities who never earnedtheir place or viewers’ respect. Rene betrays Oliver and creates this entiremess, and somehow Oliver and OTA are all to blame. They completely turn onOliver and bash him every chance they get, without any regard for their ownfaults. They also physically attack OTA and almost kill them. If you want toread a more detailed breakdown of why they can never be redeemed in my eyes,check out this prior post: “3Reasons Why the Newbies Will NEVER Be My Team Arrow.”

Star City: I used to admire Oliver’s mission to protect his home andits citizens. Yet, whether as GA or mayor, Oliver is constantly vilified andhunted down. He’s never acknowledged for the good he’s done or the sacrificeshe’s made. Star City is an ungrateful, undeserving burden around his neck atthis point. Viewers no longer have sympathy for the city or why Oliver should riskso much to save it. The writers completely destroyed the intent and audience’scompassion for Oliver’s mission. Many fans don’t care if it burns to the groundnow.

The list goes on (Diaz was an awful villain that had no clearmotivation or set of skills that would allow him to believably wreak so muchhavoc), but I’ll leave it here. Season 5 was awful, and I never thought Season6 could sink just as low. These writers failed this story, their characters,and the viewers. The new writers have a lot to fix, and I won’t give them thebenefit of the doubt. I have hope they will do a better job, but this show isat a breaking point. It’s do or die now, because too many mistakes have beenmade for too long. There needs to be a drastic change in how these charactersare portrayed and what message the writers want to send to viewers. The showneeds to rediscover its roots and show their characters and the audience therespect they deserve. No more plot over character, or else they’ll havesucceeded in completely destroying a once great show.

[yallreddieforthis]

I’ll Stop By Your Room

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language, talking about sex, mentions of past sexual situations)

Words: 7.1k

Movie canon-compliant but not book. Aged-up (16-17) Also posted on AO3

The Greater Fool Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 (NSFW) | Part 5

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

As he steps onto the bus to head back to Derry High, Eddie is prepared for the first time in his entire school career, to declare this field trip A Success.

He’s made it almost halfway through tenth grade without ever having gone on a field trip where no disastrous shit went down—either for the class in general, or just specifically Eddie-related shit. There was one in sixth grade where the bus driver got lost and they didn’t get home until after five, and Eddie’s mom had already gotten the police involved by the time the bus pulled into the parking lot of Derry Elementary. Or the eighth grade one to the botanical gardens where Eddie got stung by a bee. Or when they went to the zoo in second grade and some asshole monkey managed to fling his shit far enough out of his enclosure that it splattered Bill right in the chest and like, okay, maybe that was more of a tragedy for Bill than it was for Eddie but Eddie was standing right next to him when it happened. It was scarring for everyone, okay?

Well, maybe not for Richie, who laughed so hard he almost peed his pants and still brings it up anytime anyone mentions monkeys, even in passing. Like someone will say this is so easy, a monkey could do it, and Richie will invariably butt in with haha, hey Bill, remember the time…

In fact, Eddie thinks that a large part of what has made this art museum field trip such an unmitigated success is that he has managed to stay as far away from Richie as possible. Not the actual art part; that was boring as fuck. Bill and Ben were the only ones who got anything at all out of that shit—Ben was all, did you know that this painting was commissioned for Colonel Assface during the War of Whateverthefuck in the year Long Enough Ago That No One Cares Anymore, and Bill was quiet the whole time but his eyes were all lit up and Eddie could practically hear him thinking about color and brushstrokes and shit. Which is fair, because Bill’s art is starting to get really good. He drew Richie during chem last week and Eddie liked the sketch so much he managed to muster up the courage to ask Bill if he could keep it. He’s positive that if he’d bothered to pay any attention at all in the gallery of Frou Frou di Fifi or whoever, he’d be able to see influences from the trip in Bill’s sketchbook.

But he didn’t. He spent the whole time glued to Stan, because Stan is terrified of paintings (which is understandable, Eddie thinks), and Eddie felt bad that he was forced to come on this field trip. Usually, Bill would be the one to partner up with Stan and like, be supportive or whatever, but Eddie and Stan both knew that the lure of a real art museum was going to be too tempting for him, and Stan’s best bet for company would wind up being Eddie. Stan was miserable the whole time anyway, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. It’d be like if Eddie had to go spend the day in a lab staring at Petri dishes full of diseases and then write a two-page essay about how much he loved it. Like, fuck that shit. He suppresses a shudder at the thought.

So he stuck with Stan, inching along the far wall away from the artwork, and avoided Richie, who mostly told jokes over Ben’s A History Of Everything In the Art Museum lecture and spoke at Bill, who uh-huhed him in the middle of sentences so many times that Eddie thinks even Richie might’ve eventually caught on that he wasn’t listening. Avoiding Richie, especially for Eddie, is usually very difficult for a multitude of reasons, the chief of which being that Eddie is in what essentially amounts to a relationship with Richie. Today, it was surprisingly and suspiciously easy.

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t want to be around Richie—he does, actually always, to an alarming and almost disgusting degree—it’s just that Richie is super inappropriate and keeps Eddie in a constant state of worry about what he’s going to do next. Sometimes, for example, he acts like he’s going to start macking on Eddie in public which...they haven’t really discussed it out loud before, but Eddie thinks they have a mutual understanding about not doing shit like that because Richie has never followed through on it. He’s not exactly embarrassed about the...relationship or whatever, at least not very—Eddie figures he has no more reason to be embarrassed of Richie than Richie does to be embarrassed of him—but he knows and he prays to God that Richie understands that obvious PDA would be just as bad as painting a target on his forehead. A big rainbow target.

Eddie files into a window seat on the bus so that he won’t get carsick and hopes Stan will fill in next to him so he doesn’t end up having to sit with someone mean.

Eddie gets picked on enough already, for plenty of reasons. People had been calling him gay for years before he realized he actually is, in fact, gay. Like, the gay was totally always there, tapping him on the shoulder occasionally like hey, uh, It’s Raining Men is a pretty great song, you should listen to it on a loop for six months... and Eddie was just ignoring it until the whole Richie situation sort of forced him to turn around and look it in the eye. And once he did it was like my guy, listen. Dudes. Dicks. Richie. Rodgers and Hammerstein. Eddie sometimes wonders if other people were actually able see it before he could. Were they just calling him gay because people do that, or because they knew? Like maybe he’s been walking around leaving a trail of glitter behind him without realizing it?

There’s no way of knowing for sure without asking someone, and since Eddie hasn’t technically ever said the word gay out loud yet… Presumably, Richie is aware that he is—even if that understanding is based on nothing but the fact that their lips are touching more often than not when they’re alone together—but Eddie hasn’t managed to work up the balls to even talk to him about the implications of being gay. Let alone the implications of being gay in Derry. Jesus, Eddie doesn’t even want to have that discussion mentally with himself, much less verbally with another person.

As soon as he spots Eddie, Richie weasels his way past Stan to cram in next to him. Stan rolls his eyes and gets pulled along into another row. Well, fuck.

Luckily, the museum is about a half hour drive from school, so Richie only has thirty minutes left to work his magic on upholding the streak of shitty field trips. The bus driver turns on the engine and Eddie realizes that he’s picked one of the wheel seats, which will ensure that his legs are numb from the wheel vibrations by the time they reach school. Awesome. Richie drops his backpack in between himself and Eddie, which is only notable because he uses its cover to grab Eddie’s hand where no one can see it. At the very, very least, Richie still remembers that subtlety is the name of the game here.

Not that Eddie really thinks the other Losers will care. That time in the sewers...everything they’ve been through together...Eddie doubts there’s anything he could be or do that would make them hate him. He could kill someone and they’d all just be like yeah I bet he deserved it and you need any help burying the body? He’s aware that he has the best friends on the face of the earth and that once he gets around to telling everyone about him and about them he’s probably going to feel a lot better. Hell, they might even already have guessed. He doesn’t know why he’s putting it off. He keeps telling himself next sleepover, next weekend, tomorrow at lunch and then backing out. It just feels so...daunting. Like—

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks Eddie, in a completely normal tone of voice. Which is to say loud. Richie’s normal tone of voice is very loud.

Jesus Christ.

“You wanna say that a little louder?” Eddie hisses at him.

“SO, WHAT DO YOU THI—”

Eddie clamps his hand over Richie’s mouth and gives him his most murderous glare. Richie just shakes his head and stares at Eddie with his best puppy eyes. Yeah, those eyes that Eddie used to be able to match with a dead-eyed stare and now they just make him feel all melty and gooey and shit because Richie really does have the longest, darkest, most beautiful eyelashes and his eyes are soft and—

Richie uses the momentary hesitation to lick Eddie’s palm. Eddie automatically draws his hand back in disgust.

“BLOWJOBS,” Richie shouts the second his voice is no longer muffled in Eddie’s hand. Eddie elbows him as hard as he can in the ribs and almost remembers to stop holding hands with him under the backpack. Almost.

No one even turns around. From the front of the bus, Mrs. Eisner calls back a vague “that’s enough, Richard,” but that’s the only response he gets.

“See?” Richie says, turning back to Eddie. Eddie wipes his wet hand viciously on the front of Richie’s shirt. “No one’s listening. Say whatever the fuck you want. I like you like you. You’re hot. I wanna suck your dick. See?”

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

He spares a single thought for Richie saying you’re hot. Did...did he mean that? Was he just saying that shit because he was trying to demonstrate that no one was listening? Like, does Richie really think Eddie is hot?

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks again, in exactly the same tone of voice he used the first time, which makes Eddie feel like if he’d just given a real answer way back five minutes ago, in a simpler time before he knew Richie thought school buses were an appropriate setting for sex conversations, then it would’ve been easier.

Also, Richie doesn’t seem likely to drop this topic anytime soon, and when he gets like this Eddie has found that the best course of action is to just grit his teeth and plow through the conversation until Richie is satisfied with his answer, after which they are typically able to move on with their lives. The last time this happened was a Power Rangers versus Ninja Turtles debate that lasted for forty five minutes. Hopefully they can breeze through this one before they get back to school, because Eddie doesn’t relish the idea of Richie passing him terribly drawn notes with diagrams of dicks and tongues during math.

So that’s what makes him decide to take a second and actually consider the question. Blowjobs and sucking dick are things Richie talks about regularly—not with any real seriousness, of course—but Eddie’s never given the idea too much thought because honestly? Gross.

He’s gotten almost all the way past the ickiness of kissing on the mouth and like, in the face-area—mostly by just refusing to think about germ transfer rates and mononucleosis—because Richie has made that worth his while. It took a couple months for him to really get the hang of it, but now they’ve got that shit down; Richie knows how to kiss Eddie’s neck to make him go jelly-legged, and Eddie can get Richie all red-faced and panting just by sucking on his ears the right way, and once they get going, kissing on the mouth is the furthest thing from icky. Eddie sometimes feels like there are moments where he will internally combust if he can’t kiss Richie.

So it’s not that Eddie doesn’t think a blowjob would feel good. The opposite, actually. Just...it feels like asking for some kind of nasty disease.

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie says, shaking his head and staring out the window as they pull onto the main road leading to the highway, “I don’t think I can like...do that. Dick in the mouth. Nuh-uh. Nope.”

“No I mean me give you one,” Richie presses. “I’m not afraid of your germs.”

Eddie bristles a little at that because it implies that Eddie is afraid of Richie’s germs which...okay, maybe he kind of is, but Richie didn’t have to say it. He knows that’s not really what Richie meant though—it’s not a jab at Eddie—he’s actually trying to be reassuring. Trust Richie to accidentally backhanded compliment his way into sex. What a fucking catch. And now he’s looking at Eddie with this earnest smugness, like he knows he’s going to convince him to let him do it and he’s stoked. But why does he even want to? Like, what’s in it for him?

Does he really think Eddie is that hot?

“Did you mean it?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself.

“Totally,” Richie says, giving Eddie’s hand a squeeze under the backpack. “I’d take a faceful of your jizz over splashing around in graywater any day.”

Ew, what the fuck?!

“No,” says Eddie. “What is wrong with you? I don’t mean—I meant when you said I was…” Eddie drops his voice to a whisper, “... hot. Do you really think I’m hot?”

“Of course I do, dumbass,” Richie says. “Don’t you think I am?”

Eddie’s first instinct is to say no, dipshit, because “hot” is a word reserved for like...like Ethan Hawke or River Phoenix. Not people like Richie, who has been at peak teenage awkwardness for what feels like a decade at this point and looks to be in real danger of staying that way forever. He has terrible taste in clothes and the glasses and the crazy hair and as a package he’s just...so overwhelming, and that’s not hot. Not even a little. It’s—

“I’m just messing with you,” Richie says cheerfully, knocking his knifepoint-sharp elbow into Eddie’s arm. “Everyone knows you’re the beauty and I’m the brains.”

“God, I hope not. We’re really fucked if you’re the brains,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

Richie snorts and squeezes Eddie’s hand in such a way that it makes a fart noise and Eddie yanks it out from under the backpack. He folds his arms across his chest and Richie spends the rest of the journey home trying to coax him back into holding hands. By the time they get back to school, Eddie is red with both embarrassment and suppressed laughter, and he thinks about how this kind of thing happens so often that he’ll probably never blush again without thinking of Richie.

As is customary on school nights, Eddie goes straight home after his last class. He’s not allowed to have friends over or go to the arcade unless it’s a weekend, which he used to think was because his mom wanted him to have plenty of time for his homework but now feels more like one of her arbitrary, controlling restrictions because she doesn’t seem to actually care all that much about his grades. It feels like it’s more about just...having him home while she watches The Young and The Restless by herself in the living room. Why exactly Eddie’s presence in the house improves this activity, he doesn’t entirely understand.

Richie took to sneaking in during the night years ago, which always makes being alone for the afternoon slightly more bearable. He’ll get on his bike after last period and turn to Eddie and say I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom, which is actually a polite offer for company in disguise. Eddie will either say if you really have to or I’ll make sure to put the lock on the door then and Richie has never not respected the answer.

Today he said it and Eddie told him to get lost because they’ve got an essay due tomorrow on the impact of our trip to the art museum and Eddie had had a feeling that writing it was going to require some premium-grade bullshitting. He’d been right, too; he didn’t get done with it until ten. But it’s not like that’s really what ate up his entire evening, because then he’d debated internally with himself for half an hour before caving and rewatching Footloose. By the time he’d brushed his teeth, put on pajamas (his warmest ones—reindeer-printed and made of fleece—because it’s chilly and it’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway), and gotten into bed, it was after midnight. So now he’s still wide awake and feeling kind of like he wishes he’d invited Richie over after all, despite the fact that he really should already be asleep.

It used to be that whenever Eddie said yes, Richie would come straight over after the sun went down. Eddie could always tell if they’d all gone swimming without him because Richie’s hair would be damp and he’d smell like quarry water and the grass at the top of the cliff, and he’d flop onto Eddie’s bed and get those smells all over his sheets. Those nights, Eddie would always go to sleep wondering if Richie was just wearing wet briefs under his shorts or going commando. He was never sure which idea he liked less.

Since this summer though, I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom has taken on a connotation that sets off a shivery, churning feeling in Eddie’s gut. Sometimes Richie will lean over and whisper it in his ear—sometimes he leaves off the last part too. I’ll stop by your room, he breathes out, warm air hitting Eddie’s neck, and Eddie bites his lips and goes all hot because it means that that night, sometime around eleven or midnight or so, he’ll hear a dun dun dun dadadundun tapping at his window. Eddie is still not sure if that’s a reference to Under Pressure or Ice Ice Baby and he honestly thinks he doesn’t want to know.

He’ll wedge a towel under his bedroom door to soundproof it as much as he can. Then he’ll lift the latch on the window and open it as far as it will go. Richie just barely fits now. A couple of years ago it was nothing for him to hop through, now he has to fold his long legs every which way and his skinny arms flail around and his big feet get caught on the other side of the sill and sometimes he whacks his giant head on the wall as he tumbles through. It’s never a quiet process, unfortunately; there’s always some swearing involved, and Eddie lives in fear of the day Richie looks at him from the other side of the wall, moonlight shining off his glasses, and says “well, fuckity fuck, I’m stuck.”

That’s a problem for Future Eddie to deal with though, because once Richie’s in, well. Once he’s in the room, those skinny arms are immediately wrapped around Eddie’s waist and the long legs bump into Eddie’s as Richie backs them toward the bed. And then they get there and...god.

Eddie turns over onto his side and fiddles with the sleeve of his pajama top, thinking about how if Richie were here, the shirt would be gone before the backs of his knees even hit the mattress. Richie is always the first to start taking clothes off—he does it like he’s starving for him—like touching Eddie is what he lives for and he can’t hold off another second. It’s...feeling like that, like someone wants him so bad...it’s kind of wonderful and powerful and scary.

Every time they do it ends basically the same—they take everything off and then they touch each other until they can’t anymore and their fingers are gooey and sticky and then Eddie has to shove Richie out of bed or he’ll fall asleep right there—naked and on top of Eddie for Eddie’s mom to find them the next morning. It hasn’t happened yet, thank God, but it’s a closer call every time because it’s getting harder and harder to kick Richie out after.

In fact, Eddie has taken to spending a worrying amount of time just sort of lying there and stroking Richie’s naked back or smoothing his hair over his head. After is always kind of awkward for Eddie, because he can’t think of anything to say that isn’t incredibly embarrassing, and silence feels weird too. So far he’s managed a that was good twice, which he was super proud of both times even though he also wanted to roll over and hide as soon as the words left his mouth.

Richie does not appear to suffer from the same affliction, because he always starts talking again pretty much as soon as he catches his breath, and Eddie is usually too tired to complain about whatever stupid shit he says. Richie’s pillow talk typically includes such topics as: an enthusiastic play-by-play of what they just did (during which Eddie always just mumbles please stop every few seconds), complete with commentary, which is as complimentary as it is mortifying; a detailed tactical gamplan of what they should do in the event of a zombie outbreak; who Richie would cast if they made a movie about the X-Men and for some reason wanted his opinion; and a ranking of his favorite types of candy based on the logistics of building an edible house. As long as he keeps blabbering, Eddie can privately enjoy that sick-happy feeling in his chest and put off kicking him out. If he’s being honest, Eddie just wants to hold him super tight and close and stay there until he can watch the sunrise illuminate the faded freckles on Richie’s nose.

Eddie snuggles deep down in the covers and thinks about his favorite parts—between when Richie squeezes into and out of his window—and lets himself relish in the fluttery, fidgety excitement that comes with the memory of Richie, shirtless and pale and glowing faintly red in the light from the numbers on Eddie’s alarm clock. The way his mouth looks after they’ve been kissing, soft and full and open, how his wild hair splays across Eddie’s neck when he bends down to breathe warm air onto Eddie’s nipples. His hands unzipping Eddie’s pants, rubbing him over the front of his underwear like he can’t even wait the two seconds it’ll take to pull them off. The way his back looks as he arches into Eddie’s fingers, the way his head falls forward when he gasps and the way he moans like Eddie’s mom isn’t literally two rooms over oh my god, Richie, shhh. The way he exhales sometimes, like he’s so turned on he doesn’t know how else to express it but with those shuddery breaths that almost sound like the ghost of laughter. Eddie’s whole body goes warm at the memory because it’s the hottest thing he—

And then it’s like Eddie’s brain douses him in ice water because it is. It’s hot. It’s hot as fuck and Eddie remembers that Richie asked him on the bus a few hours ago if he thought Richie was hot and he did not give him an unequivocal yes. And that’s obviously bullshit because Eddie was totally getting ready to start jerking off just now thinking about how fucking hot Richie is when he’s naked and they’re in bed together. Eddie had somehow been under the impression that hot is this kind of ethereal concept that only applies to celebrities or strangers, when hot has literally been sucking face with him for months. He is officially the biggest dumbass ever. Eddie wonders if there’s any other obvious shit staring him down that he hasn’t picked up on yet.

And suddenly Eddie cannot stand the idea that Richie might be sitting at home thinking Eddie doesn’t find him hot. It’s Thursday...well, technically it’s Friday but it still counts as Thursday night and there’s no way Richie isn’t planning on coming over for some sweet handjob action tomorrow night, but this can’t wait until tomorrow. And he can’t call, his mom will want to know why he’s using the phone at this hour and it’s possible that someone other than Richie might answer and then Eddie will have to come up with some reason besides I’m sorry to bother you at this hour Mrs. Tozier, but it’s an absolute emergency because I have to tell Richie right now that he’s hot and thinking about him naked gives me a boner.

Yeah, not likely. This situation calls for desperate measures, like an entirely unprecedented course of action. Eddie puts on his sneakers, throws on a sweater, and walks to his window.

If Richie can still get in, it’ll be nothing for Eddie to get out. He’ll just close the window most of the way from the outside, but not so much that he won’t be able to get back in. His mom might come in (unlikely, Eddie can hear her snoring) and find him gone and completely blow a gasket, but that’s a big might and the fact that he needs to see Richie right the fuck now is a definitely, so. Down he hops, quiet as can be.

It’s early December and fucking cold. Cold as fuck. Eddie hops back and forth from one foot to the other while he untangles his bike from where the garden hose fell on it and tries not to think too hard about how the frigid wind in his face is going to feel when he gets going.

The less that can be said about the seven minute bike ride to Richie’s house, the better. The word frostbite comes to mind more than once, as well as death by exposure. Eddie thinks it’ll be unfortunate but understandable if his dick decides never to make an appearance again; he’s pretty sure it has retreated up into his body for good. He can’t feel his hands but manages to peel his fingers off the handlebars nonetheless, leaning his bike up against the side of Richie’s house without bothering to hide it because, according to Richie, Richie’s parents are heavy sleepers. Eddie wouldn’t normally just take Richie at his word on something like that, but he figures they would’ve had to have caught their own son sneaking out at least once out of the hundreds of times he’s done it if it wasn’t true. Eddie walks around the back and looks through the curtains of Richie’s room.

Richie, wearing the same pajama bottoms and old tee shirt he usually shows up at Eddie’s in, is so deeply involved in Sonic that Eddie wonders if he won’t hear him rapping on the window, but he does it anyway. Dun dun dun dadadundun.

It’s Under Pressure, Eddie whispers to no one in particular. Richie doesn’t hear that or the knocking.

Dun dun dun dadadundun. Eddie knocks again, a little louder.

This time, Richie turns around. He does one better, actually: he does a double take and his jaw drops wide open, hair flopping into his face. He looks utterly stupid by any account and yet the first thought that pops into Eddie’s head is beautiful.

Richie drops the controller onto the floor to live amongst the general covering of junk that populates his bedroom before loping over to the window and opening it.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, staring out at Eddie like he can’t believe he’s here, which is kind of annoying because like...Eddie has a bike too. Just because it’s always Richie who appears at Eddie’s house in the middle of the night doesn’t mean Eddie isn’t capable of reciprocating every once in awhile. It’s just that it’s obviously nicer to get it on in Eddie’s room than in the garbage heap Richie inhabits.

Richie reaches out a hand to help Eddie clamber inside. He must have the heat cranked up full blast because Eddie starts regaining feeling in his extremities right away when Richie shuts the window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just needed to—” Eddie starts, then clamps his mouth shut.

In that moment he realizes that he’s just shown up at Richie’s house at one in the morning on a school night without warning, wearing fleece reindeer pajamas, sneakers without socks and a sweater, and he has literally no idea what he wants to say other than I just needed to tell you you were hot. Right now, apparently.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Richie demands, in what might sound like a normal tone of voice to an outsider, but Eddie instinctively recognizes it as being seconds away from abject panic.

Eddie looks up into his eyes and god damn, how has he never managed to see how insecure Richie really is? Of all the millions of things Eddie could be here for… He could’ve had a fight with his mom. Winston from the Sweet Valley High books that Eddie definitely doesn’t read could’ve been killed off. Eddie could just be horny. He could have a homework question—well, probably not that one because going to Richie for homework help would be worse than just not turning in the assignment and taking a zero—but a breakup? Like, that’s what he jumps to? A breakup? Really?

“God, no,” Eddie says, and then the next words come out of his mouth with absolutely no leave to do so from his brain. “Why the fuck would I do that? I love you.”

Richie sits down hard on his bed and just...stares. And Eddie a little bit wants to freak out because I love you sounds like a really big deal but like...is it? Is saying it that big of a deal? Feeling it is, maybe, but if Eddie’s being honest with himself, he’s been feeling it for like forever. He might not have always been willing to admit that, but if you take a dump in a toilet and call it a flower, it’s still shit. Saying it doesn’t change that.

“Actually I just wanted to tell you you’re hot,” he continues, fidgeting with the zipper on his sweater and still standing awkwardly by the window. That part comes out easier, probably because he just dropped a live one with I love you and nothing else he has to say could possibly be as enormous as that. “Cause on the bus, like I didn’t. But you totally are. Hot. You’re...hot. Like super hot, like…” Eddie gestures vaguely up and down with one hand, “all of you. Your hair and your back and shit—I mean, your...yeah. So I just wanted to tell you. Bye.”

And because every single word after you’re hot has increased his discomfort exponentially, Eddie feels like this is as good a time as any to make his exit. Actually, about fifteen seconds ago might’ve been better, but it’s certainly only going to get worse if he just stands there doing nothing, so he turns toward the window and prepares to bail. This apparently snaps Richie out of it because he gets up, still staring.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Richie asks.

“‘Why the fuck am I here, where the fuck am I going,’” Eddie repeats, one leg already out the window. It is so fucking cold outside and like, this whole thing was such a bad idea, Eddie wishes he could go back in time fifteen minutes just to smack himself in the face and tell himself to stay in bed. “Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going home. It’s a school night.”

“Uh, no way,” Richie says, striding toward him. He wraps a hand around Eddie’s wrist. “You don’t get to say something like that and then just like fuck off. Nah, come back in here and let me blow you.”

Let him what now?! It takes a second for Eddie to make the connection—like why Richie is bringing that up—but then his mind presses rewind on the part from the bus when Richie said Eddie was hot and...right. The conversation was originally about blowjobs. Why do they always seem to have these important discussions about feelings in conjunction with sex stuff? At this rate, Eddie’s never going to have a cute story about their relationship that’s fit for mixed company. Like he’s gonna tell the others at a sleepover, so then I said “I love you, Richie,” and he was like, “that’s sick dude, lemme suck your dick.”

He’s about to say no because ew, but...it’s Richie. And Richie is looking at him with his big brown eyes and Eddie knows that Richie would be a hundred percent cool with it if Eddie truly didn’t want to, and if Eddie says not gonna happen, Richie will probably never bring it up again. But he can also hear the excitement in Richie’s voice, and it seems...crazy, like it’s crazy that Richie really wants to blow him that much.

“I didn’t say that shit because I wanted a blowjob,” Eddie tells him.

“I know,” Richie says.

“I don’t think I can really stay,” Eddie says, although he also pulls his leg back in the room and allows Richie to shut the window again. “It’s a school night.”

“Fuck yeah, it’s a school night,” says Richie, in what he clearly thinks is a California Surfer Dude voice, but it’s new to his repertoire and still sounds more like he’s having a mild stroke than anything else. He grins and gets straight to work pushing Eddie’s sweater off his shoulders. “Think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow. I’m gonna get hard just looking at those bags under your eyes.”

“What the fuck?” Eddie whispers back to him. He shrugs his cardigan back on. “You say the weirdest shit Richie, I swear to God. Is think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow supposed to be like, dirty talk? Because uh, that’s not sexy. I—”

“But you love me,” Richie interrupts, “so everything I do is sexy.” He yanks his own shirt over his head and smiles down at Eddie.

“Yeah, that’s not how it works,” Eddie says, placing both hands on Richie’s bony chest and trying not to focus too much on how good his skin feels because he is not going to get distracted by the lure of impending nakedness.

“Yeah it is,” says Richie immediately, sliding a hand up under Eddie’s pajama top. “We’re in love, so everything is like automatically a million times more sexy.”

“Oh really? What so...so, my...like when I had to shove Tylenol down your throat when you had a 102 fever last month? You find that sexy?”

“Hell yes,” Richie replies immediately, “you can play doctor with me anytime, baby.”

“Don’t you dare start calling me ‘baby,’” Eddie warns him.

“Try and stop me,” Richie laughs, and he pulls Eddie in closer with his hand on the small of his back. Fuuuck, no way is Richie going to let that go. Eddie hates the nicknames, but he knows it’s a losing battle because Eddie Spaghetti eventually got replaced with Eds and he can already imagine baby gaining ground on Eds. In fact, Eddie would bet his whole allowance that baby is going to eventually turn into babe. He can see babe sticking long-term. He’s just gonna have to get used to the idea.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie sighs, resting his forehead on Richie’s shoulder.

“Dude, I’m trying,” Richie says, grinning his shit-eatingest.

Eddie starts to giggle and has to put the brakes on it because he’s not getting sucked in. He’s not. He came here with a mission and he accomplished it. Just because it’s kind of making him die a little inside to leave right now doesn’t mean he can’t suck it up and do it anyway.

“I have to go,” Eddie says again. He stands on his toes and kisses Richie a little harder than usual, and hopes that Richie understands he’d much rather stay here. Someday, Eddie wants to tell him...someday they’ll finish high school. It feels like a million years from now, but then he knows he’s going to blink and he’ll be holding a graduation cap and a college acceptance letter. And Richie will be there too, holding...well, Eddie’s hand, at the very least. He really would get good grades if he applied himself, like all his teachers say, but Eddie doesn’t love him any less for his 2.7 GPA.

“Tomorrow,” Richie says. Eddie’s not sure if it’s a promise or a question. But either way, the answer is yes. If Richie wants to do what they usually do or… whatever else. Eddie’s down for it. One great thing about Richie—one of many, Eddie thinks—is how he doesn’t really try to force Eddie to stay. It’s kind of like when he goes to high five Stan and Stan gives him that please die now look, and Richie just immediately cuts his losses and moves on. He’s like that a lot. Eddie sometimes wishes he could just let shit go the way Richie does.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Eddie tells him. “Definitely.” He can’t quite bring himself to say how much he’s looking forward to it—so much, so so much—but he thinks Richie can tell anyway. They lock eyes and there it goes, that melty feeling, like the first sip of hot chocolate after playing out in the snow. That’s what should’ve tipped Eddie off that he’s—that they’re—in love. It’s love or fever delirium. Either way, he’s such a goner.

Eddie steps away from Richie and turns toward the window. Once they finish school they’ll leave Derry and only be forced to come back for like, Christmas or whatever. They’ll get a dorm or maybe an apartment together—some cheap place in a horrible neighborhood, probably—and Eddie will eventually have to break it to his mom that Richie’s a lot more to him than a roommate, but it’ll all be so worth it because—

Eddie steps on the uneaten crust of a forgotten PB&J on his way to the window. This is it, the future he has chosen for himself. No one goes from being the kind of person who tosses sandwiches on the floor to a liveable human being in the span of a few years. Someday, it’ll be their room and Eddie will be getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stepping in peanut butter, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself. He picked this idiot—this somehow super hot idiot—he went and fell in love with all that hair and those dark eyes. He fell in love with Richie’s knobby knuckles and his bitten cuticles too. And his strange, infuriating, perplexing mind. Richie never lets anything be boring. Eddie can look forward to an entire lifetime of being, at the very least, kept on his toes. If not literally, to avoid stepping in discarded food.

“You know,” Eddie says, swinging his leg out of the window and back into the icy wind, “I hope you plan on getting a good job, because I’m going to be stuck cleaning up after you as a career.”

Eddie only realizes when he’s halfway home that he just essentially admitted out loud to Richie that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, which in hindsight makes Richie sound like a really smooth motherfucker for saying, “Nah, I was already planning on hiring us a housekeeper,” without missing a beat.

Eddie slams on his brakes and there, in the middle of the street in the freezing pitch-black night, he comes to his third Big Realization of today. This, Richie and him, it’s the real deal. The things he’s been thinking about—an apartment, a shared bed, a shared life—are not daydreams. They’re plans. Shared plans.

Eddie’s so rarely sure of anything—like how he used to think there was no such thing as supernatural, shape-shifting killer clowns—but he's always sure of Richie. He’s sure of how he feels about Richie, and of how Richie feels about him. Even the fact that he’s out alone so late and not panicking can be attributed to Richie. Eddie used to be afraid of being by himself and the dark, but Richie gives him courage just by existing within a ten-minute biking radius.

Someday isn’t soon enough, but living with Richie is going to have to wait. He can’t believe he’s excited about the idea of Spaghetti-O’s every night and yelling at Richie for leaving the heater on and brushing crumbs off his sheets before bed but, God help him, those things can’t come soon enough. Just a couple more years, Eddie tells himself.

Tomorrow isn’t soon enough, either. His teeth are chattering, mostly because he’s actively freezing to death but also from the almost tangible ache in his chest that started when he walked around to collect his bike from the side of Richie’s house and left Richie watching him from the window. It’s what Eddie usually does when Richie leaves his house and God, Eddie’s not sure how Richie manages to do it twice a week. It almost made Eddie want to cry. He still feels like he might cry. If he goes home and gets into his bed alone right now, he will undoubtedly cry.

It’s a fucking school night, but Eddie is rapidly losing his ability to care. He sits there on his bike in the middle of the road for a second before…

“Fuck it.” He shakes his head, smiles out into the darkness, and swings his handlebars back in the direction of Richie’s house.

[landofsomethingsomething]

It’s so god damn easy to tear people down. People do it every day. It’s simple, it’s satisfying, it’s cathartic, it feels like balm to people who have been wronged, to people who have suffered, to people who have to live their lives outside this virtual space in fear and in real danger, in abusive households and abusive communities and situations that do not foster kindness, empathy, or the extension of good faith toward strangers. Being able to lash out safely from behind a screen at people that are safe to lash out at and who feel like a source of your continuing oppression -- that’s novel, at first. It’s invigorating. It’s freeing. The ability to be angry, to say angry things, to express your hurt and rage at any number of nameless or unnamable things is so fucking seductive it’s no wonder so many lgbt+ people have spent time in that place, have had periods of their lives where they engaged in this behavior and said what they wanted and lashed out without thought and allowed others so similar to them to enable their behavior. 

It’s so easy to find lgbt+ people who are in pain. To take these people who are in pain and to give them targets. To mold young people and your peers and take advantage of their trauma (so like your own!) and whip it up, normalize it within your group, foster it on any number of available platforms. Focus it on whoever you deem deserving at any given time. Actions speak louder than words. Context is irrelevant. Dialogue is weak. Abusers are abusers are abusers, except when you’re the abuser, because the abuse you have suffered justifies your actions. Your abuse makes you relatable. Your abuse is more important, more valid, more meaningful, more deserving of the care and empathy of others regardless of your coping mechanisms. 

It’s so damn fucking easy to just say whatever you want on the internet. It’s so easy to paint a group with whatever paintbrush you like, because no one fact checks, no one cares about context, no one concerns themselves with nuance, no one views the words on the screen in front of them as coming from another human being with an entirely separate lived history full of its own tragedy and triumph and biases and triggers and needs and understanding and hard fucking learned lessons. 

We separate into teams and look for ways to score points against the other side. We make ourselves willfully ignorant so we don’t have to switch sides, or even better, remove ourselves from the game entirely. We busy ourselves with tearing our enemies down with unattainable standards, ignore our own hypocrisy, and look to our side to tell us we’re right, we’re right, this time we are right and we will not be silenced and we will not be bullied and we will not let them win. 

Our actual abusers don’t see any of it. They don’t care. They go on living their lives. We take our rage and our pain and our frustration out in arenas we understand, in the places we feel safe, and the people we lash out at are the people who should be our friends, our allies, our brothers and sisters and nonbinary siblings who have suffered so much in a world that denies our sexuality, denies our gender, denies our expression, denies our right to exist. 

We know our abusers won’t listen. We know our pain is nothing to them, a drop in a bucket. So we hurt the people that can’t help but listen, because our stories are so alike. 

I went through an angry phase. I spent a few years screaming at people I felt deserved it, too. Some of them did and some of them didn’t, and doing so brought me short term satisfaction and a deep sense of power that I had not experienced anywhere else. A deep resonance with my own identity that I was powerless to exhibit anywhere in my real life, because family is complicated, friends are the choir and speaking up about microaggressions at work gets queer people fucking fired every fucking day, and you need that god damn money to eat. to live. to pay for your fucking brain pills. 

So. 

When you have a platform and a fandom and you feel that thrill of being heard, finally -- I get it. 

But here’s the thing. 

Your abuse never justifies levying abuse on others, strangers, people whose context you do not know and whose stories you have not heard. 

Your emotions are valid. You are free to feel however you like. If you need to vent in private, among friends and colleagues and people you feel safe with, by all means. 

Your favorite characters and your favorite ships and your favorite relationships and your fanfiction and your fanart may be how you express yourself or vent or cope. Your Shit means different things to different people, and to some, it means nothing at all. Let it fucking go. Your shit is not the bar of lived experience other people in fandom must meet to be considered sufficiently oppressed to spare them your bullying. 

Your trigger and your context and your trauma is your own. It does not belong to anyone else. It is your responsibility to understand your limits and respect the rights of other creators, just as it is the responsibility of creators to properly tag and label their work to spare those whom it might upset the indignity of reliving their trauma within a space that is supposed to be safe for them. A space that for some may be the only safe space they have. A space that for some may be the only escape available to them. A space that, for some, may be the only way they can begin to express themselves, furtively, in stolen moments in an oppressive environment. 

Fandom is where so many of us found ourselves. It’s full of us, lgbt+ people in various life stages, expressing ourselves in communities dedicated to content that made us feel enough to find ourselves here in the first place. It’s where children currently are discovering labels for feelings they have never had the words to talk about before. It’s where adults go in the midst of their busy lives to contribute to a body of work motivated by nothing but emotion for the source, for the community, and/or for the hope of encouraging feedback from their peers, their fans, their heroes, all three. It’s where everyone goes and discovers there are people out there just like them, after all. 

It’s where people are picking their teams and suiting up and getting in line and hurting people just like them, every day. 

It’s where people are putting the feelings and wellbeing and sanctity and rights of fictional characters over those of actual human beings who committed the grave sin of enjoying a thing a different way, or for different reasons.

Fandom is full of amazing connection and moments I wouldn’t trade for the world. I wouldn’t be married to my amazing wife right now without it. But it’s also a battlefield in a bubble where I watch oppressed people tear each other apart every single day, while of course, in the meantime, outside the filmy fucking boundary between this world and the real one, the same privileged sorts continue to dominate every aspect of mainstream media, the white house is full of incompetent, hateful people, some of whom are literal nazis, white nationalists feel safe enough to wear swastikas on public transit in liberal epicenters, gay men in russia are being sent to death camps, the police are murdering people of color indiscriminately without fear of personal or professional consequence, the supreme court is one death or retirement away from setting back civil rights in the united states a century, trans people have to watch a nation of frightened pissbabies scream about the sanctity of public bathrooms while they themselves suffer from an increased rate of being literally fucking murdered simply for existing, gay teenagers ostracized from conservative families sleep homeless in the street with winter fast approaching, hurricanes devastate a dozen nations because this century has paved a political landscape where corporate profits prevail over basic human rights  -- and you know what, fuck it, let’s make it a little personal -- 

half my family has never acknowledged the fact that I have been married for a year because they don’t believe it is a legitimate marriage because I and my wife are both women, my wife and I went to the hairdresser the other day and when we checked in with the same last name we were asked if we were sisters (and upon clarifying, the woman who was to cut our hair loudly and incredulously gasped, “is that legal here?”), one of my best friends, a woman I have known since high school (that’s 17 years ago, for those keeping count) was told she would have to undergo a thorough and lengthy process via working with HR, her boss and the owner of her company before she could represent herself as her correct gender at work - and even after she jumped through all those hoops, she was told she was absolutely not allowed to use the women’s restroom under any circumstances - When I told my father about my engagement, he tearfully turned to me and said “but you’re supposed to marry a guy, and have babies” - and because this was my father, who I have always had a good relationship with despite remaining closeted most of my life, who I have always and still deeply love despite the shit that comes out of his mouth sometimes, who worked 12 hour days in construction to support me after divorcing my mother when he was nineteen years old - I actually fucking felt guilty. 

The memory of how I felt in that moment will follow me until I fucking die, and when I log on to this website at the end of the day and just want to fucking relax and spend time yammering about things I like with people who like those same things, when I just want to spend time in this space that makes me feel good, when I just want to create content for the joy of creating it and the joy of seeing others enjoy the thing I created -- the fucking last thing I want is to see myself, my wife, my close friends and fandom friends alike being put on blast by petty people leveraging a nebulous, ever-changing definition of purity, backed by a group of people I know have suffered and hurt and feel justified hurting others because of it. 

Fandom is where we go to escape the hellish fucking bullshit that is reality, for fuck’s sake.

I don’t fucking care who hurt you. Visiting pain upon others in the aftermath is your choice. Bullying others because a group of impressionable, hurting people looking for a leader will follow you into the trenches here on a battlefield where we should all fucking know better is your choice. 

Your feelings aren’t always your choice. That’s fair.

The way you choose to express and react to and process and deal with those feelings IS your choice.

Your actions are your choice.

So try to be kind. Try to be empathetic. Understand your feelings and understand when you are being manipulated and for god’s sake, when other queer people come out in droves to tell their stories, try to think critically, even if they are on the other “team.” Block content that upsets you. Use tools available to you to keep yourself safe! Blacklist tags. Blacklist URLs. Block people. Be frank about your triggers if you are able and try to give people the benefit of the doubt -- and if you can’t, put space between you and them, and then use the myriad of tools available to you to put a wall in that space. 

I know all about the kind of catharsis that comes from being a “mean gay.” I know all about constructing a set of rules within a group and then judging others outside that group by that context and punishing them when they fail purity tests they knew nothing about. I know all about fighting disrespect with disrespect and anger with anger and logging out at the end of the day to go cry -- not because I was sad, but because I was so fucking angry I couldn’t process the emotion any other way. 

I also know all about walking away from that life, that toxicity. I know about taking a break. I know about reading, a lot, for months and years, about experiences both like and very much unlike my own. I know about resolving to be better. I know about cutting out the people who made me worse, and keeping the people who encouraged me to be better. 

I know how much my life improved when I endeavored to keep my venting and negativity among friends who could actually support me, in places where I couldn’t hurt anyone, and present a positive force to the public, instead. To lift up the things I like and to block and move on with the things I don’t. To let creators have their space and their platform here in this one place where we can each carve out some small part for ourselves and feel like we are in control for once in our fucking lives. I know I stopped crying so much. I know my hobbies stopped making me so angry, all the time. I know that the only times I have been truly, deeply upset in my time in this fandom have been when I have been targeted or those I care about have been targeted. 

I know how fucking hard it is to tear yourself away. 

I know how fucking worth it it is. 

Take care of yourselves. 

[insecure-hbo-the-recaps]

hella blows

Previously on Insecure: Issa is cool with Daniel, but he knows what it is. She’s all about her hoe-tation. Molly’s dad cheated on Molly’s mom which made her feel stupid enough to sleep with Dro. Issa wanted to make sure Daniel knew they were both seeing other people.

Issa’s alarm goes off and at first it looks like she’s beyond late for work. But it’s something even worse than that: she has to get up to move her car out of designated parking to a free side of the street before she gets a ticket or tow. Ikr? About 65% of the reason I want to move out of my current neighborhood even though it’s a huge hassle. “Ay! Your bumper bout to fall off,” some idiot points out obliviously. “Thanks!” Issa trills in a curt “no duh” kind of way.

Molly is working late. Dro calls and she hesitates before answering, clearly not looking forward to it. She thinks they’re going to have a serious conversation but of course he is just calling to shoot the shit. I feel like probably unfairly this paints Dro as suspect? Who fucks their lifelong friend while in an open marriage and then calls like nothing is different? I get the counterargument that that may be WHY he would call and act like nothing is different. But I don’t trust these fools.

Molly gets a call on the other line, and tells Dro she has to go because it’s her mom. But rather than brace herself for the sure emotional baggage that would come from that, Molly actually doesn’t answer, and just sits there thinking about what a mess her life is. She and Dro apparently have plans to see each other the next day, which is ostensibly the real reason why he called.

Shout out to Issa’s superfluously woke outerwear. She’s wearing that sweatshirt with a somewhat less than casual long skirt by the way. She has no car, so she has to take the bus. She eyes some latino kid as though she recognizes him. He regards her awkwardly as if he recognizes her too. She slides Daniel a potential come thru text and heads into her apartment, bored and restless. She has an email for somethin called a “Sexplosion,” which is appealing to her in this moment of drudgery. She bored.

Deciding this particular boredom is not something she can merely abide, Issa figures maybe she’ll stop in on Neighbor Bae. Her bathroom freshen up routine consists of mouthwash and an aggressive verbal affirmation seminar. She’s one hundred percent gasssed up.

She obliviously heads downstairs and knocks on Neighbor Bae’s door. He is surprised to see her, but he’s clearly pretending not to know whether or not he asked her over, which is polite. Issa assumes her dropping by should be welcomed, but Eddie has company. He makes needlessly polite excuses when honestly he didn’t have to because who the fuck is Issa? Mama gotta have a life too.

Although Issa has to vent via mirror freestyle (“I could cry right now I’m so embarrassed and mad, I hope you can’t get it up and that her pussy is trash”) I mean, come on. Be reasonable. You’re going to have to get a much thicker skin and a lot more comfortable with rejection if you’re going to try to be about that ho life. And you know what, it’s not for everyone. I had a friend who for some reason thought she was this perfect princess in her mind when really when she’d tell me stories I’d be looking at her like this is some random bitch who will do cocaine with strangers on a first date and then fuck them on the way home so why you think you deserve a doctor husband though? The answer to that question is that she was white and therefore delusional, but the overall point is that not everybody can brave the harsh landscape of being single and dating, and if you try to fake it you’ll just end up crying at bars when men ask you why you’re single (which also happened to this friend).

I really hate when I take accidental pauses like this one lol:

As Issa irritatedly deals with not getting the dick she psyched herself up for, she gets a double whammy of rejection when Daniel answers her come thru text that he’s busy. Issa is not feeling singleness at this moment. There’s an interlude with Baby Voiced Darius where he asks her, just randomly for no reason, if she’s going to Target. “Why would I be?” Issa snaps. I mean, it’s a fair question. I’m potentially going to Target 40% of the time in any random day.

In some other cool, quirky, millennial loft in Los Angeles, Lawrence is making some kind of pitch to a motley group of assembled coworkers. So now we finally get some details on the elusive Woot Woot: “it aggregates all of your data, where you shop, where you eat, where you drink, and it makes recommendations based on that.” Motherfucker how is this any different from all the bullshit Netflix keeps recommending me 67 times that I’m not going to watch, or how google is so Big Brother on us now that if I’m watching or listening to something and decide to look up part of it, it can autocomplete my search based on less than one word? I mean to say… technology been way able to do that for a long time, bruh. Everyone cheers and applauds and Lawrence, in a very ugly navy cardigan, grins big at what seems like praise and encouragement of his idea. And… this was the idea he’d been working on while unemployed for two years? AND WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH “WOOT WOOT”?!

Two guys that I’m going to assume are Lawrence’s superiors are giving him feedback. Bosses in the start up world look like this:

I’m glad I’m not inclined to this field because it’s honestly not something that I think I would be able to take seriously lol. They say it’s great and they loved the presentation. While their feedback sounds positive and Lawrence obviously thinks it’s a vote of confidence, if you listen closely they’re doing nothing but praising him individually and offering compliments to the fact that he is working hard and competently, not praising the viability of his work specifically. They make no comments whatsoever about the app being a good idea or potential product. Then, just to underscore the fact that they are Clueless White People, the fat guy asks Lawrence about his shoes, and calls them fly. I would take issue that at this point it seems like the show just makes fun of white people just to mock them and make white people as a whole unsympathetic but on the other hand… white people stay doing fake bonding shit like this when they don’t have to, so if they look bad, then, motherfuckers, stop doing the shit.

Where do you suppose Issa and Molly are? I’m at a loss as to whether this is a Chinese restaurant, a really shitty travel agency, or somewhere where you can get your eyebrows waxed for eight dollars. Molly is telling Issa she’s worried that she may have fucked up her friendship with Dro, and Issa points out that that wouldn’t be surprising considering that she fucked her friend. I think that it’s nice just a couple episodes ago Molly was having this talk with Issa, and now Issa’s having it with Molly.

It turns out they’re in a mechanic waiting room while Issa gets an estimate to fix her car. Molly opines that Dro is the only person/man who’s seen her at her worst so why would she go and complicate things this way? And the way I feel about that is… if you start fucking a married man you really can’t be thinking about any of this shit where he may potentially be a person that is anything other than a married man. Remind me again that at some point during this story line I take a complete break to tell y'all about how I was fucking a married man. The point is anyway that Molly is doing the most emotionally when you’d think it would be easy to understand that in a situation like this specifically you need to do your best to chill. Her current thought is to tell Dro she doesn’t want it to happen again when they hang out later that night.The mechanic comes back and tells Issa they’ll have to order parts to do the repairs (which duh she’s getting body work done) and it’ll be about 5500. Issa balks at that price tag.

Remember in the previous episode where Molly and Issa talked about a vacation? Molly still wants to go (listing a bunch of countries and islands that start with M, prompting Issa to chide annoyedly “there are other places with other letters”) seemingly oblivious to the fact that if Issa can’t afford to repair her car, she can’t afford to go on vacation. In hindsight, this show really put a LOT of effort into very deliberate continuity between episodes, for really small things.

Issa is frustrated because she had been doing really well with all her various life parts and now all of them seem to be scattering out abruptly. She’s still having trouble accepting that men she’s seeing casually aren’t just available for her whenever she wants them to be. Ok so… how are you saying you want Daniel to know to stay in his place, and you want Mexican Bae not to expect anything from you, but you want them to be willing to do whatever you want when you want it? Again: be reasonable sis. If you’re gonna dish it out then obviously you have to take it back too. Then she acknowledges sex with her is mediocre and, again, this is where she loses me. I don’t think I would ever describe sex with me as “acceptable” except on occasions when I know I am making no effort to leave an impression. Come on now. Half the dudes I got to stick around as adults - when sex is less of an issue and everyone has more baggage - is probably 80% because sex was the only draw. And I’m partially joking (clearly I have the delusionally high self esteem of a complete asshole and I like it that way), but seriously it’s something that you have to think about as you get older. The Panties Card gets flimsier and flimsier, until it is no longer a guaranteed bargaining chip to maintain someone’s attention which frankly was news to me.

Back at the super cool Los Angeles tech start up, Lawrence stops by Arpana’s desk and playfully asks her questions around what he should do with his impending takeover of the app world. Arpana makes this face:

Clearly she is clued into what Lawrence is not, which is that the presentation did not go as well as he thought it did. She tells him he should lower his expectations, because she doesn’t think Woot Woot is viable: it felt outdated. Speaking of delusional self esteem, Lawrence cooly replies that it’s fine if she doesn’t see the vision and who cares because she’s not the one greenlighting it anyway. As he gets up to leave, Arpana adds that clearly the bosses weren’t into it like they were some other app where they asked questions and dug through the pitch looking for flaws then scheduled a follow up. It slowly sinks in on Lawrence that maybe she has a point, but when she says “it’s like they didn’t want to offend you,” Lawrence puts his defenses back up and tells her that she’s entitled to her opinion. While I don’t approve of Lawrence’s childish blindspots, I do approve of his polite passive aggressive work rebuttals. (Professional environments love passive aggression.)

Laker bar. Molly shows up for her date with Dro, nervous about the speech she plans to drop. She awkwardly explains that she feels like things are different though objectively Dro’s behavior doesn’t seem in any way out of the ordinary. He tells her she’s being dramatic and to calm the fuck down. They playfully joke about french fries and apparently that’s all it took to defuse the tension.

The tension was so de-fused that they went back to Molly’s place after the game to offer us another excellently choreographed sex scene. A.) Molly’s headboard is everything (quality headboards are not in reach of everyone’s financial adult life, sigh) and b.) of all the ones we’ve seen so far I think Molly’s sex scenes are the only ones that are actually sexy.

Meanwhile, Issa has invited Mexican Bae over to her place. She doesn’t really want to date him, so this is all a ruse to hopefully get some dick. As she makes pointed conversation drawing attention to her visible bra and the obscene shortness of her skirt, at this point it’s like… do you even actually want some dick or is this just about proving a point? Like are you actually horny and wanting to get fucked? Nico plays along politely, even ignoring her obvious come ons. We are then treated to an awkward scene where Nico wants to treat Issa like a person and she wants to treat him like a conquest. It’s painful to witness.

Issa decides to try a more direct move and just initiates kissing. Nico tries to bring the date back around to their dinner reservations. I feel like the fact that he’s meant to be fairly older than Issa is supposed to play into this. Issa goes so far as to try to bypass this, and when Nico tells her to slow down - “I really like you and I don’t want to rush past this, I want to get to know you” - it just makes Issa angry. Even then, Nico is STILL WILLING to go out to dinner, but Issa apparently is too prideful for this so she flatly rejects him and watches him leave. Sigh. I do understand where she’s coming from, I do. But she’s going about it all the wrong way - very defensively and insecurely. (Oh! I get it now! Ba dum bum.)

Back at Molly’s, she and Dro are doing the post coital thing. He points out that she said she didn’t want to do this anymore. Molly is clearly in a dick haze because her defenses are vastly lowered. She wants to know the boundaries of their non-relationship but Dro is all cool and aloof. He does tell her he isn’t looking for a second side piece which you’d think considering the circumstances would clue her into how ridiculous a conversation this is. She’s asking a married man whether he wants to fuck other women on the side of his wife, isn’t that inherently answering its own question?

Anyway Dro says that Candace knows they are sleeping together and in fact it was her idea to open the relationship. Or so he says. Molly, like a fool, just wants to indulge her butterflies. Her caution is just lip service. She wanted to be told what she wanted to hear.

Another day at work, Lawrence decides to stop by the bosses’ office - where they are standing at waist high desks instead of sitting - and follow up regarding his presentation. Recalling Arpana’s words, he asks whetehr they have any feedback regarding his Woot Woot pitch. I really like the way they framed this shot:

as they shoot each other uncomfortable looks at being put on the spot. Lawrence is speaking in terms of how to to move forward with a viable project, but the bosses do nothing but offer more empty compliments. They have no additional thoughts that would signify any real concerns that would be relevant were this to be an actual project they undertook. The fat boss says they love having his “perspective and input” which delicately suggests Lawrence is there as a diversity hire and not as a real and valuable part of the team. “You bring a lot to the team,” the skinny guy says. The fat guy gives a typically encouraging bullshit line of being excited to see “Lawrence 2.0” and the skinny guy laughs sycophantically. If Lawrence still doesn’t get it, the fact that they overcompensate about his shoes again (“what store did you get those from again?”) should leave him in no doubt. Emasculating… no? (I have far too many thoughts on this subject so let’s move on. They aren’t particularly original, so I’ll spare you.)

Sexplosion. Hey! There are strippers doing pole tricks and chocolatey penis cakes so… what is Tiffany’s job again that this is a thing she does? Issa, Molly, Kelli, and Tiffany stroll up and take a bunch of free condoms. Issa thinks Molly broke things off with Dro because she asks why she needs condoms. They talk about barriers for oral sex and I just remembered this is the episode where they have the problematic, regressive conversation about oral sex.

So, let’s just get this out of the way: Tiffany, the only married one who is clearly the most whitewashed of the group, is the only one to openly acknowledge she loves giving blowjobs. Kelli doesn’t do it wholesale, Issa doesn’t like to do it, and Molly gives the Carrie Bradshaw (because of course this was a conversation on SEASON ONE of sex and the city) response of how it’s not her favorite but she’s flexible. Question: is this what black women are still on in the streets?

Being called a “ho” and ostracized for having any kind of sexuality is something that I left behind in high school once I was an adult and didn’t see any reason to need my choices validated by gossip and/or people I didn’t know. And the conservative quasi-religious culture of patriarchal standards and misogynist perspectives is something I completely abandoned in grad school when the only black men around that wanted to date me behaved like the shit I’d left behind in high school and I realized I was totally unfamiliar with any other cultural norms. I’m not going to go off on a tangent to get to the bottom line that I would hope this is not still a widespread understanding amongst young black women these days though I would not be entirely surprised if it were. I want to sum it up as so: when I exclusively dated black men some of the time I’d be sleeping with a guy who would refuse to ever kiss me, for apparently no reason whatsoever other than it was culturally normal. I was surprised when I started dating white men and they really do want to wake up and kiss you on the mouth first thing in the morning. I slept with a motherfucker all four years of undergrad who never went down on me ONCE. Like, I can’t - I feel like I’m biased and I don’t want to preach from that perspective, so I’m not even going to dig into this.

I will say this - I don’t know how the fuck you expect to successfully date as an adult when you have whole chunks of sexual entrees completely off the menu - for WHATEVER ideological reason - yet continue to think you are dating as a normal person. It’s a hang up. Call it a hang up and accept it.

The next day, Molly is reading an article by Serena Williams about closing the pay gap. Damn, that makes me feel bad. Her mom is still calling and leaving voicemails. At an office across town, Lawrence makes amends with Arpana by acknowledging “Woot Woot” is dead. He tells her she was right, and also there was a racial component to their behavior. Arpana bonds with him as a WOC. Lawrence finally starts to accept he was wrong about his app. They both slowly realize there’s some attraction there that might go somewhere, sometime soon. Every single Woot Woot joke this show has made has been hilarious.

Issa is at Daniel’s listening to some song he produced. It sounds good. Issa says it has a black Daft Punk vibe whiiiiich… it sounds good and nothing like Daft Punk at the same time. They have a moment about how apparently Issa likes champagne with a shot of Jameson. That’s new. They are very flirty and comfortable and eventually start kissing. Issa pushes him down on the couch and as they start to undress, she stops him and gets down on her knees. Speaking of hang ups, I refused to ever give a blowjob literally on my knees, until I started playing it up as an ego thing.

Somewhere across town, Molly is also having a sexy night, in some fancy sterile bathroom taking a bubble bath while Dro sits on the edge of the tub. Before they get too far along, Dro gets a text from his wife who has accidentally locked herself out of their home. Molly is disappointed, and plays it off badly. They were doing a fancy hotel thing ordering in romantic shit which… I mean, I don’t know, if they like it then I’ll abide it silently. Have taken a bath with a guy I was casually sleeping with though. The water was so hot we were both sweating and the wine glasses were fogging up. He asked me how my day was and when I started to reply he started using his fingers on me, but ordered me to keep talking. That dude and I were basically hate fucking, but that moment was always sexy as hell to me.

Back at Daniel’s he is impressed with Issa’s blowjob skills. And then this sequence of events happens: he’s about to come, and he grabs Issa’s head, somehow holding it in place until:

Look! I took a screenshot for you! Bwahahahaha. Seriously how would that work logistically? He’s holding her head down, so he… strategically pulls it up and manages to put it in exactly the right place so that he could shoot her in the eye? Issa is pissed. Daniel acts like he doesn’t know why she’s upset. Issa is so mad she’s incoherent, and forcefully pushes him away when he tries to touch her. Issa’s anger is on one level due to the aforementioned hangups about blowjobs - she said she felt like once you sucked a dude’s dick he felt like he conquered you and relegated you to ho status - but on another level, Daniel is rude as fuck and it is NEVER ok to do a facial without express consent. Her anger is justified, even if it is a bit exacerbated by other issues. Any man who is not an ain’t-shit knows it’s rude to come in your mouth without permission LET ALONE ON YOUR FACE! Hell I’ve dated men that wouldn’t come on me even when I asked, or my ex who would always pull away without my asking, even though I didn’t give a goddamn WHERE he came, EVER. Like, Daniel’s rude as fuck.

So, Issa tells him fuck you and leaves. She ends up hovering around a gas station waiting for her Uber pool that already has two people in it, holding a wet towel to her eye. “Issa?” the driver asks. “Issa car pool!” and everyone laughs except Issa because she’s tired of getting the idea that she’s the butt of every joke.

[insecure-hbo-recaps]

hella blows

Previously on Insecure: Issa is cool with Daniel, but he knows what it is. She's all about her hoe-tation. Molly's dad cheated on Molly's mom which made her feel stupid enough to sleep with Dro. Issa wanted to make sure Daniel knew they were both seeing other people.

Issa's alarm goes off and at first it looks like she's beyond late for work. But it's something even worse than that: she has to get up to move her car out of designated parking to a free side of the street before she gets a ticket or tow. Ikr? About 65% of the reason I want to move out of my current neighborhood even though it's a huge hassle. "Ay! Your bumper bout to fall off," some idiot points out obliviously. "Thanks!" Issa trills in a curt "no duh" kind of way.

Molly is working late. Dro calls and she hesitates before answering, clearly not looking forward to it. She thinks they're going to have a serious conversation but of course he is just calling to shoot the shit. I feel like probably unfairly this paints Dro as suspect? Who fucks their lifelong friend while in an open marriage and then calls like nothing is different? I get the counterargument that that may be WHY he would call and act like nothing is different. But I don't trust these fools.

Molly gets a call on the other line, and tells Dro she has to go because it's her mom. But rather than brace herself for the sure emotional baggage that would come from that, Molly actually doesn't answer, and just sits there thinking about what a mess her life is. She and Dro apparently have plans to see each other the next day, which is ostensibly the real reason why he called.

Shout out to Issa's superfluously woke outerwear. She's wearing that sweatshirt with a somewhat less than casual long skirt by the way. She has no car, so she has to take the bus. She eyes some latino kid as though she recognizes him. He regards her awkwardly as if he recognizes her too. She slides Daniel a potential come thru text and heads into her apartment, bored and restless. She has an email for somethin called a "Sexplosion," which is appealing to her in this moment of drudgery. She bored.

Deciding this particular boredom is not something she can merely abide, Issa figures maybe she'll stop in on Neighbor Bae. Her bathroom freshen up routine consists of mouthwash and an aggressive verbal affirmation seminar. She's one hundred percent gasssed up.

She obliviously heads downstairs and knocks on Neighbor Bae's door. He is surprised to see her, but he's clearly pretending not to know whether or not he asked her over, which is polite. Issa assumes her dropping by should be welcomed, but Eddie has company. He makes needlessly polite excuses when honestly he didn't have to because who the fuck is Issa? Mama gotta have a life too.

Although Issa has to vent via mirror freestyle ("I could cry right now I'm so embarrassed and mad, I hope you can't get it up and that her pussy is trash") I mean, come on. Be reasonable. You're going to have to get a much thicker skin and a lot more comfortable with rejection if you're going to try to be about that ho life. And you know what, it's not for everyone. I had a friend who for some reason thought she was this perfect princess in her mind when really when she'd tell me stories I'd be looking at her like this is some random bitch who will do cocaine with strangers on a first date and then fuck them on the way home so why you think you deserve a doctor husband though? The answer to that question is that she was white and therefore delusional, but the overall point is that not everybody can brave the harsh landscape of being single and dating, and if you try to fake it you'll just end up crying at bars when men ask you why you're single (which also happened to this friend).

I really hate when I take accidental pauses like this one lol:

As Issa irritatedly deals with not getting the dick she psyched herself up for, she gets a double whammy of rejection when Daniel answers her come thru text that he's busy. Issa is not feeling singleness at this moment. There's an interlude with Baby Voiced Darius where he asks her, just randomly for no reason, if she's going to Target. "Why would I be?" Issa snaps. I mean, it's a fair question. I'm potentially going to Target 40% of the time in any random day.

In some other cool, quirky, millennial loft in Los Angeles, Lawrence is making some kind of pitch to a motley group of assembled coworkers. So now we finally get some details on the elusive Woot Woot: "it aggregates all of your data, where you shop, where you eat, where you drink, and it makes recommendations based on that." Motherfucker how is this any different from all the bullshit Netflix keeps recommending me 67 times that I'm not going to watch, or how google is so Big Brother on us now that if I'm watching or listening to something and decide to look up part of it, it can autocomplete my search based on less than one word? I mean to say... technology been way able to do that for a long time, bruh. Everyone cheers and applauds and Lawrence, in a very ugly navy cardigan, grins big at what seems like praise and encouragement of his idea. And... this was the idea he'd been working on while unemployed for two years? AND WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH "WOOT WOOT"?!

Two guys that I'm going to assume are Lawrence's superiors are giving him feedback. Bosses in the start up world look like this:

I'm glad I'm not inclined to this field because it's honestly not something that I think I would be able to take seriously lol. They say it's great and they loved the presentation. While their feedback sounds positive and Lawrence obviously thinks it's a vote of confidence, if you listen closely they're doing nothing but praising him individually and offering compliments to the fact that he is working hard and competently, not praising the viability of his work specifically. They make no comments whatsoever about the app being a good idea or potential product. Then, just to underscore the fact that they are Clueless White People, the fat guy asks Lawrence about his shoes, and calls them fly. I would take issue that at this point it seems like the show just makes fun of white people just to mock them and make white people as a whole unsympathetic but on the other hand... white people stay doing fake bonding shit like this when they don't have to, so if they look bad, then, motherfuckers, stop doing the shit.

Where do you suppose Issa and Molly are? I'm at a loss as to whether this is a Chinese restaurant, a really shitty travel agency, or somewhere where you can get your eyebrows waxed for eight dollars. Molly is telling Issa she's worried that she may have fucked up her friendship with Dro, and Issa points out that that wouldn't be surprising considering that she fucked her friend. I think that it's nice just a couple episodes ago Molly was having this talk with Issa, and now Issa's having it with Molly.

It turns out they're in a mechanic waiting room while Issa gets an estimate to fix her car. Molly opines that Dro is the only person/man who's seen her at her worst so why would she go and complicate things this way? And the way I feel about that is... if you start fucking a married man you really can't be thinking about any of this shit where he may potentially be a person that is anything other than a married man. Remind me again that at some point during this story line I take a complete break to tell y'all about how I was fucking a married man. The point is anyway that Molly is doing the most emotionally when you'd think it would be easy to understand that in a situation like this specifically you need to do your best to chill. Her current thought is to tell Dro she doesn't want it to happen again when they hang out later that night.The mechanic comes back and tells Issa they'll have to order parts to do the repairs (which duh she's getting body work done) and it'll be about 5500. Issa balks at that price tag.

Remember in the previous episode where Molly and Issa talked about a vacation? Molly still wants to go (listing a bunch of countries and islands that start with M, prompting Issa to chide annoyedly "there are other places with other letters") seemingly oblivious to the fact that if Issa can't afford to repair her car, she can't afford to go on vacation. In hindsight, this show really put a LOT of effort into very deliberate continuity between episodes, for really small things.

Issa is frustrated because she had been doing really well with all her various life parts and now all of them seem to be scattering out abruptly. She's still having trouble accepting that men she's seeing casually aren't just available for her whenever she wants them to be. Ok so... how are you saying you want Daniel to know to stay in his place, and you want Mexican Bae not to expect anything from you, but you want them to be willing to do whatever you want when you want it? Again: be reasonable sis. If you're gonna dish it out then obviously you have to take it back too. Then she acknowledges sex with her is mediocre and, again, this is where she loses me. I don't think I would ever describe sex with me as "acceptable" except on occasions when I know I am making no effort to leave an impression. Come on now. Half the dudes I got to stick around as adults - when sex is less of an issue and everyone has more baggage - is probably 80% because sex was the only draw. And I'm partially joking (clearly I have the delusionally high self esteem of a complete asshole and I like it that way), but seriously it's something that you have to think about as you get older. The Panties Card gets flimsier and flimsier, until it is no longer a guaranteed bargaining chip to maintain someone's attention which frankly was news to me.

Back at the super cool Los Angeles tech start up, Lawrence stops by Arpana's desk and playfully asks her questions around what he should do with his impending takeover of the app world. Arpana makes this face:

Clearly she is clued into what Lawrence is not, which is that the presentation did not go as well as he thought it did. She tells him he should lower his expectations, because she doesn't think Woot Woot is viable: it felt outdated. Speaking of delusional self esteem, Lawrence cooly replies that it's fine if she doesn't see the vision and who cares because she's not the one greenlighting it anyway. As he gets up to leave, Arpana adds that clearly the bosses weren't into it like they were some other app where they asked questions and dug through the pitch looking for flaws then scheduled a follow up. It slowly sinks in on Lawrence that maybe she has a point, but when she says "it's like they didn't want to offend you," Lawrence puts his defenses back up and tells her that she's entitled to her opinion. While I don't approve of Lawrence's childish blindspots, I do approve of his polite passive aggressive work rebuttals. (Professional environments love passive aggression.)

Laker bar. Molly shows up for her date with Dro, nervous about the speech she plans to drop. She awkwardly explains that she feels like things are different though objectively Dro's behavior doesn't seem in any way out of the ordinary. He tells her she's being dramatic and to calm the fuck down. They playfully joke about french fries and apparently that's all it took to defuse the tension.

The tension was so de-fused that they went back to Molly's place after the game to offer us another excellently choreographed sex scene. A.) Molly's headboard is everything (quality headboards are not in reach of everyone's financial adult life, sigh) and b.) of all the ones we've seen so far I think Molly's sex scenes are the only ones that are actually sexy.

Meanwhile, Issa has invited Mexican Bae over to her place. She doesn't really want to date him, so this is all a ruse to hopefully get some dick. As she makes pointed conversation drawing attention to her visible bra and the obscene shortness of her skirt, at this point it's like... do you even actually want some dick or is this just about proving a point? Like are you actually horny and wanting to get fucked? Nico plays along politely, even ignoring her obvious come ons. We are then treated to an awkward scene where Nico wants to treat Issa like a person and she wants to treat him like a conquest. It's painful to witness.

Issa decides to try a more direct move and just initiates kissing. Nico tries to bring the date back around to their dinner reservations. I feel like the fact that he's meant to be fairly older than Issa is supposed to play into this. Issa goes so far as to try to bypass this, and when Nico tells her to slow down - "I really like you and I don't want to rush past this, I want to get to know you" - it just makes Issa angry. Even then, Nico is STILL WILLING to go out to dinner, but Issa apparently is too prideful for this so she flatly rejects him and watches him leave. Sigh. I do understand where she's coming from, I do. But she's going about it all the wrong way - very defensively and insecurely. (Oh! I get it now! Ba dum bum.)

Back at Molly's, she and Dro are doing the post coital thing. He points out that she said she didn't want to do this anymore. Molly is clearly in a dick haze because her defenses are vastly lowered. She wants to know the boundaries of their non-relationship but Dro is all cool and aloof. He does tell her he isn't looking for a second side piece which you'd think considering the circumstances would clue her into how ridiculous a conversation this is. She's asking a married man whether he wants to fuck other women on the side of his wife, isn't that inherently answering its own question?

Anyway Dro says that Candace knows they are sleeping together and in fact it was her idea to open the relationship. Or so he says. Molly, like a fool, just wants to indulge her butterflies. Her caution is just lip service. She wanted to be told what she wanted to hear.

Another day at work, Lawrence decides to stop by the bosses' office - where they are standing at waist high desks instead of sitting - and follow up regarding his presentation. Recalling Arpana's words, he asks whetehr they have any feedback regarding his Woot Woot pitch. I really like the way they framed this shot:

as they shoot each other uncomfortable looks at being put on the spot. Lawrence is speaking in terms of how to to move forward with a viable project, but the bosses do nothing but offer more empty compliments. They have no additional thoughts that would signify any real concerns that would be relevant were this to be an actual project they undertook. The fat boss says they love having his "perspective and input" which delicately suggests Lawrence is there as a diversity hire and not as a real and valuable part of the team. "You bring a lot to the team," the skinny guy says. The fat guy gives a typically encouraging bullshit line of being excited to see "Lawrence 2.0" and the skinny guy laughs sycophantically. If Lawrence still doesn't get it, the fact that they overcompensate about his shoes again ("what store did you get those from again?") should leave him in no doubt. Emasculating... no? (I have far too many thoughts on this subject so let's move on. They aren't particularly original, so I'll spare you.)

Sexplosion. Hey! There are strippers doing pole tricks and chocolatey penis cakes so... what is Tiffany's job again that this is a thing she does? Issa, Molly, Kelli, and Tiffany stroll up and take a bunch of free condoms. Issa thinks Molly broke things off with Dro because she asks why she needs condoms. They talk about barriers for oral sex and I just remembered this is the episode where they have the problematic, regressive conversation about oral sex.

So, let's just get this out of the way: Tiffany, the only married one who is clearly the most whitewashed of the group, is the only one to openly acknowledge she loves giving blowjobs. Kelli doesn't do it wholesale, Issa doesn't like to do it, and Molly gives the Carrie Bradshaw (because of course this was a conversation on SEASON ONE of sex and the city) response of how it's not her favorite but she's flexible. Question: is this what black women are still on in the streets?

Being called a "ho" and ostracized for having any kind of sexuality is something that I left behind in high school once I was an adult and didn't see any reason to need my choices validated by gossip and/or people I didn't know. And the conservative quasi-religious culture of patriarchal standards and misogynist perspectives is something I completely abandoned in grad school when the only black men around that wanted to date me behaved like the shit I'd left behind in high school and I realized I was totally unfamiliar with any other cultural norms. I'm not going to go off on a tangent to get to the bottom line that I would hope this is not still a widespread understanding amongst young black women these days though I would not be entirely surprised if it were. I want to sum it up as so: when I exclusively dated black men some of the time I'd be sleeping with a guy who would refuse to ever kiss me, for apparently no reason whatsoever other than it was culturally normal. I was surprised when I started dating white men and they really do want to wake up and kiss you on the mouth first thing in the morning. I slept with a motherfucker all four years of undergrad who never went down on me ONCE. Like, I can't - I feel like I'm biased and I don't want to preach from that perspective, so I'm not even going to dig into this.

I will say this - I don't know how the fuck you expect to successfully date as an adult when you have whole chunks of sexual entrees completely off the menu - for WHATEVER ideological reason - yet continue to think you are dating as a normal person. It's a hang up. Call it a hang up and accept it.

The next day, Molly is reading an article by Serena Williams about closing the pay gap. Damn, that makes me feel bad. Her mom is still calling and leaving voicemails. At an office across town, Lawrence makes amends with Arpana by acknowledging "Woot Woot" is dead. He tells her she was right, and also there was a racial component to their behavior. Arpana bonds with him as a WOC. Lawrence finally starts to accept he was wrong about his app. They both slowly realize there's some attraction there that might go somewhere, sometime soon. Every single Woot Woot joke this show has made has been hilarious.

Issa is at Daniel's listening to some song he produced. It sounds good. Issa says it has a black Daft Punk vibe whiiiiich... it sounds good and nothing like Daft Punk at the same time. They have a moment about how apparently Issa likes champagne with a shot of Jameson. That's new. They are very flirty and comfortable and eventually start kissing. Issa pushes him down on the couch and as they start to undress, she stops him and gets down on her knees. Speaking of hang ups, I refused to ever give a blowjob literally on my knees, until I started playing it up as an ego thing.

Somewhere across town, Molly is also having a sexy night, in some fancy sterile bathroom taking a bubble bath while Dro sits on the edge of the tub. Before they get too far along, Dro gets a text from his wife who has accidentally locked herself out of their home. Molly is disappointed, and plays it off badly. They were doing a fancy hotel thing ordering in romantic shit which... I mean, I don't know, if they like it then I'll abide it silently. Have taken a bath with a guy I was casually sleeping with though. The water was so hot we were both sweating and the wine glasses were fogging up. He asked me how my day was and when I started to reply he started using his fingers on me, but ordered me to keep talking. That dude and I were basically hate fucking, but that moment was always sexy as hell to me.

Back at Daniel's he is impressed with Issa's blowjob skills. And then this sequence of events happens: he's about to come, and he grabs Issa's head, somehow holding it in place until:

Look! I took a screenshot for you! Bwahahahaha. Seriously how would that work logistically? He's holding her head down, so he... strategically pulls it up and manages to put it in exactly the right place so that he could shoot her in the eye? Issa is pissed. Daniel acts like he doesn't know why she's upset. Issa is so mad she's incoherent, and forcefully pushes him away when he tries to touch her. Issa's anger is on one level due to the aforementioned hangups about blowjobs - she said she felt like once you sucked a dude's dick he felt like he conquered you and relegated you to ho status - but on another level, Daniel is rude as fuck and it is NEVER ok to do a facial without express consent. Her anger is justified, even if it is a bit exacerbated by other issues. Any man who is not an ain't-shit knows it's rude to come in your mouth without permission LET ALONE ON YOUR FACE! Hell I've dated men that wouldn't come on me even when I asked, or my ex who would always pull away without my asking, even though I didn't give a goddamn WHERE he came, EVER. Like, Daniel's rude as fuck.

So, Issa tells him fuck you and leaves. She ends up hovering around a gas station waiting for her Uber pool that already has two people in it, holding a wet towel to her eye. "Issa?" the driver asks. "Issa car pool!" and everyone laughs except Issa because she's tired of getting the idea that she's the butt of every joke.

[petty-crush]

"Okja"

-shout out to New Beverley for showing this on the big screen in 35 mm; what a experience

-this film is a tone-a-sauras. It's like eight films in one, each changing with the language. But all of them are great, Bong Joon Ho lets loose a streak of genuine eccentricity, and this is one of the best films I have ever seen.

-the pre credits showcase Tilda Swinton's character ramping up we the audience with a cutesy graphic about ending world hunger via super pigs;

+notably popping his head in is her associate repeating her words with a movement like a puppet master; suggesting he is pulling the strings behind her image

-off to Korean as the film introduces Ann-Seo Hyun as Mija, and her relationship with Okja, forming a bond with far more resonance than I was expecting

-I am somewhat in awe of Bong introducing Okja so soon in the running time and so casually. Like in "The Host" the creature is introduced concurrently with the humans, suggesting they are a character like the rest, a natural part of the world

-this section of Mija and Okja hunting for food in the forest really really brings to mind "My Neighbor Totoro". Except I actually think this is better

-the part of Okja running valiantly to hook Mija to a tree and seemingly sacrifice herself dropped my jaw

-I literally never expected such a scene let alone so suddenly in the film

-one aspect of this film I am really enjoying is how Bong doesn't introduce Mija as being a "normal" element or or stand in; he simply shows what she wants, so that we empathize with her, and we never lose track of who she is or what she desires in life (mostly happiness and frolic with Okja)

-Okja swimming like a goof and flinging her shit like a hippo is so positively sublime in its patience to show a character be content with itself

- I have to pause here and say I have no idea how to describe Jake Gyllenhaal's character Dr. Johnny Wilcox.

+What tone or planet Jake is going for is completely lost on me, and yet I was never once less than thrilled to see him.

-Dr. Wilcox is a character I got the gist most of the audience couldn't stand, and some will be quick to label a failure, but I (in addition to imagining him a double shotgun parody of the male character from "Her") found him so bizarro and different that I wouldn't have taken a second away from him

-Mija's sheer enthusiasm at seeing him is doubly sad considering his sinister intentions

-I love how baffled Dr. Wilcox is at seeing Okja being so super by being (essentially) given a free range life; to wander and enjoy her environment

+that it never was considered anywhere else is troubling and so very pathetic

-Mija's grandfather is utterly awful, he seemingly never gets her, and attempts to woo her with money (I say all grandparents real love is food until you are a human boulder and then money as a cherry on top)

-the fact that he does so while at the graves of her parents is the ultimate low

-there is something of cultural significance to this golden pig I am not getting right now, but suspect my intuition will reveals later (I don't mean in terms of the story, but how it relates to Korean culture)

-no attempt is made to humanize Okja, and her shyness is beguiling

-beautiful touch as Mija is ready to jump at this glass office door with her full force, looks at it from a long hallway, and carefully adjusts use backpack at the last moment

-I never get tired of moments where it seems the target is standing then collapses two seconds later

-this girl can't stop, not stop

-Mija's athletic attempts to get on the truck that is carrying Okja away is so Spielbergian in its utter mastery and disdain for realism in geography that I simply must say that anyone who doesn't think Joon Ho is a master can go eat shit

-the jumpcuts and angles as we follow this tiny 14 year old as she; attempts to jump on moving truck, doubles speed and actually jumps on truck, ducks and narrowly avoids being hit by low bridge, seeing even lower bridge and runs back to grab back of door is spellbinding

-the red herring truck driver/really pissed off blue collar worker is just killing me. Especially his disgruntlement at "I got vehicle insurance, but no workman's comp; so, fuck you"

-Okja running through a Seoul mall is so vintage 70's American cinema; I'm emotionally standing up and clapping

-odd but delightful detail with the masked rescuers using umbrellas to block the tranquilizer darts

-the most jarring tonal shift happens as the masks come off and they are revealed as the animal liberation front, with Paul Dano as Jay, and he fills Mija in via a lengthy monologue

-it somewhat reminds me of the council scene in "North by Northwest" where the action and events are so fast and piled so high, there needs to be a "what the fuck is going in" scene before it shift gears

-of course Bong being Bong, this is intercut with moments of a animal lover almost fainting because of his hungry, trying to "leave the tiniest carbon footprint" before being conviced to eat a tiny cherry tomato

-I suspect Bong's real feelings are coming out in Mija's cry to just leave her and Okja alone, he being one to put personal decisions and values above those put group identity and politics above all, but translations are mislead and the journey continues

-I cannot help but feel the character of K saying "learn English, it will open doors" and the later "translations are sacred" is not only Bong commentating on entering the American film industry but his dust up with the weinsteins over "Snowpiercer"

+at least in my head

-Tilda Swinton deepens her character's insanity as we find out she is obsessed with clearing her company's name and making it gold

+also that she personally designed all the uniforms for the security, seemingly inferring that she can see the trees, but not the forest

-in an extremely long and up close take the same associate from the beginning(Gicarlo Espisito) slides the chair away (as loud as possible) then casually walks over to the coffee machine, equally as loud as the chair, to the dismay and fright of the other underling is in the room

+he definitely walks along a tightrope as only he can

-Shirley Henderson (as the personal assistant) is doing this voice in a way only Betty Boop world approve of

-here's the interesting thing; pretty much every major character in this corporation (excepting Expisito's) from Swinton's to Gyllenhaal is utterly fucking demented or emotionally unstable; conversely Dano's character, while forlorn and moody, comes across as thoughtful and sincere in his convictions (for animal rights)

+ it would certainly be much different potentially if made by Americans; as animals activities tend to be painted with a bucket of antisocial paranoia

-nonetheless Mija is conned back into coming to America and agrees only out of desperation ; meanwhile the animal activists see more disturbing shit from their video feed

-in a moment I am entirely unsure of the reason for, Okja is forced to mate with another super pig; this is more inferred than seen but is certainly vividly disturbing

-Dr. Wilcox is entering the height of his carpet eating hysterics, as he drunkenly punctures Okja for her meat

-the taste test of the tiny sausage (with the second judge being a kid who says "fuck yeah!") is something out of "Robocop"

-the tone is varying wildly, as I literally have no idea what to expect

- Paul dano communicating with Mija via cue cards (including one that says "Don't look back) is a beautiful, freewheeling touch

-I note these similar cinema colors and hues to again point out Bong Joon Ho knows how to mix and match and meld with the best of them; he steals like a artist

-Paul Dano shedding his bellhop uniform just makes me happy

-another thing I like about Ho is how he treats each new scene, particularly in a new location, as way to add visual textures and patterns, keeping my eyes stimulated

-Pink Floyd pigs; I just have it in my mind

-Lucy is scared of her sister Nancy, and Espitsio's character is very subtle in revealing who his real alliance is to

-it's very impressive how much heavy emotional lifting Hyun is doing as Mija through her eyes and her movements

-despite all the attacks and chaos, the most disturbing thing in this section is how militarized and corporate controlled the police are.

+They beat the shit out anything that they are pointed to

-the part with Mija and Jay barely missing Okja is so very heartbreaking

-Nancy (also Tilda Swinton) is fully in control

And in her detached way the most demented of them all

-my stomach turned several times when they track Okja down to the slaughterhouse

-I will be truthful; I'm not entirely sure why nancy agrees to sell Okja for the golden pig; perhaps I had missed something, but the pure cinematic force of dread just wants that poor animal to be free

-in a wholly disturbing moment a momma and poppa superpig throw their young for Okja to save

-the part with all the pigs moaning and screaming into the night seems like a "Animal Farm" moment

-at last there is a moment of happiness, of light at the end of darkness, of new beginnings of Mija and Okja together.

+They certainly deserve it

-a wholly hilarious post credits sequence where Dano gets everyone in his bus to put in a mask to attacking the corporate stock holders, including a surprised granny

-a most unusual film that won me over several times, and had me upset at bacon. Bong Joon Ho certainly unleashes more pure cinema and human heart than anyone else I have seen in a long time. I grow ever more excited to see this man and his work. He is one of the greatest, and this quizzical film is his most audacious yet. I cannot wait to see it again