#i also should have known after he ripped off a printed photo that the posters would be next

[ificouldhelpyouforget]

My cat ripped the corner off my Felix poster 😭😭😭 This is the worst time to be neurospicy and on my period because I just want to sob my day away over boy paper. And it was the cat named after Felix (Lixie) 😭😭😭 How could he betray me and his namesake like this?

I hate how badly I need to find a replacement or I might cry more. Being this way is exhausting.

[kitchenscene]

four chambers buck/eddie (minor), eddie centric, an analysis of the diaz house, (home is about the people, not the space), 1.6k ______________

Eddie holds his heart in physical spaces. Frames, photo albums, ticket stubs. It’s less about the sentiment and more about the proof, evidence of the better moments, and a tangible reminder that they won’t be the last. He carries an old photo of Chris in his wallet and a yellow sticky note from Buck in the back of his phone case, scratchy, all caps writing — “Had to leave early, didn’t want to wake you up. There’s coffee on the counter for you. See you tonight.” — with a heart scribbled at the bottom. He carries his love outside his chest, but hides it in his pockets, under his shirt, and around his neck.

It’s scattered throughout the living room, his heart is in a comfortable place. The warm brown coffee table and throw pillows on the couch. Soft lights, lamps in every corner. An ash filled fireplace and charred brick, as if to say, “yes, there is life here, believe me when I say there’s life.”

[ao3 link]

Out in the living room, his love is most evident on the bookshelf. Loved ones held not by the hand, but by mahogany frames and canvas wrapped photo albums. Two albums, to be exact. The first is from Texas, from his childhood. Family photos year by year, some members disappearing, new ones flooding in, staying whether they want to or not. Some people who only continue to exist in these four-by-six slots, neatly encased in plastic, notes and dates scribbled over the back.

There’s photos of young Eddie cradling a baby Sophia, photos of Sophia and Eddie with Adriana spread across their laps, and a particularly memorable one of Eddie spoon feeding baby Adri ice cream when a baby her age definitely should not have been eating ice cream. First days of school, weekend trips, and middle school phases he’d rather forget. Newspaper cutouts of his baseball stats, team photos with trophies in hand, and senior pictures of him in his jersey. Team captain. He never really wanted it, but he accepted the offer all the same.

Shannon starts to appear around this time, prom photos together, though she wasn’t his date, just a friend of a friend with some sort of connection. Selfies taken on an old film camera from her mother, candid shots of Eddie, smiling, laughing, free, a side of him kept hidden from everyone but her. A few more photos strangers were kind enough to take for them, some strangers proving to be better photographers than others.

Another family photo, this time with Shannon in frame. Off to the side, attached only by Eddie’s arm around her waist, but in frame all the same.

A sonogram of Christopher before they had a name, engagement photos because that’s what they were supposed to do, and a single wedding picture taken from a courthouse bench.

Shannon still makes herself known in the last few pages, though her and Eddie no longer exist in the same frame. Her and Chris. Him and Chris. Chris alone. He’s off to Afghanistan.

Blank pages, accidentally skipped. A photo of him accepting the Silver Star he never wanted, added to the album despite his better wishes, alongside a handful of army memories he’d rather not look back on.

It’s in his heart, all the same.

The last few pages are filled with the only pictures Eddie took himself. Every one, every single one is of Chris. The time lost in those skipped pages finding its way back into the album, one day at a time. First days of school, weekend trips, and all his childhood interests coming and going in phases.

The second photo album carries his second chances. It’s not a memento from Texas or a gift he’d rather not receive, no. This one he chose all on his own. He chose Los Angeles, he chose Chris, he chose the 118, and with them, he chose a fresh start, a blank page. Family photos of a different kind.

Second page, third slot down, Buck makes himself known. He first exists in Eddie’s heart somewhere along the bottom shelf. Three, four, five pages in, Buck never disappears. In the firehouse, after work, trips to the zoo, he never disappears. Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, he never disappears. The couch, dining room, and kitchen, Buck never disappears.

It always comes back to the kitchen. Before there was a home, there was a kitchen and dirty dishes. Eddie washes the dishes by hand, one by one. Buck sits on the countertop, stacking dried plates, sorting cutlery in the drawers. He leaves every cabinet open — “it’s way more efficient, Eddie,” — and carries three mugs in each hand.

His heart skips in the kitchen. Flinging soap bubbles while rinsing plates, stealing from simmering saucepans on the stove, his breath hitches when Buck swipes a thumb across Eddie’s cheek, brushing away the suds. His breathing stops altogether when his hand lingers a moment too long.

New beginnings are also found in the kitchen, heavy palpitations bleeding from the sink onto the dining table. Anticipation exists between the tiles, melting the glue he’s used to desperately hold himself together. Buck plays music while he cooks, varying from swing to classic rock. On the good days he sings, out of key, but he sings. He whistles along with the guitar or the saxophone or velvety voices he doesn’t dare to replicate. Buck dances too, waiting for songs to end and timers to ring.

Anticipation flooded the room when he asked Eddie to dance along, a soft blues tune playing over the speaker. Hand to the waist, to the shoulder, hand draped in gentle hand. It was an easy choice; Buck leaned in and he leaned back, holding Eddie like he would never have the chance to do it again, kissing him like there was no sweeter air in the world. The first, “I love you,” was breathed against the counter, just above a whisper. “I always have,” followed shortly behind.

The brightest piece of his heart is held in Christopher’s hands. Rainbow carpets and terrariums, posters plastered on every wall, solar systems and galaxies hanging above. Buck pinned the mobile to the ceiling, Earth, Venus, and Mars dancing around each other, glowing as the room fades to black. The planets spin and spin just above his bed. It makes sense, really, that Buck would hang the stars for Chris.

Eddie didn’t decorate his room, unlike the rest of the house. No, the color, the light, the books lining every shelf, all chosen by Chris, constantly shifting as his interest wean and wane. He’s more than willing to provide, because who is he to deny an action figure on the dresser or plant on the windowsill?

His heart is full with Chris. His heart is empty in his bedroom. Everything Eddie has he gives to Chris. (Where else would it go?)

Barren walls and flat sheets. Empty walls, empty frames. Clock on the nightstand, a lamp on either side, nothing more. A dresser, a closet, it’s a bedroom, nothing more. Most days the curtains are drawn. Most days the door is kept shut. It’s best to keep this hidden, best to leave it bare. He had a rug once. Never managed to unroll it.

It functions as a space, that’s all he needs. Eddie sleeps, and sometimes he dreams. Sometimes he wakes in a sweat, sometimes his hands shake until he’s too exhausted to shake anymore. He resorts to self soothing then; counting ceiling tiles that don’t exist and pacing about the room until holes bleed through his socks.

Buck moved from the apartment to the couch, and eventually made his way to the bedroom. They started out two feet apart but always woke together, somehow making contact and swearing it meant nothing. Even in his sleep, he finds his way to Buck. (Of course it means something).

He first kisses Buck in the kitchen. He kisses him again in the bed. His bed, their bed. He sleeps with his head against Buck’s chest, this time with intent, counting beats instead of ceiling tiles as he sleeps, no sweeter lullaby to be heard. He sleeps through the night, no dreams at all. Buck opens the curtain when he wakes up. Eddie leaves it that way.

The changes are subtle at first, and Buck plays it off like it’s all accidental. “Your room has the best sunlight,” he says, moving plants from the kitchen to the dresser. The ivy cascades down the sides and the cactuses bloom in the new light. In the silence, his heart begins to beat again.

Buck covers his own nightstand with receipts and chargers and photos and reminders. “Printed this for myself,” he claims, filling a picture frame with him and Eddie and Chris, “but I made an extra copy.” He leaves it on Eddie’s side of the bed. It’s less and less barren each day.

The rug under the bed is a welcomed addition. Soft and full, Eddie doesn’t question where it came from. A mirror makes its way to the wall. He can count his scars in the reflection; two in the shoulders, one on the hip. Wrist and thigh, hand and head. With each day the sight is more bearable.

Buck ripped off the sheets, the dark navy sheets, and swapped them out for something brighter. He claims they’re softer, claims they’re more breathable, though Eddie knows the truth, the truth being that they’re lighter on his chest and make his heart beat even. One, two, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

“Good morning,” Buck whispers, and Eddie, half awake, half dreaming, feels his lips brush against his temple before moving to the kitchen. One beat, two beats, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

[gimmetheheadcanons]

Sinners & Scapegoats 1/?

A/N: This is a multi part Richonne fic. It is an AU mystery drama (with romance) and I began a while ago but decided to come back to only recently (and finally post). I will be posting maybe twice a month until it’s done - so heads up there. Let me know if it is worth continuing. (Trigger warnings, contains violence and racial slurs).

1.     Prying eyes

 Rick Grimes’s job was a job.

It was supposed to be a career, something with a purpose beyond the practical nature of a pay check. Protect and serve the community, there was no greater honor for a man of his caliber than being a deputy sheriff in a county full of fools apparently. Nothing more satisfying than chasing petty bike thieves all over town. Or breaking up a ‘salacious’ Sweet Sixteen Birthday Party that was misidentified as an ‘illegal kegger’ by a preachy passer-by. And to finish of this day of dunces, the most dignified activity of all! Once again, calling in at the request of anonymous white folk, unaware that the phrase ‘suspicious activity’ was not an umbrella term for any and all things any person with a ‘darker complexion’ may be doing.

In this case it was the nefarious action of a thirty something years old black woman in a casual, loose white blouse, ripped denim jeans and brown open toed sandals, putting up a couple of posters which needed immediate police attention. Thank the Lord for the ever vigilant residents of Winter Oaks Avenue!

“Oh for Pete’s sake.” Rick muttered under his breath, furious with himself for even taking the call from Diane at dispatch when he should have known better. Had he not been on his way out of the office he wouldn’t have. But here he was, once again at the beck and call of small-minded racists, trying to work out how best to handle this situation without offending this probably innocent woman or enraging the majority of the town’s voting pool in an election year. The Powers that Be at King’s County Sherriff’s Department would undoubtedly fail to thank him for once again “pandering to the so called PC culture of ill-informed progressives instead of serving the good folk of this county, the ones with real concerns about the increasing crime rates”.    

Ah yes, the things that go bump in the night. Rick grimaced to himself as he looked at the well lit and virtually empty street. There was no mistaking this woman for a dangerous trespasser and yet somehow, in this community – with that head full of dark dreads at least, she was. Rick glanced down at his wrist watch, it has just gone a little past seven. The sun would be gone in an hour or so and Rick wondered where this woman lived and if he could be so lucky as to have caught her just as she was about to finish up putting up the last of her posters before retiring for the day – none the wiser about the nastiness of her neighbors.

Fifteen minutes had passed and Rick just sat in his vehicle with the key still in the ignition. He simply observed the situation, each moment toying with the idea of just driving off. Just give it another minute, he told himself, then he could finally get his ass home to his family – and on time for dinner for once. It was another ten minutes into his ‘minute’ when Rick realized he had been caught by the woman. She was peering back at him from across the street, a curious frown visible on her face, even from this distance and Rick knew had no choice but to get out and face her.

Even if it was just for the purpose of damage control.

Be the change you wanna see.

After a long, tired sigh, Rick put on his wide brimmed sheriff’s hat and made his approach adopting a casual non-threatening strut which hopefully would signal his intent to talk and not escalate the situation. As expected, there was a flicker of blinds from several of the homes he passed. The skin on the back of his neck, accustomed to the fieriest of Georgia’s summers, burned with intense dislike and discomfort. He ignored the rows of narrowed eyes peering from behind the slits, instead firmly keeping his gaze on the perplexed woman he was about to approach.

“Evening ma’am.” He greeted her with a friendly yet still somewhat carefully crafted smile.  

She wouldn’t grace him with the same, her response was firm, respectable yet wary. “How can I help you officer?”

Rick maintained his smile, upholding it against the scrutiny of her heavily lashed dark eyes. “Actually, I was hoping I could help you.”

If she could roll her eyes, Rick knew she would have. Scoff at him and rightfully tell him to state his real intent. But this was King’s County and Rick could sense the tension in the air as she carefully contemplated her next move. Rick wanted to make it easier on her, feeling the burden of the situation and knowing he was responsible for it.

A little less forced and a lot more friendly, he attempted to disarm her cautiousness with old fashioned, gentlemanly charm, the kind his dear grandmother taught him to embrace. “I was just on my way home when I saw you and thought; Hey now Rick, what better way to earn them shiny stars pinned to your shirt so handsomely than to assist this young lady on this fine evening.”

He was careful to introduce himself using his Christian name, trying to distance his true self from the uniform he wore. Yet he could do nothing to shield her from the truth. Her expression, still every bit as guarded signaled to him the realities of the world she lived him. She was tall, taut and terribly beautiful even in her indignation.  

The woman replied almost instantly in a Northern accent betraying her as a newcomer. “I’m almost done so no need to bother yourself. Thank you for your time Officer.”

Dismissed but not defeated, Rick pushed forward. “You sure?” He asked because he knew he couldn’t walk away. Not with an audience as enthralled as Romans spectators, ready to rate this performance with a devastating signalling of their thumb. No, he could not leave her, not to the lions.

“Am I under arrest?”

“Excuse me?” Her bluntness surprised him.

“If not, I’d like to be on my way.” She was smart enough not to move until he gave the okay. Rick felt increasingly uncomfortable with the choices he was being presented him.  

“Look, there is no need to worry. Like I said, I was on my way home when – ”

“I heard you.”

Again, Rick was surprised. She cut him off mid excuse – mid lie. Despite her disinterest in his self-serving speech, Rick still foolishly believed he could walk away from this interaction smelling like roses. Sincerely and softly, he made his final mistake. “Then what’s the problem ma’am.”

Then, finally, came the scoff he deserved.

“I could ask you the exact same thing. Which one called you.”

It was enough to render Rick speechless. The jig is up, the measured tone she spoke with could not hide the fury behind her words.

“Which of those disrespectful racists, cowardly peeking from behind their blinds called you.”

Rick did his best not to flinch at her use of what would be deemed the real hard R in these parts. He swallowed hard, truly hating this place and the people in it.

“I just wanna know how I can help with these posters.” He tried again, wanting to so desperately distance himself from the truth. He was their tool, but he could also be here for her. If he could just stop her from tarring him with the same brush. “Maybe even show a taxpayer like yourself that I take my job seriously.”

She wasn’t the problem, Rick wanted to tell her but at the last minute deciding to keep his mouth shut.

She hesitated for a moment, not speaking again but Rick got the message loud and clear.  

You expect me to buy this bull?

Please do, Rick’s eyes begged.

The desperate look in his eyes may have done the job as she sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Fine you’re gonna protect them. I get it. But I need to know for real, am I being arrested?”

It was a sincere worry and Rick knew he could no longer disrespect her by dodging the question. He shook his head and continued to offer further clarifications on his part. He took a step closer, careful not to spook her but also trying his best to create some privacy before confessing his truth.

“It’s an election year.” He whispered.

“Honestly it’s a pain in the behind trying to be that extra police presence.”

“An election year.” She repeated, a frown forming on her face as she processed the meaning of his words.

“Yep. The bosses got a burr in their saddle about it. So unless you have a baby I can kiss or a hand I can shake – I’d like to do my job and help with those posters, if you don’t mind that is.” Rick’s charm finally worked, he could tell by the relaxed look on her face as she nodded in agreement.

Grateful for the reprieve, Rick nodded courteously before helping her gather her bags, papers, and stapler to move onto the next row of bare lampposts. She had every reason to continue to hold him at arms length for what almost transpired this evening, yet past experiences and perhaps a kindness in her heart had told her that Rick was one of the good ones.

Or at least he was trying to be, her slightly raised eyebrow revealed as they walked, side by side, still somewhat uncomfortably.  

“So, what are we dealing with, a runaway pup or –

“A ‘fly out of the window of a speeding car’ teddy bear.”

“Ah an exotic pet.”

She managed to crack a smile for him and Rick’s heart fluttered slightly.

They decided to set up at the first of the lampposts, the joke acting as a much needed ice-breaker and allowing them to work quickly in perfect coordination; Rick passing her the sheets of paper and her carefully using the staplegun.

The teddy bear photo was printed in black in white, a small scruffy looking thing being held in arms of a toddler with big eyes and an even bigger grin on his face. Underneath, a description typed out with love and desperation – Help Mr. Bear come home to Andre.

“He belongs to my son. He’s three and I really need it back.” There was a real grief behind her words, her dark eyes not watery but not very far from it.

“I get it.” Rick said staring at the side of her face as she turned away from him. “I really do.” He repeated, careful to just be expressing empathy from one parent to another and internally reminding himself of his own commitment as a father and husband. “He can’t sleep without it right?”

“Something like that.”

“Right. Well let’s get this street and the next done, so you can get back home in time for tuck in time.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

“You’re welcome Ma’am.”

Things were going well and soon this watchful stranger was replaced by incredibly interesting company. 

Pulling a face of mock disgust at the proper way he continued to call her Ma’am, the woman finally just told him her name. It was one he’d never heard before but liked the sound of anyway. Michonne from Manhattan. An art teacher and painter looking to find new inspiration in the Deep South. A mother. The new owner of the Old Kent Farmhouse, self-renovating the crumbling place after the death of the owner and looking to make a home here in this town. Rick listened to her talk and was surprised to see how animated and easy going she was. Deep within him, he felt the shame rising up again from their initial introduction. Her hostility had been understandable, his behavior had not. Still, he was glad he took the call and glad it was him that got the chance to meet this charming woman with the most infectious smile.

She asked him about this town and Rick told her that despite all its faults, it was home and he hoped it could be hers to. She responded optimistically and Rick fought back the urge to apologize for what he knew she had already figured out about the people that lived here. Instead he told her tales about his own son Carl, now twelve years old but still somewhat sentimental about his favorite childhood toy – a dusty blue, stuffed elephant called Frump. He made sure not to tell her about his wife Lori, who had won the stuffed toy at the summer fair when they were seventeen and still in love.

If his job was just a job these days, then his marriage was one too. It was exhausting knowing what waited for him when he arrived home later. For weeks now, his wedding band pinched at his finger uncomfortably, from the weight gained from the drive-thru burgers he ate in his car as he agonized over the state of his marriage with his bachelor pal and partner Shane Walsh. Today, however, he had made plans to make it home for dinner and face the problems head on. Instead here he was, cherishing a few moments of casual conversation about his day that dazzled Michonne but would’ve drained Lori.

And to Rick Grimes, Christian, Father, Husband – this was was devastating.

Still, they got talking and Rick had almost gotten away with it.  

That was until reality came crushing down in the form of the always delightful Ed Peletier, marching up the street like a bull. Red in the face and practically foaming at the mouth, Ed did what Ed always did.

“Sheriff Grimes.”

Rick managed a curt nod in response for a man he so openly despised. “How can I help Ed?”

“I’d like a word.”

“Sure thing, as soon as I finish up with Michonne here. She’s new to town. Michonne, this is Ed Peletier – local entrepreneur of sorts.”

Read between the lines you redneck asshole. Rick begged, hoping that by revealing Michonne’s status as a homeowner and a part of this community, the information would be enough to put a muzzle on Ed.

Ed however was predictably impatient, after darting a brief but filthy look at the hand Michonne had courteously extended, the gruff man continued to completely ignore her and keep his wild eyes on Rick, whose own hands were itching to punch the man.

With a resigned expression and a quick apology, Rick handed back the posters and followed Ed across the street to the front of his house. There they were met by Carol Peletier, Ed’s patient wife, standing at an open door with a concerned expression on her face.

“Evenin’ Carol.” Rick called out, a genuine warm smile on his face. As much as he despised Ed, he pitied Carol. A small, fragile looking woman with graying hair beyond her years.

“Hello Rick.”

Pleasantries aside and out of Michonne’s earshot, Rick turned to the man who dragged him away from her. “What do you want Ed.”

He dropped the friendly act in favor of a venomous look, bearing no good will for Ed Peletier and the company he kept in this town. 

“I wanna know what you’re playing at Grimes.”

“Families live here. Children.”

Rick could barely maintain his composure, his head tilting at the implication of Ed’s words.

“You have a job to do. Get rid of her.”

“Now on what grounds would that be Ed?” Rick asked. His voice now a low, menacing growl. Ed’s blue eyes were bulging out of their sockets at the audacity of Rick’s question. All too familiar with her husband’s temper, Carol Peletier, placed her hands bravely onto Ed’s arm, holding him back for his own sake.

Rick scowled, frustrated at the woman’s gesture. Carol had no business protecting a man who put her in the hospital on more than one occasion. Despite their struggles, Rick couldn’t even imagine ever laying a hand on his wife. Still, despite the help offered to her, for a reason only known to her – Carol Peletier remained the dutiful wife.

It was a heartbreaking reality Rick had come to accept.

Carol’s actions worked, the brutish looking man was reminded that Rick Grimes was not a friend of his and if given the excuse, would be more than happily fire six warning shots into the thick head wearing that Braves’ baseball cap. Breathing heavily and polluting the air with whiskey fumes, Ed made his next move.

“She don’t belong here.” Ed finally spat out, unable to put things anymore delicately than that.

“She’s passing through.” Rick said firmly, his eyes unblinking and angry. He remained as calm as possible, knowing he wouldn’t have to do much when it came to Ed Peletier. Sooner or later, he’d be hauling his fat ass into that patrol car and back to the station. It was a dance that was all too familiar to the three figures standing at the doorway of the Peletier residence.

Ed was never a measured man and Rick’s challenge made him foolish enough to continue shooting his mouth off. “She’s loitering! Her and that garbage she’s pinning to our lampposts.”

Ed’s bellowing was drawing an audience from his young daughter, Sophia. The girl was the same age as Carl but with a sadness in her eyes that aged her the same way it did her mother. The shouting was enough for a curious and concerned Michonne to abandon her things, cross the street and walk towards the Peletier’s house.

“Is everything okay?” Michonne asked, politely leaning in over the fence stopping at her waist.

It was an innocent enough query and the woman never entered the property but as far as Ed was concerned she had crossed a line.  

“It’s your job to do something about shit like this. Fucking negroes encroaching upon our domicile like this! Disturbing the peace! It’s not decent I tell you!”

Rick snapped at the slur. “Decent? Like your wife-beating, racist, drunken ass would know the meaning of the word!”

And that was all it took.  

The situation escalated in mere minutes. Ed, ready to swing a fist at Rick, only to be intercepted by his quick thinking, self-sacrificing wife. The small woman clung onto her husband’ ham of an arm for dear life, causing him to explode in further fury and her at the receiving end of a closefisted hit from the free hand. It would have been enough to stop there, for Ed to realize he made his point as Carol fell back toward the open door, into their hallway and onto the hardwood floor – taking their poor daughter down with her. But in the eyes of Ed Peletier, any act against him was unforgivable insubordination, something he could not let go unaddressed.

Rick and Michonne were no longer on his radar.

Within seconds, he began shamelessly pounding on his wife with everything he had, completely disregarding the fact there were witnesses standing a few feet away, one of them being an officer of the law.

In between a flurry of violent, merciless kicks and punches, Ed managed to call his blameless wife a stream of obscenities, ignoring the desperate screams coming from his terrified young daughter and the shout to desist from Rick.

It took a full minute for Rick to finally pull Ed off of Carol and away from Sophia. Furious at how much damage Ed managed to inflict, Rick didn’t hold back when he had the chance, roughly shoving the bastard’s face into the gravel of the footpath outside the house. Ed struggled under Rick’s weight, choking on the stones and dirt he was getting a mouth full of. Still full of rage, he continued to make threats against his wife who was covered in red welts and bleeding from a bust lip and cut eyebrow.

Rick expected to see Michonne still standing at the gate, shell shocked at what just occurred before her or at least in angry tears at the racial slurs that were being hurled in her direction. Instead, Rick was surprised to see, she was knelt by his side, stone faced and strong – helping secure Ed as he put on the handcuffs.

She had his back during the struggle. Leaping into action the way only a trained protector would. She told him she was an art teacher, Rick thought briefly, curious to know the rest of her story once all of this was over. 

Ed, unlike Rick, did not appreciate Michonne’s proximity to his sweaty, dirt covered body. Despite being cuffed and beaten, he managed to turn his head just enough to spit violently at Michonne’s chest and face.

In that moment, all Rick saw was red. His weapon was drawn in an instance and threateningly pressed against the back of Ed’s neck.

Michonne jumped up and away from Rick but he could barely register the look of shock on her face at the way events escalated. It was Sophia and Carol’s screaming, however, that he found harder to ignore.

The mother and daughter were pleading with Rick – for Ed’s life. Tears streaming from their face and their anguished cries of “Please, please, please! Jesus Christ – oh God, no please” drawing a crowd. Suddenly, the street was flooded with residents. Curious murmurs turning quickly into panic. But Rick couldn’t see the faces of the community he swore to protect. He could only hear their voices.

“Someone do something!”

“Someone call the police.”

“He is the police.”

“What is happening Honey?”

“Who is she?”

“Rick.”

Her voice, in a sea of buzzing white noise, it cut through to him and for a brief enough moment, Michonne brought him back. 

Suddenly, Rick was surprised more by his own actions than the reaction of the people around him. Ed was scum but he was handcuffs. This wouldn’t be self-defense but a coldblooded murder. 

“Rick.” Her voice again but this time in his own mind, gently trying to remind him of what had promised her. 

He was one of the good ones. 

That thought was enough to finally sober Rick’s mind. The deafening drumming inside his skull stopped, rage no longer pumping blood and adrenaline to his trigger finger. In between deep breaths he managed to calm himself enough to place the gun into its holder.

Ed, who had been as stiff as a corpse finally relaxed as Rick stood up. Carol threw herself onto her husband’s cuffed body, sobbing still, her eyes never leaving Rick – more afraid of the man protecting her than she was of the man who hurt her for years.  

For a while, no one spoke. They stood there, processing what just nearly happened.

Finally, Sophia stepped forward.

“Leave.” She said looking Rick in the eye. “Before I call the police again.”

Again.

Rick couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. So it wasn’t any of the people gawking or some ignorant prejudicial neighbor from across the street who had called the station; it wasn’t even Ed, an out and proud white supremacist – it was this small, fragile, eleven years old girl. 

“Please.”

She wasn’t begging him. Trembling slightly, she straightened her shoulders to face down a man with a gun, a man she admits to having called in the first place.

But why?

Rick wanted to ask, but it took a quick look at the deep purple older bruises on Carol Peletier’s exposed shoulders and the evil the mere presence Michonne had brought out in Sophia’s father, for Rick to realize the answer for himself.

She was trying to protect them, including Michonne. 

The crowd was growing, neighbors having knocked on other neighbors doors regarding the drama Rick knew they deep down had been expecting – but probably with Michonne as a tragic player not a baffled bystander.

Distracted by the righteous anger beginning to bubble up inside him, Rick decided to address the prying eyes.

“Alright folks, now that Ed here’s calmed down a bit I’m sure you can all agree there are more interesting things that await you inside your own homes.”

“I think we’d just like to know what all this commotion is about Sheriff Grimes.” A familiar voice asked.

Rick felt a twitch in his neck, but replied as calmly as possible to the elderly man with questioning eyes sitting under a dark set of eyebrows and sunhat. “Ah I’m sure you all already do, Dale.”  

Dale let out a sad sigh, showing some humility and awareness. Rick had run into him on previous call outs to this neighborhood. He knew the retired educator to be a good man, taking it upon himself to help out Carol on occasion - administering First Aid or giving her a car ride to the hospital. That said, the same couldn’t be said for the rest of these vultures.

“You heard me first time people. I won’t say it again. Clear out. NOW!”

Rick stared down the residents, knowing very well this would find a way of getting back to his superiors but frankly not giving a shit.

“Right now, let the officer do his job. Come now, time to get out of this heat and back to our couches.” Dale’s mild waves had the power to disperse a crowd far quicker than a water canon and Rick was grateful for the powers of the former school principal.  

The elderly man was about to make his exit when Ed piped up again.

“Where you going you old Jew bastard?” He cried out, flailing on the floor like a sea lion. “You all saw what he did, he’s not a cop. He’s a thug. You’re my witness!”

“Oh Edward, you were a bully in school and you’re just a bigger one now. Don’t make things worse for yourself.” With a disapproving glare and a sigh of disgust, Dale Horvath returned to his own home, a couple doors down from the Peletiers.

Relieved the excitement was drawing to an end, Rick let out of a sigh, he turned to Michonne, who during the uproar had returned to the guarded state he met her in. She was however gently tending to Sophia, her arms protectively around the girl’s shoulders. 

“You okay?” He asked and she relaxed, reassuring him with a small smile.

“You okay?” She asked him back and he did the same.

Rick then turned to the little girl in Michonne’s arms, knowing he too needed to somehow comfort her. “I’m sorry.” He told Sophia, truly meaning the words. “But I’m taking your father in. I have to and I think you agree.”

The girl glanced down at her mother’s battered body, lain over a man who continued to curse under his breath about being betrayed by his own blood.

“Mom.” She said weakly. “Please.”

When Rick began to approach Ed, Carol didn’t start up her screams in defense of her husband. Her daughter’s plea had rendered her speechless. Michonne stepped forward, carefully placing her arms around Carol’s shoulders and with gentle words coaxed her away from the toxic man she had married, instead steering her toward the daughter that needed her. The three women, then stood by, letting Rick do his job. Neither his daughter nor wife were treating Michonne with the same revulsion Ed had, instead grateful for the cover and calm she provided them with.

Rick knew it was a sight that in the future would cause daily bitterness to the prick he had just dragged up from the ground and that warmed his own heart significantly.

Heading to back to his police cruiser with Ed Peletier in tow, Rick Grimes felt a burst of optimism. Maybe things could be different in this small town full of stone throwers. Perhaps some honest to God good could be done, by those willing to commit to acting on their conscience. Something to shock the small minded, their stale sermons and suspicious stares.

Rick took one last look at the trio of women in his rear view window. The sun was almost gone, but as he drove away the white of Michonne’s blouse remained visible in the amber rays. Striking as a knight’s armor, Rick thought, affectionately thinking back to her noble quest for a lost bear.  

“That bitch made the mistake of her life tonight.”

Ed Peletier said from the back of the car, spewing his hate like the last rings of smoke coming from a defeated dragon. His intoxicated, blood shot eyes reflected back at Rick’s calm blue ones but there was no need for a response as Ed slunk back into the seat looking smaller and more wretched than he’d ever looked before. Nothing but a pain parasite, severed from its source of strength.

It had finally happened.

He was finally done counting the times he had to let this man go back to hurting that family all over again.

Rick told himself this lie with little else to fear.

But with all things concerning this town of his, this job of his and this frequently disappointing life he was committed to – Rick Grimes’s optimistic outlook would be a premature one. Just over the horizon there waited the all too familiar failure of busted jaws, and broken promises.  

In a month’s time they’d end up in back in this place.

And the month after that, Rick would be praying to be back here once. Back to a time where things weren’t all that bad – dealing with bruises instead of a bloated, lifeless body. 

[bratkook]

clairvoyant. (m) part one.

masterlist.

Author’s note: I have no idea where this came from or where it’s going *shrug* I do know it’ll contain drugs, alcohol and smut, with angst so there ya go! Also not sure who it’ll be centered around so enjoy the mystery.

Word count: 3k

The smell of cigarette smoke was overwhelming in his bedroom despite the incense he had that he swore would mask the smell, it clearly wasn’t doing much. You were sat facing him on the floor, your legs tucked underneath your bum as you held the clamp to his lip and held a needle in your other hand, “Dude, don’t you think you should, I don’t know…take that out of your mouth when I do this?” 

His eyes looked everywhere but at you, bouncing around the posters on his wall to his dirty hamper in the corner, literally anywhere but your eyes because he was terrified. “It helps calm my nerves, there’s no way in hell I’m taking this out of my mouth. Thanks for the shitty suggestion though.”

He took another drag, ignoring you’re look of disapproval and continuing to avoid eye contact. You just let out a huff of annoyance, focusing on securing the clamp on his lip, “Fine, but if it comes out crooked it’s your fault.”

You could see the gears turning in his head as he thought of a perfect come back, but you being your petty self took that moment to shove the needle through his lip. His eyes bulged out and his cigarette dropped from his mouth and landed on his knees. You’re positive the ashes burn but due to his shock it takes him a while to react.

He comes back to life when you exchange the sharp needle for a blunt hollow one, his hands immediately swatting off the cigarette butt as he winces from your movements.

“Stay still!” You scold him, not being able to bite back the smile and giggle that slips through your lips when you see the signature look he gives when he’s pissed.

You could feel him glaring at you as you slide the ring through the hollow needle and secure the ball at the end of it, leaning back to fully examine your work. Wow….pat yourself on the back, you should become a piercer god damn you have talent.

“You could have given me a fucking warning!” He shouts at you with newfound confidence when he knows there’s no way for you to harm him. You pick up the cigarette he dropped in his moment between life and death and slip it between your lips, taking a drag and slapping his hands before they’re able to pick at his new piercing.

“A warning? What the fuck are you Park Jimin, 15?” His eyes twitch as he looks at you smoking and gathering up your things with a smirk, “Did you want me to hold your hand and talk you through it?”

You continue picking up your stuff from his wooden floors, tossing them in your bag carelessly and zipping it up once you were sure you had everything. “Oh!” Your fingers dug into the tiny zipper on the side and pulled out two small bags.

“Why are you giving me coke?”

The bags were tossed at his face as you rolled your eyes, “It’s not coke you dumbass. Sea salt, you know, to clean your piercing.” He just looked at the bags, giant question marks hanging over his head, “Honestly if you show up to class and have disgusting crusties all over that thing I will rip it out.”

“Sea salt….crusties….not good….” he mumbled to himself before nodding and placing them on his dresser. You took his mumbling as him understanding and slung your bag over your shoulder, stepping over the vinyl on his floor as you made a beeline for his door, only stopping and looking back when he called your name.

“You’re going tomorrow right?”

Tomorrow…the start of your second year of college. Also known as the year where you should kind of have your shit figured out, at least a bit. It wasn’t like you haven’t been thinking about school this entire break, it was practically eating you alive with stress and no matter how hard you tried to seem nonchalant about it you couldn’t help but constantly look for the grey hairs that were bound to pop up.

“Of course I’m going, it’s the first–”

“No,” he cut you off with a wave of his hand, “the freshman mixer, not class.”

Jimin watched you as you went through a moment of confusion, your lips pursed and thinking hard as if he had just spat out some riddle, but then it clicked and you let out a laugh, “Yeah, yeah of course I’ll be there.”

He nodded in approval shouting out to bring your camera as you left his room and his apartment altogether.

Your head was cast downward as you clicked through the pictures on your camera, your lips curving up into a smile when you flipped through the endless photos of you and your group at one of the many summer parties that just passed. The amount of drunken selfies and extremely questionable scenarios just made you miss the carefree feeling that came with no school, now you felt a pit of uneasiness in your stomach and you felt just as anxious as the freshman all around you.

Speaking of them, it was a shock you hadn’t rudely ran into one from how distracted you were, but that was thanks to Yoongi who had his arm draped around your shoulder to help guide you. His face was blank but you could see his eyes scanning the whole area.

He was looking for campus police.

“Clear?”

He hummed and did another check before nodding, “Surprisingly, I guess they have trust in the freshman class this year.”

That was a shock, when you had gone to the freshman mixer the year before it was swarming with campus police. At the time you couldn’t really figure out why they were so uptight but when you met Yoongi and his group it all clicked. Apparently Jimin had posted something on twitter about selling pills and news got to the school principal so they decided to basically TSA our asses that day.

That was beyond eventful to say the least and it was the day you met your group of friends so it was definitely a good memory for you.

“What lens is that?”

Yoongi slips you out of your nostalgic daydreaming and you cast a glance back at your camera to double check, “24-70 with an F stop of 2.8.”

He lets out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling up and his gummy smile coming out, “Fuck, you’re gonna be able to really zoom into all of Tae good parts huh?”

“Oh yeah, he asked for HD and that’s what he’ll get. Hell maybe i’ll blow up a few stills for him, think he’d appreciate that?”

“I definitely would.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, in this case wearing a pair of black sweats and a cut up band tee. His bright red hair looks a damn mess, probably due to the fact that he literally just rolled out of bed but it suits him.

“I’m thinking a good 40 inches tall, on canvas. Think you can do it?”

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh as you think of the poor photo studio that would have to print that out for you, “Why so big?”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he shrugs, “It might be a good icebreaker for my new roommate. What doesn’t say ‘Hey let’s be friends’ like a giant photo displaying my ass right above my bed?”

Yoongi chokes out a laugh at that, obviously being able to picture out the whole scenario he had just painted. That poor freshman was going to be completely traumatized before he even got to introduce himself. Tae’s personality is really in your face and unfiltered, if you can’t match it you run from it so hopefully the new guy could block it out like Jin used to.

“That’s exactly why I said fuck no when you asked me to dorm with you after Jin graduated.”

The three of you turn to see Jimin walking into the conversation, a beanie covering his blonde hair which contrasted against his all black outfit. A teasing smirk was on his face and his new lip ring was actually looking clean.

“Shut up liar, you love me. You only wanted to live alone so you could jack off in peace.”

“Plus not all of us are trust fund babies that have the luxury of living off campus Mr.Park.” Yoongi adds jokingly.

Jimin only scoffs and adjusts the Rolex on his wrist as if that didn’t just prove Yoongi’s statement, “Whatever,” he sighs out, “let’s get this show on the road, cmon!” He claps loudly, gaining attention from a few girls who basically end up gawking at him.

Taehyung looks at you for confirmation and you slip your phone out of your pocket, swiping through a few texts before making eye contact with him again and nodding, “Namjoon can’t make it cause work and Hoseok’s helping Jin move in so yeah, let’s do it.”

By now the freshman mixer had filled up, people were mingling and sharing class schedules. There was a few hit songs playing in the background and a crowd had formed around the food tables so now was a good time if he really wanted an audience.

Jimin and Yoongi made their way to the food table, which was right next to the makeshift stage that the principal was set to give her pep talk at later on, while you and Tae stayed off to the side.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this for an xbox.”

He reached into your bag and pulled out the beanie and mask he had asked you to bring him, “It’s not just for an xbox, Jimin said he’d pay half my tuition this semester if I did it.”

You helped him tuck his hair underneath the beanie because if anyone spotted it they would immediately know it was him. “Well that clearly changes everything…”

He gave you a grin, slipping on the black mask and tugging it down slightly so you could hear him talk properly. “If anything happens and they chase me down and my dick breaks off when I get tackled…I want you to know that I’ll still be here for you Y/N.”

Your brows furrowed when you felt him place a kiss on your forehead, the sweet gesture counteracting his raunchy words but you just rolled your eyes and muttered that he was disgusting before walking over to join Jimin and Yoongi.

A deep sigh left you as you came and rested your arm high up on Jimin’s shoulders, his frame supporting the extra weight as you leaned on him. “Had I known you were paying Tae’s tuition I would’ve joined him.”

You were expecting him to laugh at your comment but he froze and turned to look at you with both brows raised up and a seriously concerned face, “Why? Are you having trouble again?”

He didn’t wait for a response before fishing his phone out of his pockets and tapping away. You already knew what he was doing so you didn’t think twice when you reached for it and locked it, “No, no I’m not. It was a joke Jimin.”

Keep eye contact or he’ll see right through you, is the mantra you repeated in your head as he squinted at you, trying to see if you’d fidget.

“Hm,” he hummed out, “okay. But if you ever need anything you know I’m here right?” He pulled you into his side, smoothly ending the conversation before you could protest, and ruffled your hair up like an older brother would before pointing at the stage where Taehyung was.

Oh god, this was gonna be good.

He tapped the lone microphone that stood center stage, clearing his throat awkwardly and gaining the attention of all the freshman. Your hands had a mind of their own and had already began recording the entire thing. It really was a mystery how he would decide to play this thing out.

The murmurs began, questions of who he was, why he was wearing a mask, if he was gonna whip out a gun, and people saying they were leaving was all that could be heard.

“Hello freshman class!” His voice was slightly muffled behind the mask, making him sound a little creepy, “I’m the official representative of the freshman welcoming committee. And my first order of business in welcoming you to our wonderful school is to become…well acquainted–”

Your eyes were glued on your viewfinder, making sure he was in focus but from your peripheral you could see Yoongi waving his hands and pointing to the side. You panned the camera over and laughed when you saw the principal and two scrawny campus police chasing behind her as she headed straight for the stage.

“He has about 90 seconds before he loses the bet.” Jimin mumbled beside you as you turned the camera back towards Tae who had already seen the situation.

His hands rubbed together in a moment of thought, “Fuck, sorry everyone!” Before he could doubt himself he ripped off his shirt and haphazardly managed to take his sweats off, ignoring the collective gasps of everyone seeing him in all his glory as he bolted off the stage.

The three of you couldn’t hold back your laughter as he weaved his way through the crowd of freshman, your mind was on balancing your lens, recording and capturing everyone either covering their face or not being able to look away. Tae was completely shameless, holding both hands in the air and managing to throw a finger heart toward at the camera.

You were half expecting people to shove him away but it was the exact opposite, people had their phones out trying to take selfies with him as he passed by. He had even gone as far as full on twirling girls around like they were dancing if they would let him.

The second the campus police saw him butt naked, they took off after him, “Run!” Yoongi shouted out, causing Tae to look back and scream when he saw them get closer. By now the majority of people began cheering him on, a few even getting in the way of the police to let him get further.

Your camera’s shutter kept clicking as you snapped the pictures he wanted while recording, there would definitely be a picture of his butt somewhere in there worthy of a 40 inch canvas.

He had a good distance now and decided it was safe to turn back to face everyone and bow before taking off down through the parking lot, surely managing to somehow hide out and sneak into the dorms.

Your eyes were still looking through your viewfinder as your panned back around to record everyone’s reactions so you didn’t notice the poor guy close enough to get a good taste of your lens as it whacked him in the nose and mouth.

“What the hell, ow!”

You flinched and basically tossed your camera, resulting in it literally sucker punching the poor guy again before it landed securely against your chest.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” One hand was clutching his nose and the other his left eye as he groaned in pain. That lens was no joke so you could imagine how bad it hurt. He sniffled and raised his head back up and that’s when you noticed some red beginning to seep through his fingers.

Queue you freaking out.

Your eyes were like saucers as they scanned the area before landing on the food table and seeing the napkins. Your fingers grabbed a hold of his white shirt and tugged him behind you, not caring about the other people that fell victim to your camera jamming into their backs and stomachs.

The blood had began to drip down his hand and he let out another groan when it landed on his shirt, “Fuck…wow, I’m really sorry.” You refused to make eye contact as you grabbed a handful of napkins and opened a bottle of water to wet them a bit.

His head was tilted back when you decided to finally look at him so you reached up and grabbed his hair, tugging him back down, “Do you want to choke on your own blood? Don’t do that!”

He gave you a small glare, taking the napkins from your hand and pressing them against his bloody nose, “I wouldn’t be bleeding if it wasn’t for you.” Oh, he was upset. Anyone would be, he came to a freshman mixer, maybe expecting to meet a few cute girls or guys and instead he sees Taehyung’s dick and gets a beat down from a Canon. Not exactly a perfect day.

He winced every time he rubbed the blood away, reaching over to grab more napkins after a while to make sure he got it all off.

“I-Is it broken?” You quietly asked him, chewing on your lip as you saw him touch it to really assess the damage.

“No…I don’t think so.” You let out a sigh of relief, your hand coming up to rub down your face, “It’s probably bruised and I think my eyes fine. My shirt though, that’s probably ruined.”

His fingers picked at one of the splotches of blood on his shirt as your reached into your purse and brought out your wallet. You pulled out a twenty and handed it over to him, “I’m sorry, here.”

The bill stayed in your hands as he looked at it and then you with wide eyes, “No, it’s okay. It’s a basic shirt–”

“Please just take it, it’ll make me feel better.”

After a few moments of dreadful silence, he finally plucked it out of your hands and folded it up, only to reach back over and shove it right into your purse again. His fingers came back up to gently touch around his nose and eye, letting out a sigh as he dropped them and shoved his hands into his pockets, “It’s fine, no one lost any limbs. By the way, sorry for sounding like a douche. You hitting me was an accident, I overreacted.”

Was this the twilight zone?

You pursed your lips and tilted your head like a lost puppy, “Why are you apol–”

“Y/N!”

The both of you turned at the sound and you spotted Jimin and Yoongi waving you over as they walked towards the dorms. They were gonna go see if Tae managed to make it in.

“Sorry, I have to–um–it was nice to meet you…”

“Jungkook.”

You clapped your hands and nodded as you walked backwards, “Right, Jungkook. Sorry for beating you. Have a good first year in college!” You shot him a thumbs up before awkwardly turning around and running towards your friends.

Way to go, not even 4 hours into the new semester and you already managed to make someone bleed. At least the poor guys day could only go up from here.

[anythingstephenking]

To everything… turn, turn, turn…

Subtitled: Fuck you Richard Bachman

My first collection of King novellas, Different Seasons, provides the source material for some of King’s most memorable film adaptations. But we’ll get to that later.

Different Seasons was published in 1982, and contains 4 novellas. Novellas are longer than a short story but shorter than a novel. Ok, you probably knew that already, so cool story. 

By 1982 King was the king (lulz) of horror. Since none of these stories contain things that go bump in the night, his publishers weren’t totally stoked to print them individually. I guess novellas really suck if you’re a writer, because they’re too long for magazines to publish, and too short to be real novels. Of course, Stephen King is the fucking greatest, and he combines these four stories together, makes each (loosely) tied to a season, hits CTR+P and laughs his way to the bank (I assume).

Here’s what we go to go through:

Hope Springs Eternal - Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption

Summer of Corruption - Apt Pupil

Fall from Innocence - The Body

A Winter’s Tale - The Breathing Method

There is really nothing thematically that ties these stories together. King states in the afterward that each was written shortly after finishing a novel - The Body after 'Salem’s Lot, Apt Pupil after The Shining, Shawshank after The Dead Zone, and The Breathing Method after Firestarter.

Each of these is its own very different (get it?) story, so I’m going through each separately, and because the adaptations are so well known, I’m going to break format and discuss the movies alongside the novellas.

Strap in folks, this is gunna be a long one.

—

Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption

Did you know Red is an Irishman and NOT Morgan Freeman? I know, right? Mind blown.

I’ve mentioned this before but my #1 pet peeve is guys who say their favorite movie is Shawshank (yawn) but don’t know it’s based on a King story. If your favorite movie is Shawshank, Fight Club, Boondocks Saints or any Coen Brothers movie, swipe hard left. Here’s what it’s like to go on a date with me:

Me: What’s your favorite movie?

Him: Oh that’s a hard question! I’d have to say Shawshank.

Me: (deep breath) Interesting. I love Stephen King!

Him: …

Me: He wrote the story the movie was based on.

Him: No shit! I had no idea.

Me: It’s your favorite movie but you’ve never paid attention to the credits before?

Him: ….

Me: My favorites are the Before Sunrise/Sunset/Midnight movies

Him: Never heard of them.

Me: Of course.

Still single folks. Go figure. And here’s a fun fact - I had actually never seen this movie before. It somehow scooted by me in my youth and I just never got around to it. Then, like Kings of Leon, it was too popular for it’s own good and I was off the bandwagon.

Since this movie is rated #1 on IMDB’s top 100 movies, I am going to skip over the major plot points because you already know them. I did enjoy reading it with fresh eyes, never having seen the movie and only knowing the plot because I am a person that is alive and everyone knows the plot. Bruce Willis WAS DEAD THE WHOLE TIME!

When Andy Dufresne comes to Shawshank, you know through Red’s narration that he is an innocent man, and you immediately feel for him as he stumbles through your pretty standard prison stuff. He settles in, finds his place, gets special treatment for doing taxes for the prison staff, works in the library and spends 20 years methodically digging a tunnel. Normal stuff. This story generates one of King’s most famous lines ever, and the focus of many inspirational quote boards: “Get busy living or get busy dying.” I was unnecessarily happy to see that line in the source material - proud of King for writing it and it not coming from the screenplay.

The movie was directed by Frank Darabont, King buddy and early recipient of Dollar Baby rights for his first film. Darabont of course goes on to do The Green Mile and Walking Dead, and is still sitting on the rights to The Long Walk. Get to it Frankie.

I was discussing this story with a friend and she very astutely pointed out “I mean, it’s bro love. There’s not a single female in the whole story.” Seriously. It’s a great story of the resiliency of the human spirt, friendship, loss and redemption, and honestly it is a wonderful movie, but it’s for bros. I’m not the target demographic, and I am ok with that.

But seriously, how the hell did Andy rehang the poster over the hole after he went through? We will never know. 

—

Apt Pupil

Fuck this story. Fuck Richard Bachman, who didn’t “write” this story as it was published under King’s name, but this story is Bachman through and through. I thought I was on a break from reading about terrible sociopaths I hope would die on page one but I somehow have to be put inside their fucked up minds for so long my skin is crawling when I am done. Sorry for the all the f-bombs, but fuck this story was the fucking worst.

Ok, where to start. Apt Pupil follows the story of Todd Bowden, a high school A student and star athlete. Sounds great, right? Well, actually Todd is a nutcase who finds out his neighbor Arthur Denker is a nazi war criminal in hiding. Todd calls the police and the nazi is arrested. The End.

Just kidding! Todd blackmails Denker and forces him to tell him gory details about his time in the concentration camps. Jesus fucking christ y’all. This shit goes on for over four years. Todd buys a replica SS uniform and makes him wear it. Todd likes to masturbate but can only climax while fantasizing about abusing women in concentration camps. Denker starts blackmailing Todd in return. They seemingly hate but respect each other because they’re both fucking monsters. Are you having fun yet?

It keeps going. Todd starts murdering homeless people (of course) as does Denker (he also puts a cat into his oven, which I was not at all pleased about). Arthur and Todd are both running around town killing folks, but neither one knows the other is doing so. Funny coincidence!

I’ll save you the suspense and also spoil the ending. Denker is discovered when he has a heart attack and his hospital mate is a Holocaust survivor that recognizes him. The jig is finally up. Denker kills himself. Wohoey! We’re done right?

WRONG. Todd is also discovered by his guidance counselor. When confronted Todd shoots him in his driveway (obviously) then goes off on a shooting spree.

THE END. What a heartwarming story of the human spirit. I must have checked at least 400 times how many pages I had left. Lucky me, Apt Pupil is the longest of all four stories, clocking in at 180 pages.

Like in all Bachman material, both main characters are giant dicks. If I ever meet Stephen King, the first thing I will ask him is... “can I meet Tabs?”… but the second thing I’ll ask him is “why wasn’t Apt Pupil a Bachman Book?” I am still irrationally angry I had to read this without forewarning that Bachman was lurking in Different Seasons, ready to bum me out and make me never want to read again.

The movie is just as bad. Brad Renfro (RIP) plays Todd, and I was interested enough in him playing the lead role not to dread watching this movie. Totally had his Teen Beat photo on my wall in middle school. Don’t judge.

The movie follows the same basic plot of the book, except at the end, Todd just threatens his counselor with false allegations of sexual abuse rather than murdering him, so I guess that’s better?

Funny thing is, this movie was made not once, but twice. The first production got 3/4 of the way done and ran out of money. It should have been doomed and never seen the light of day. It bounced around a bunch and finally got produced. Not surprisingly, it did not do well at the box office. Says Scott Von Doviak in my favorite companion material, “In the end, Stand By Me and Shawshank were essentially feel-good fables whereas Apt Pupil is never heartwarming and never tries to be. Its message is not one of uplift; it’s that evil is evil wherever you find it.” I suppose I prefer my Stephen King evil in the form of rabid dogs or vampires or hotels; not in actual evil that lurks in history. I watched Night and Fog for a documentary film class in college, and I still have nightmares about it. 

Saving grace of the movie: a young David Schwimmer sporting a Burt Reynolds mustache.

Ugh, Stephen, I am real mad about this one.

—

The Body

Now onto something more lighthearted - 4 lil peanut boys off to discover a dead body! For serious though, I heart-eyes-emoji the film adaptation. Stand By Me, and was pretty jazzed to read this story.

The idea for The Body is revealed by King some 10 years later in his book Danse Macabre. 

"It turned out that the kid I had been playing with had been run over by a freight train while playing on or crossing the tracks (years later, my mother told me they had picked up the pieces in a wicker basket). My mom never knew if I had been near him when it happened, if it had occurred before I even arrived, or if I had wandered away after it happened. Perhaps she had her own ideas on the subject. But as I’ve said, I have no memory of the incident at all; only of having been told about it some years after the fact."

King was only 4 when this happened, but I once read a book that argued that every thing that has ever happened to us, from the time we are birthed, is imprinted in our minds and affects everything we do as adults. So, who’s to say that this experience of 4 year old Stephen King didn’t imprint into his brain forever. Hard shrug.

PEANUTS!

Anywho, The Body reads like Stand By Me’s screenplay. I’ve seen this movie enough times to know the dialogue by heart, and most of it comes, word for word, from King’s pen. "A pile of shit has a thousand eyes.” I don’t know who wrote this screenplay, but they really shouldn’t have gotten a credit for it, never mind an Oscar nomination (which they did for Best Adapted Screenplay).

The Body is firmly planted in the King-o-verse, taking place in good-ol’ Castle Rock, mentioning Chamberlain (where Carrie would one day kill the whole dang town because he mother couldn’t be bothered to tell her what her period was), and ‘Salem’s Lot, Cujo and Shawshank are all mentioned. 

They changed the name because they didn’t want folks to think it was another King horror movie, a “sex film” or a bodybuilding movie. Now I can’t stop thinking about what a Stephen King bodybuilding movie would be like. Directory Rob Reiner (who would go on to direct Misery), suggested Stand By Me which apparently was the “least unpopular” option. 

I read this with the film versions of Gordie, Chris, Teddy and Vern in my mind, with Richard Dreyfuss narrating the whole thing. I’ve always been a sucker for a good coming of age story, and The Body checks all the required boxes.

That said, revisiting the story with my own coming age so far in my rear-view, I found the story clunky to say the least. Lines like “it’s hard to make strangers care about the things in your life” and “the most important things are the hardest things to say” made me eye roll a bit. I suppose I am old and cynical. When I was younger, far into my twenties even, the air of nostalgia for being 12 still lingered. Now, I only remember that time as one of braces, bullies and never-ending hormones. No thanks.

But this movie, man. The tragedy of River Phoenix’s untimely death makes it a harder watch. I’ve always described these four characters as “little peanuts” when I talk about this movie, which is funny because they’re foul-mouthed little shits. But lovable little shits. Wil (Whil) Wheaton is wonderful as King stand-in Gordie Lachance, writer-to-be. Corey Feldman basically plays himself, and Jerry O-Connell is a little butterball! Doesn’t get more adorable than that. River Phoenix is such a nugget. One time when I was drunk in 2006ish, I found myself crying because I was overcome by the fact that River died and Joaquin Phoenix lived. This breakdown came literally out of nowhere - Joaquin hadn’t even made I’m Still Here yet. In the moment it just seemed so unfair. Sorry Joaquin.

But there’s honesty in the body of The Body - King narrates as future Gordie in the first person and acknowledges the naiveté of his writing and experiences. Chris and Gordie share true and heartfelt stories about their fears then exchange quips like “eat me raw” “through a flavor straw”. It feels authentic. They’re boys that want desperately to be men, but without any real understanding of the weight of what adulthood is going to bring them.

—

The Breathing Method

Last but not least, The Breathing Method is the shortest story, the only one that contains any real King horror, and the only one with no film adaptation to discuss.

The story centers on an exclusive New York club, where old men go and drink scotch and tell stories. The mantra etched in stone reads “It is the tale, not he who tells it." There’s something strange about the club, which contains shelves full of books not known to libraries, and endless rooms filled with who-knows-what. 

The best stories of the year get shared on the Thursday before Christmas, and our narrator tells one back to us. It begins as a rather lighthearted tale of a pregnant (and unwed) woman, looking for medical help in a time before it was cool to have kids out of wedlock. There’s a little bit of love, some mystery, then it takes a real hard left at the end. It’s tragic and someone gets decapitated, then just as we’re given a hint at some kind of extra-terrestrial or supernatural presence in the club, the story ends. Ok. Sure thing.

The guy that wrote Sinister (among other horror fables) has the rights to direct the film adaptation, but according to his IMDB page, there’s nothing currently in the works. One less movie to watch so a-ok with me.

In the afterward, King tells the story of getting Different Seasons published, promising his agent his next story was about a haunted car. So that’s where I am off to next - Christine, which according to the jacket “will keep you looking both ways when you cross the street after dark.” Ha! Little do they know I never cross the street after dark, cause Nashville drivers are terrible and I don’t have a death wish. Till then friends!