#if they wanted to drop the gangster stuff and their new stuff always fails

[jaythelay]

Legitimately the only loss of Volition closing is there is absolutely 0 chance SR2's PC version gets fixed. Dooming their Only Good Artpiece to obscurity.

The fate of SR2 shouldn't become the standard. And yet it really is. You can play it now, but give it another OS version, hardware change, software change, give it time and you'll need to emulate windows 10, give it time and all you'll be able to do is play on the 360, give it time, and there won't be any 360s. All throughout the game is a buggy mess that needed another couple months of work, except the PC version which needed god.

But the real tragedy? The lost art, the fact this would've, could've, been Volition's legacy. Saint's Row 2! It's as critical to my gaming experience as Half-Life was, but I can play Half-Life with no problems on PS2 and PC. Not SR2 tho.

No tears were shed, because they took away everything people cared about decades ago, the series and company was already dead.

When your legacy is killing the art, crawling inside pretending to be our dad, and everyone begs you to bring them back? That's a sad, sad legacy.

No one's even going to think about Saint's Row eventually. What was a genuine rival to GTA in some instances, is now an absolute obscurity. It's only possible silver lining, gone. With only the vaguest hope that the IP is bought, and then has remakes that ignore all but the first two games.

Good luck with an IP that genuinely toxic, whoever buys it. Because nobody will be happy by then, we'll all be too old and moved on. A new audience won't experience the original and the remake won't give the same emotions. But it'd be nice at least, if done competantly.

Really think. Right now if you're a fan of Saint's Row, you and I may be amongst the last but a handful of at best hundreds of new players. But otherwise? It's dead and gone. Actual Art that most won't find worth in fighting to enjoy all the way, especially with some of those missions that needed fixed before release.

A flawed as hell gem that can only decay is an artpiece no one can experience eventually.

Volition refused to make Their One Artpiece playable before going out of business. Now? Nothing is worth playing, even SR2. Volition came with amazing art, gave us the worst iteration of it, and then dissapeared from all of history, having only made a dent within it, what could've been a chasmic hole.

Just had to not split your fanbase and then piss half them off and later dissapoint the other half. Seriously. Would've been real easy to shit out SR3 gangster edition and be dissapointed rather than hopelessly frustrated, or not use the name at all and moved on like the fanbase was forced to a decade before the reboot.

While the child-like fanbase that could only ever be the audience, moved on, SR2 fans were there everyday asking for more, instead, Volition served an audience that had long moved on in age and in genre, either to fortnite, apex legends, or tf2.

Genuinely it was like hearing a childhood friend and later teenage bully was found dead from an overdose you tried to warn them about. I'm numb. Sad, but apathetic, but also? Kind've elated, like. Man. I'm glad that's over, at least now I can truly move on again.

"but the emplo-" Sorry not this time. As far as I go I usually both do not blame creative when corporate is always to blame, and I'll generally simply be in disagreement with creative decisions, but the honest fact is the company in it's entirety exuded a mobile gaming atmosphere of contempt of audience and creative bankruptcy. At best, they'll find another job that'll find a way to make them excel, at worst, they find another job as writers somewhere they don't deserve.

Sad as hell shit. Hope beta content wasn't destroyed either, genuinely that could be the last of their legacy, beta content releasing for us to explore. A last hurrah of their history to go through, like a memoir. But that's cool, so they'd rather be genuinely awful cringe instead.

[clairecrive]

“Comfort”- Ron Kray x reader [Requested]

the lovely @onl-you​ sent a while ago the prompt “Stop being a fucking dick” and I’ve also got a few requests about the Krays. So here are the two combined! I’m not 100% happy with this but oh well, hope you like it <3

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​, @mollybegger-blog​, @br0ck-eddie​, @of-love-and-of-the-sea​, @evelynshelby​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @sopxhiea​, @fuseburner​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @fandom--0verdose​ (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

Warning: mainly angst but got fluff at the end.

"Y/n, I'm home. You've no idea what a day I've had." Ron's voice was heard loud and clear throughout the whole house that was usually quiet. Whenever it neared the time where Ron was about to get home, y/n would always get things started for dinner. Ron would probably have to head out again to go to the club while her work tired her out so that she could never wait for him. Dinner was the only time when they could enjoy each other with no rush or time pressure and since they got together they quickly learned to take advantage of that.

"Ron? What are you doing here?" Y/n's voice came from the sitting room where Ron found her. She looked confused, or rather startled. Like she was abruptly snapped out of a daydream. He knew she did that a lot.

"What do you mean, what am are you doing here? You invited me over for dinner, last week." Hanging his coat he looked to see her shaking her head.

"Oh dear, I'm so terribly sorry Ronnie but I'm afraid I completely forgot."

"'s okay," he mumbled taking a seat on his chair. Something was off, Ron could tell, even he couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. "Are you alright?" he asked her lighting a cigar.

"Of course, sweetie. Well, get yourself comfortable while I go and put something together for dinner."She offered and stood up to do exactly what she said. "Would you like a cup of tea, while you wait?" Her voice called for him from the kitchen after a while.

"Sure," he spoke out. However, there was no need because y/n was walking his way with a cup in her hands before he had finished talking.

"Here you go," she softly smiled at him after having sat down the cup on the table in front of him. Ron looked at the cup first, took it in his hands to inspect it and then moved his eyes over her. Y/n was already walking back into the kitchen, completely clueless. If before this Ron wasn't sure what was going on, this had proved that there was definitely something wrong.

"Honey..." he called for her while joining her in the kitchen so he could show her the water-filled cup.

"Yes?"

"There's only water in here," and to back up his statement he lifted the cup under her eyes.

"Oh goodness. I forgot to put the tea in it," her eyes widened at her mistake, her cheeks red with embarrassment, "I'm so so sorry, I've my head in the clouds today." She emptied the cup and put the kettle on to make tea. Before Ron could inquire about her strange behaviour, the phone rang and when she made no inclination to answer it, he did.

"Hello?" Annoyed for the interruption, he growled at whoever had called.

"Ron? Is that you mate?" Hearing his twin's voice made Ron furrow his eyebrows in confusion. He had just dropped him off, what could he possibly want now?

"Of course it is, who else would it be at y/n's home?" but Reggie completely ignored his brother's jealousy.

"What d'you called for?"

"Oh right, I called to check in on y/n. How is she?"

"Since when do you check up on my girl, mate?" If the fact alone that his brother was calling just after he had left him hadn't upset Ron enough when Reggie mentioned y/n, he really got angry.

"Would you stop being a dick, mate? Frances told me the news so I called. Y/n's family." Ron couldn't see him but he knew that Reggie was probably rolling his eyes at him and his behaviour. He couldn't care less though.

"What news?" This new piece of information made Ron push his anger aside for a moment. Apparently, his girl was keeping something from him.

"So she hasn't told you then?"

"No, but I figured that something was up. She's a mess, forgot that I was coming over and stuff," he mentioned to his twin to demonstrate that yes, he wasn't completely clueless.

"Yeah well, it would have upset me too. A lot actually, so be nice to her, alright?"

"I don't need to be reminded of being nice with my girl." Hearing his twin growl Reggie knew that his time had run short so he got straight to the point.

"Just don't be a dick like you usually are. I'll talk to you soon, bye Ron." The line went dead and Ron was stood there, phone in hand, head a mess.

Between the two, Ron was the one who was always quiet, he would only speak if he needed to. Or if he had something to say. Y/n was more chatty, granted she enjoyed her quiet time too otherwise Ron didn't think they'd work well together but she also came always to him whenever something was wrong. The fact that she hadn't and was acting weird, made Ronnie realise that this news had upset her a great deal.

Putting the phone down, Ronnie adjusted his glasses while he went looking for Y/n. Her house wasn't that big so Ronnie didn't think it such a hard task like it was proving to be. Where could she have gone? His call with Reggie had lasted a minute long, at most. Where could she have hidden in such a short amount of time? Calling out her name didn't help either so there was only a place she could be, Ronnie realized as he neared the ladder that led to the attic.

The squeaking of the wood and Ron's groans as he climbed and tried to fit his broad shoulders through the narrow opening were more than enough to alert y/n of his presence. However, as Ron spotted her near the window, she didn't move nor even flinched a little. Straightening his shirt, Ron walked up to her to join her in the sightseeing she was doing. Not that there were much to stare outside of the window but Ron knew from experience that looking at the lined up rooftops in the distance had a somewhat calming effect.

One of the other things that Ron and y/n had in common was that neither of them liked useless words. What was the point of saying things that one knew were ineffective just so that they could fill the silence? There was nothing wrong with being quiet. They both agree on that. And so, words of courtesy were never used between them when the other was feeling low for whatever reason. They simply stood by the other, letting them know that they were there and that whenever they were ready to speak, if they wanted to, they'd be all ears. So that's what Ron did.

Y/n had never told him but she had always found his presence comforting. He had something about him, maybe that stoic composed look he was always sporting did the trick. Y/n didn't really care for pointing out why it was, she just knew that he did and was very grateful for having him in her life. Resting her head on his arms, since she was too short to reach his shoulder, y/n tried to let her gratefulness slip to him. As his hand held her, y/n sighed knowing that she had to talk. Clumming up was a tendency she had, a rather toxic one and she had made a promise to herself to try and avoid it.

"I got bad news," she started quietly and continued when Ron grunted in support, "I... my mum is sick, Ron." y/n felt her throat constrict as she let the words out of her mouth. Feeling Ron's grip on her hand helped a little, but he knew that it was not nearly enough. y/n's relationship with her mother was really similar to the one Ron had with his. So he could perfectly understand what she was feeling and actually thought that she was handling it a lot better than he would.

"What did the doctor say?"

"They said she had cancer," only the word brought tears to her eyes, sniffling she pushed them back, " they don't know how serious it is but I mean it's cancer so it must be pretty serious right?" Now y/n turned to look at him, maybe she was hoping to hear him disagree with her, to assure her that it didn't necessarily mean that it was serious. But Ron couldn't know for sure, who the hell would he know, he was a schizophrenic gangster after all, he knew nothing about these things. What Ron could do though was offer some kind of comfort, a shoulder for her to cry on, gentle caresses and affection.

As everybody in London would say, he wasn't the affectionate type. If there was another thing that Ron loved more than silence was his personal space. However, contrary to popular belief and despite his mental problems, Ron wasn't incapable of love. Maybe the fact that he saw the world in a different way and the fact that he was a lot more sensitive than the average man, was what gives him the intel about love. y/n had never complained about this side of their relationship. Ron had a way to make very clear his emotions and feelings, even without using any words. She never felt dubious about his feelings for her for that very reason but also because whenever she would doubt herself or go through a hard time, Ron would always come through and face it all with her.

Meeting her eyes, Ron gently took her cheeks in his hands. Seeing the look of absolute despair and sadness, watching the tears that she failed to prevent from falling staining her beautiful face, he felt words failing him. What could he say to make her feel better? Absolute nothing, he knew. So he didn't bother.  He gave her a soft peck and engulfed her in his arms in one of his rare bear hugs that y/n was always yearning for. The intimacy of this gesture was what made her break, though. Hugging him close to her, y/n couldn't stop herself from crying anymore.

The only thing that Ron whispered to her was that there was still hope, there was still a possibility that it wasn't that bad until the doctors didn't tell them otherwise. Maybe giving her hope wasn't the best thing to do but he felt like he had to remind her of this possibility. The warmth of his body and his gentle hands on her, after a while, succeeded in calming her. Pulling back a little so that he could look at her face, Ron saw that her tears had stopped too. Still with a soft voice, he offered to draw her a nice bath, he was even willing to join her if she wanted him too. His eyes softened when he saw a little smile tugging at her lips and felt incredibly proud of himself for that. Looking at her now, he realized that this is the only thing that he could do to help here: give her comfort.

[theworstjedi]

Backalley Medicine.

The heavy smell of blaster fire settled on the back of Friyr’s throat, making him cough. He was bleeding. He could smell the rusty smell under the sting of laser cauterized flesh.

He kicked the blaster he dropped away from the security officer’s prone body. He’d pistol whipped a good-sized concussion into her, but he didn’t want her to start blasting again when she came to.

Friyr’s fingers shook as he pulled a burner holo from inside his robes. The pads of his fingers fed him too many details about the way the cheap plas felt weird against his skin. The seams of where it had been melted togther bothered him at the best of times, but his mind was racing through sensory input at miles a minute, as though the fight was still happening. Unable to slow down.

“Sudas,” he mumbled as he punched in the frequency by muscle memory.

The buttons were stiff and slow, and the Jedi cursed again before he got the number right. It rang in a tinsly tone once before the holo flared to life. The light flare made Friyr’s head dance with pressure points.

“I need a doctor or something,” he said without wating for a greeting. “Some contact I was talkin’ to drank somethin’ spiked an’ attacked me. She needs to live.”

“Where are you?” the staticky figure asked.

“I need her to live-- uhhhh-- Sudas.” He  pressed the inside of his wrist to his forehead. He knew it popped him out of frame, but the cool pressure relieved the tension building inside of his head. Kark sighted people.“--Where am I?” He exhaled. “Red-- Red Light. Red Light District. ‘M in the Howlin’ Gauntlet slums.”

“You’re in luck. There’s a clinic on Boonta and one-fifteenth.”

“That’s-- That’s cross the way. Thanks.”

“Force be with you, Knight Illust--”

Friyr punched the disconnect key.

____

Zentra’s body was heavy. She was slipping. His arms were insufficiently skinny and his chest was narrow. Illustratum was built for running from one moment to the next. He wizzed away before life’s teeth caught up at him. He wasn’t durable, and he was woefully aware of this as Zentra’s body weighed the Jedi to the empty street pavement. He stumbled forward blindly, darting into the street before his arms could fully fail and running across it with the recycled wind in his ears.

The metal-pave of the other side caught his sandal, a droid screamed behind him, and the world tipped. Friyr’s heart fell into his mouth as the moment slowed itself amidst the panic. His arm holding Zentra’s legs had stretched out as though to stop the ground rushing up. They both lurched to a stop mid motion as the Force’s arms caught them both midtumble and lowered them both down to the metal ground.

Cold. Scuffed. It did bad things to his skin that cold sweat didn’t allieviate, but Friyr didn’t linger. Had to move on. Had to move on. He was vaguely aware of being on his knees (haha) and unthinkingly was digging his hands into Zentra’s arm pits and dragging backward aimlessly. His need to keep moving quenched the terror of being blind and lost in a world so many used their eyes to navigate.

“More to the right, Jedi.”

Friyr’s shoulders relaxed as the grumbly layers of Zentra’s wan voice flushed into the air. He didn’t allow himself to stop, but he did pause as she stirred. Grunting to pick herself up witha few choice Huttese words.

“I hate to say it, but I’m glad they didn’t get you. Where-- where did they go?”

Instead of answering, Friyr lifted under her pits until the weight of her rose. She stumbled against him, grasping for purchase on his arms. His breath staggered for a second, but Friyr stayed steady.

“That might be a liddle bit better.”

She sagged against his shoulder groaning and cracking the pain in his chest open with a fresh mallet. But she was here, and something frantic inside of Friyr’s chest settled with a finality. The body he held, the Force murmured, was a corpse already. The Force lingered. Over her, like a buzzard and in other people who saw them.

People didn’t spare the two a second glance. And Friyr - who was used to wide berths normally - could feel the tension of their repulsion to death and violence pricking at him. They emptied several blocks. “We’re goin’ to the clinic on Boonta. Tell me where to go. You c’n pull my clothes in a certain direction if you can’t talk. It’ll be slow, but I’ll eventually figure you out.”

Her hair tickled his cheek as she nodded. “Okay, Jedi. You’re facing the right way.”

She walked, both of them clinging to each other the way they were clinging onto life. Zentra was slower than he was. For every two steps his heels scuffed into the metal, she took one and a half. They ambled, like a  two headed akk. Their pulse was too slow. The lukewarm stale air around them was growing too cold. But Friyr was determined.

“Where are they?” she asked again.

“Where’re who?” Friyr asked as calmly as he could between clipped breaths.

“There were monsters, and I couldn’t see you anymore, and one of them-- lunged at me.”

Friyr winced as Zentra’s body shuddered. He wanted to tell her the monsters were dead. Sheilding her from the processing of her own horror the way one might shield a child. But Zentra was no child, and he needed her sharp.

“You had a bad trip,” Friyr said with a  heavy heart. “The water bottles’re spiked with whatever made the other two shooters go crazy.”

Zentra let loose a string of profanities. “Aren’t you a Jedi? Can’t you feel that stuff?”

“I-- The Force didn’ tell me until you’d already-- I think this is how the Force meant to show me.”

“You’re so bad at your job, the Force needed me to-- Kark. You remember what happened to those other people? The drug bleeds them, Illustratum. It bleeds them.”

Friyr remembered. He nodded silently.

“And you’re just okay with that?”

Friyr responded shakily. “Me personal? I don’ know what ‘m okay with. I trust in the Force and--if she’s takin’ you back,” he sighed a hot dry breath. “then its your time, Zentra. Not a thing I c’n do to stop it. But I need to know what you know, we can stop other people from..."

There was only the scuff of their boots for a few precious seconds on the metal.

“We’re almost there,” Zentra said softly.

Her voice below his ear was meek and he could smell the traces of stim coating the air. Hospitals smelled clean, but there was nothing more pungent than the shacks that took in bodies on Nar Shaddaa. Friyr had to fight down bile to stop his stomach from rolling.

“Jedi?” she asked, turning Friyr’s thoughts from morbidity.

“Mmn.”

“If you end up in a story, make my part a good one. I took down two gangsters and a Hutt ‘fore I went down. Real blaze of glory stuff.”

Friyr laughed shakily. The sound escaping his lips dislodged something in his throat, making his face flush hot and his brain shut off in a doorway that smelled recklessly chemical. He scrubbed at his cheek with a sleeve to wipe away any tears, but his face was dry.

“Hey! We need help!” he shouted into the darkness. The rest of Nar Shaddaa soundlessly shouted the same words back through the Force

___

“Kark, you wanna scare everyone else in here more or what? Think you’re the only one who’s having a bad night?” the doctor had said, then had shoved his body into a bed and something up his arm.

And Zentra-- Zentra was somewhere to his right. This had been both a relief and a torment once the Force around her started to sound like death.

“You must be pretty jumped up, guy. The amount of pain killers you’re on should’ve put you under an hour ago,” she sounded like she was talking through a wall. The world was-- a radio out of tune.

“No, I feel ‘em,” Friyr responded delayed. “I just-- when did she die?”

“She’s stable,” the doctor who had told him to shut up when he came in, sounded tired now. “Remember? Your girlfriend’s stable, and you were shot in the chest four times. You need to save your strength worrying.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” She had been investigating the murders with him and would’ve hated any insinuation she and Friyr had known each other tangibly. “You’re a bad doctor,” Friyr mumbled.

The Force ate at the edge of his soundscape, pressing his broken cheek against the pillow.

“I’m a bad Jedi,” Friyr mumbled even more quietly.

“Why is everyone in the slums half-crazy before they get here?” the doctor muttered. “Even the Jedi’re loony.”

Somewhere in Friyr’s tired brain, he new she would’ve dismissed him had he not the robes and lightsabers to proove it... He was.... fading... to the hum of...... narcotics......... slugging through his veins. He could almost.................................... see them if he tried. But he...... could still hear...................................................................... Zentra’s song............................................................................................................ fading. Faster than he ..........................................................................................................did.

...........................................................................................................................

“What the fuck is going on?” The doctor sounded urgent.

............................................................. “Hemorraging? .......Impossible......she.. stable! She was just stable. I need twenty mils of..............”

Zentra sounded wet, and the air was rusty, like the inside of a body without the body smell. ....... Friyr’s brain at delay supplied that a ‘hemorrage’ was a lot of blood. ............... He bet Sahley could’ve told him.......................

“We can use her parts for someone else....”

...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Why were hospitals always cold when you woke up? Not that he was complaining. Air against his bare skin had always steadied him. Friyr couldn’t feel his fingers, but he could flex them. The short nails scraped into his palm jaggedly. Ah, well. There went his acrylics. They had cost a lot. Friyr idly wondered how much Zentra must’ve cost on the black market without stopping to think where he’d learned the knowledge that she was to be recycled.

The air smelled like every cheap cleaner in the world and like security agent insides. He should know, he used that brand and Zentra had died on his watch.

He bent his arm. Much like getting stiff doll limbs to marrionette, Friyr’s body responded jerkily. The needle in his arm was tight. Frankly, the mental numbness just meant the traumatic parts had passed; he could work again for a little before it caught back up to him.

He paused. Realizing for a second that he hadn’t been bare when he came in. His fingers came up to touch his chest. Instad of skin, gauze snagged at his finger pads in that skin-crawlingly rough texture. It took all of Friyr’s willpower not to yank them off. As if on response, his chest ached deeply. Sudas, he felt pulverized.

“At least the guys’ll find the scars hot when you get back out there.”

Friyr’s head snapped to the sound of a familiar Core Wolder voice to his left, and his chest ow.

"What’re you doin’ here?” the Jedi whimpered despite himself.

“Why’d you think HQ sent you here? I’m apparently an organ harvester lookin’ to make a clean run, Investigator Illustratum.”

Friyr frowned at the allusion to their mutual disingenuity and shushed.

“It’s fine, everyone’s gone. You and your contact were the last of the night. The doctor went to clear her head.... Who did that to you?”

Friyr tilted his head grimly to the right where--- Zentra had been and the smell of her citrus cleaner blood remained.

The undercover Republic plant whistled. “No kidding? Your contact ambushed you? We really need to vet these psychos properly. I thought she was just Cartel.”

“She... was.” Friyr puased, loathe to try and unpack how wrong the past-tense sounded. His tongue dragged agaisnt his dry lips instead. “She drank something that drove her up the wall--” Friyr tried to gesture with an arm, but they wouldn’t lift without a fresh nauseating roll of pain.

Ah. Reality. Welcome back.

A warm hand rested on his forearm. “Take it easy.”

Friyr shook his head without thinking. “I have work to do.” A fearful sweat popped into existence along the craig of his skinny shoulder bones. “I hate hospital beds. You know that. And--?” Friyr wore at the sheets beneath him with his broken nails. They were the kind of soft that only threadbare brought.

“And--?”

“There’s a guy who died from Howlin’ Gauntlet a little while back. Outside of territory. He was stabbed, but a sniper got him or somethin’.”

“Ah-- heard about that one. There was no holovid feed of it happening or something? All the cameras had been taken offline. It was probably just some gang killing, honestly. Everyone’s got a slicer these days. Probably some guys looking to digitally flex a little on the Gauntlet.”

Friyr shook his head at the expense of another nauseated roll. “I think-- I think it’s connected. Too much is goin’ on with that sector. I gotta rule it out myself.”

The other agent exhaled, and there was a few beats of silence before his clothing rustled. Friyr listened to the other man tap tap tap. A digital chime of confirmation. “I can get the body here for you to do your uhh-- thing. One of our guys’ll move it. Pretend it’s a part scrap or something.” Friyr winged at the phrasing. “Do you need help with it?”

“I don’ think I can stand by myself.”

“I’ll help you piss, then we can do your space magic. But first--” The agent began fiddling with something that pulled at the line in Friyr’s arm. The tugging sensation made him curl a lip. There was a pressurized hiss and the fiddling stopped.

“Goody!” Friyr rasped in a highly disaffected manner. Perhaps the first time in a while he hadn’t been enthused about another man talking about his dick. “Also uh-- start puttin’ recalls or warnings out about the bottled water or something.”

“Bottled water? Why?”

“It’s what she drank.”

“Force. Okay. I can tell field agents, but we can’t go public with this.”

“But--”

“None of that Jedi talk about morals,” the agent cut Friyr off. “If you expose the lead, the guy’ll know he’s been fingered. You should lay low for a while.”

The fight left Friyr’s body. His neck rolled back onto the pillow. His veins were warm and tingly. “I hate that,” was all he managed to say beneath the outrage stuck in his throat. Partially for the dead people he’d met this morning, for Zentra, and for every person on Nar Shaddaa looking for a way off of it. ... Partly because he realized that pressurized hiss had been the SIS agent dosing him with more pain meds.Then sleep collapsed onto his small abused body like a ton of bricks in that ramshackle slum clinic.

[shametheshadow]

It's been a while. A lot of shit's been going on since I was last kinda active. Sorry, I dont remember how to hide this under a read more line... feel free to scroll past if you arent in the mood for existential whinging. I got a new job and it's pleasant. The people are nice. It's still food, but it's at a fancy restaurant where the management actually cares and tries to keep their crew happy. The hours could be better and I'm currently sick of salads with how many I've made. They give hours based on reliability and if you're a hard worker who is nice to work with. But like... everybody is nice and hard working so it's hard to just muscle in sometimes. But on the positive side I've dropped ten pounds, probably thanks to how light my wallet is. Had an issue with my little brother. Well, there's been an unspoken issue for years that I've been trying to just give him space on, but it finally came to a head. I called him out and he said some pretty hurtful things. I saw him on Christmas, but it wasnt the same. I think it kind of damaged something between us, or at the very least it certainly has me. I think, as people, we build these pillars of absolute truths into our identities. The things we know without a doubt, that we can rely on to stay true even when things are bad. Like, that the sky is blue or that a parent we have will always love us. When those truths are shaken they really make you wonder what else could be wrong or if there was ever any truth in it to begin with. For me, no matter how bad I felt or hated myself, I knew I could be a good sister. I'd throw myself down for it. I have done so, unfortunately, many times before. We all see the world a little differently, so my truth may not be the truth someone else sees. I dont know whether that makes it any better, but I certainly feel unsure about more things now than I used to. Some days I even feel like giving up on our relationship. I'm just too tired, too worn down, and I don't think I can handle being called a failure again. Which sucks, because I dont really want to. I just want to know how to fix it, even though I'm not sure I have any more energy to try again if it's just going to lead to another failure. And on top of all of that my bio dad and all those siblings are tasting the bitter consequences of their actions. My youngest sister got taken away from her parents because instead of breaking up and being adults about it they have to be petty and cowardly. One has unchecked anger issues mixed with plenty of excuses and the other thinks she's owed some sort of respect despite her immature actions. Thing is, I've had plenty of talks with my bio dad about the effects their toxic relationship have on his 6 year old daughter. He knows. He isnt stupid or blind. He'd just rather keep it going despite everyone's unhappiness and dig a deeper hole so he doesn't have to risk losing custody of his daughter if they break up. And here we are now. With his daughter taken away and given to our 21 year old sister who doesn't have a clue. And they've failed to regain custody once already. And you know the fucking hilariously tragic part of it? Me and my sister Des are the only two without some sort of record so nobody else in the family can help. Just a fucking warning for any teens out there who think being a gangster is cool, life always has consequence. Doing drugs, selling pills, pimping, stealing cars, assault, having unregistered weapons... my family has probably done just about anything. Apparently my bio dad's stepfather even threatened to shoot my grandma once. There's an argument to made about the environment they all grew up in, but I really wish people would just have the self awareness to realize that things will always find a way to bite you in the ass and it's it big enough then it'll get the people around you too. I normally get my sister on weekends, but I need to work Saturdays as a requirement for my employment. I try to cut it short so I can be there when they drop her off, but half the time they dont and send her somewhere she isnt supposed to go. I'm risking my job trying to be there when I'm needed, just for them to change their mind at the last second because I wasnt home soon enough. They'd rather risk losing our sister to the system by breaking the rules. CPS doesn't play around. I've had to tell them two or three times that I couldn't take our sister because I was sick or dealing with some really stressful family stuff that Koral didnt need to be there to see. Every time I feel like the punishment is that they stop letting me see her by not bringing her over anymore. Then out of the blue they call on a weekday and ask if I can take her because she has a day off or something. I have never once said no but every time it sends me into an anxiety attack because I can't handle being kept in the dark until they need me. It's got me so worked up that sometimes I genuinely wish I had never been told my dad wasnt my real dad. Of course, I know that by knowing I can help a little girl who needs help, but I wont lie and say that I never wished I didn't have time deal with any of it. I got the news today that my bio dad is in trouble for something else, though they wouldn't say what. So they arent going to give him custody until that's settled at the very least. Shortly into it my sister had asked me to take over the guardianship. I was so out of the loop that I thought the question was absurd. I thought they'd pull it together and get her back in a short time, so what would the point of moving her to another town and school be? How would I go about that? What would the home requirements be? Would I be able to provide for the both of us? I wouldn't be able to leave work until 4 at the earliest shift, so would after school stuff be best or daycare? There's so much that goes into taking care of a kid to just spring that question onto someone. Now it's been four or five months and I'm hating the idea that she's stuck there in the middle of it all more and more. People keep telling me I should take her. Even my manager after I broke down and told him everything after my sister's call left me a mess at work, said that I would be the better option. I know what it's like to be fought over in custody battles and I understand way too well the fear of being taken away from your home as well as what it's like to change schools. I dont want that for Koral. I dont even know if I would be the better option. I talked to my cousin, whom I live with, about it for a while last night and she said she wouldn't be opposed to having Koral with us... but I feel bad making this her issue too. I want what is best for my sister. She's way too smart. You know when unqualified pet owners get a dog breed that is really smart and they struggle to meet the needs to keep it entertained so it just makes trouble? That is what my sister is like. My family has their strengths, but Koral is 6 and could run circles both physically and mentally around them. It might be "funny" now, but Lansing itself is a shitty influence on people and by the time she's a teenager and wants to go to a party, nothing is going to keep her from getting out short of bars on the windows and doors. The only thing stopping her from doing it now is motive. But would I do any better? I genuinely dont know. I wish I could talk to my brother about it. He knows where I come from and, even if he thinks I failed, he could at least tell me how to be better so I dont fuck up again for a little girl who is in a situation similar to one we were in. I asked Des today if she wanted to talk to their case worker about transfering guardianship. She said she's have to talk to her dad... which is bullshit. He lost the right to dictate where Koral goes when he fucked up. How is he supposed to be motivated to fix this if the only thing that has changed is that she doesn't sleep in her bedroom anymore? He shouldn't see her when he wants to or be able to say what happens to her. And I dont say that because I think he shouldn't ever be able to, because I want him to step it up, I just feel like he wont if things keep going as they are. I dont want to lose my sister to the system. Supposedly the social worker said that Koral also has to stay in the same school and can't see anyone not on the already approved list of people for the sake of consistency... but that's stupid. I know that changing schools can be traumatizing, and if Lansing was a good place to live and raise a kid, then maybe I'd try to make that work, but it isnt. So it makes me wonder that if I came to the table with a clearly stable, appealing plan would they change their minds? If it were my choice, I'd have her in therapy to help deal with everything, maybe a sport like gymnastics or whatever else she might be interested in to keep her engaged. I'm planning a kids d&d session for her and another kiddo that she plays with when she's here because last time she found my monster manual and got obsessed. And I know it wont be all good. She's a handful and a brat, and she can be a force of nature when she doesn't get her way, but I've been an older sister since I was five and my family didnt out up with bratty behavior. I know how to deal with it, and I also know how to use the internet and other resources to learn. Hell, I live with a child therapist/youth minister. I know I could do it. Even if it ended up being a permanent thing. I'm torn between the fear of not being enough at the expense of my sister's wellbeing and knowing that I'd gladly twist myself into a pretzel to try and do right. But when it comes to other people, especially a kid, is trying enough? Good intentions don't equal a quality of living. So yeah, that's where I am right now. Trying to be better and figure out who I am while also being incredibly stressed out and lost. If you read through this, thank you for listening to this TED talk. I'm open to advice.

[gray-anxiety]

No Sympathy → Levi Ackerman Chapter 6  → Shopping

Read the rest of the chapters here!

This is a FILLER chapter — it isn’t necessary for the story, but gives a better look at the relationship blooming between the characters. I have other fillers planned in the future as well just to explain some background, etc. This has happened AFTER the last chapter and BEFORE the next.

   Aella couldn’t care less about skipping school — she already had managed to talk to the teachers via email about a ‘family emergency’ that had come up and had to skip school for a day. Levi, on the other hand, couldn’t have given any shits about making up any excuses about skipping a whole school day — he just flat out skipped. The flaking duo woke up that Thursday morning without leaving for school like normal; even Aella slept in until 7 instead of waking up at 5 like normal — giving Levi all the time he wanted to clean the apartment. Aella’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the light that was pouring in from the window over her head — enjoying sleeping in like it was a Saturday. Aella rolled out of bed and strolled to her closet to change — while she adored lounging around in whatever she wore to bed the previous night, she had to change to go shopping with Levi at 10. Aella grabbed her phone off the charger and walked out of her room to see Levi already making breakfast — he insisted on always making it since Aella would always ignore directions and create dishes with her own twist. Levi nodded his head at Aella and grabbed the toasted waffles out of the old toaster and threw them on their separate plates. Aella tasked herself with making tea as she was extremely possessive of her tea cabinet — yes, tea cabinet. Surprisingly enough, the roommates figured out a morning routine fairly quickly and forced the other to do it even if they didn’t want to. Levi set down the plates the same time Aella set down the tea and glared at each other; knowing that their little race resulted in a damned tie.

   “So, we need outfits for the party, and I was thinking that we could get lunch and shop around? Is that alright with you?” Aella asked, trying to make their shopping trip somewhat organized and planned. Levi nodded and sipped some of his tea.

   “Yeah, that’s fine. I need to get a new bandana; I can’t stitch this one anymore.” Aella nodded. She was still nervous about the party — she hadn’t been to one since before she was left to rot. She didn’t have any friends anymore, well, except for Levi that is, and to top it all off, she couldn’t even get drunk or high at the party!  Aella sighed through her nose — this was going to be a pain in her ass. Eventually, the two headed out, Levi begrudgingly agreeing to taking the train to the shopping district in Maria, but only if he wore his bandana. Aella and Levi both knew he looked unbelievably shady — leaving Aella to come up with an idea to protect Levi’s identity without looking shady.

   “Hey. Levi?” Levi’s eyes slid over to where Aella was walking next to him. He grunted in response, letting Aella know she had his attention.

   “Why don’t we get you something like a scarf or a cravat? Maybe one of those fabric versions of those masks that people wear when they’re sick? If I wasn’t here with you right now, you’d be looking so shady that people would kick you out. You don’t want to blow your cover, no?” Levi nodded his head in acknowledgment knowing Aella was right. Even though Maria was the shadiest place to be in all of the triune cities, there was an unspoken rule between the gangsters here that you never covered your face unless you wanted to commit a crime — which, yes, most did, but the guards in the shopping district were from the city of Rose itself — the lowest crime-ridden city in the country with one of the highest police and military activity ever. To summarize it, the crime rate in Maria’s shopping district was the lowest of them all. Low crime rate leads to spending more money on making the shopping centers and malls seem pristine and clean versus the dirty grimy streets in the rest of Maria. The two passed by numerous shops, but stopped at a popular store for all customers — Terra Pine; a clothes store with low priced current trending clothing even inspired by the clothes in Sina itself. Aella dragged Levi to the scarf section and made him pick out a scarf that could easily be pulled over his mouth and nose, but functioned as a lightweight loose scarf that could easily pass as a necklace if folded correctly. Levi pulled Aella to the men’s section to help him pick out a hoodie and any accessories that could help him stay hidden; Levi had to remain as hidden as possible at that party if there truly were going to be mafia members in attendance — they might recognize him from numerous mafia dealings. Aella quickly bolted to the genderfluid section to pick out any outfit that stood out to her and eventually landed on a casual skater outfit.

   “Let’s go,” Aella mumbled to Levi so he could pay for everything since he insisted he actually had money to waste (he was a damned mafia boss, of course he had money to waste!). Levi handed Aella the bag full of her stuff and walked to the nearest pretzel maker popup shop and ordered pretzel bites.

   “Lunch; which is better than school lunch,” Levi mumbled, handing Aella a cup of pretzel bites. Aella nodded in agreement and walked to the nearest table in the mall — sitting down so she didn’t piss off Levi by making any mess whatsoever. Levi looked over at the art supply store and back to Aella.

   “I noticed you were almost out of every single art supply you owned.” Aella looked up and nodded, swallowing her last pretzel bite before replying:

   “Yeah, I’ve been saving up for almost two months for new ones, but they were so expensive I eventually gave up on trying to buy anything aside from paper.” Aella sighed — even paper was expensive these days. The economy, though while very successful, kept jacking up prices the more money paid to employees; making it extremely difficult for those in poverty to get back up again. Levi handed Aella two hundred dollar bills and tilted his head in the direction of the store.

   “I know your life for the past two years was just focused on work and trying not to fail school. Go buy some shit and actually use it since you don’t have to voluntarily work overtime all weekend now.” Aella knew Levi saw all of her art in his room — he must’ve known it was her only escape since she couldn’t even afford any booze or drugs either. Aella whispered out a ‘thank you’ and walked over to the store — buying everything from paper, pencils, and paints to erasers, brushes, and markers. Levi stood by the entrance as soon as Aella walked out with two paper bags full of art supplies — Aella was actually grinning from glee for once. Levi was determined to give Aella an escape for when things were too much — just like what Farlan did for Levi when they lived in the slums. Farlan went out of his way to steal cleaning supplies for an unknowing Levi after seeing Levi only sleep, eat, kill, and try to clean with only a rag. Levi was pulled out of his trance when Aella grabbed his arm and pulled him to the exit of the mall.

   “Come on, we need to get on the next train. This place is unnerving.” Levi nodded in agreement, but his storm eyes looked over to a knife shop and looked back to Aella.

   “We need more weapons, Aella.” Aella’s eyebrows raised and gave Levi the look like he was crazy.

   “Levi! We won’t be able to leave if we have fucking knives on us!”

   “I entered the district just fine, thank you for your concern.” Aella’s jaw dropped.

    “Are you serious, Levi?” Levi nodded plainly and dragged an increasingly worried Aella to the knife shop. The shop itself was dark and smelled like smoke versus all the other shops that were white and clean. Levi walked further in until he was face to face with the manager in the middle of the shop — leaning against the checkout desk with glass encased blades up for sale.

   “What do you want?” The manager asked, smoking a cigarette while looking at the two other customers checking out blades. Levi huffed and slammed down one of his best blades at the checkout desk the manager manned.

   “You have exactly 5 of these knives in stock right now — I want all of them.” The manager’s brow raised in a silent question and brought his mouth closer to Levi’s ear.

     “Do you want throwing knives with those, Blade?” Levi nodded and slid the manager a 50 to keep quiet. Farlan would pay the actual expense with the rest of Levi’s money. The manager pulled the five blades out in individual flat boxes that barely encased each blade. The boxes were meant for hiding a purchase without taking the newly purchased blade out. The manager then slid Levi 7 throwing blades so thin they were see through. Levi nodded and put the purchase in Aella’s brown bags from the art supply store — walking out like nothing had just happened. Aella kept quiet and just kept carrying her stuff like normal; she didn’t mind blades — she only minded jail time if she was busted by Rose. Levi had gotten in the district without being checked like other civilians thanks to Farlan — even Aella wasn’t checked when she entered before Levi. When the two arrived at the train station, they walked past the lines of angry civilians begrudgingly being checked one by one for anything illegal by Rose security itself. Yes, Levi and Aella both received glares from checked civilians for the duo not having to go through the shit they just went through, but Levi couldn’t have given any shits whatsoever — life was unfair. Levi walked to the train behind Aella — allowing Aella to board before him. Just as he started to walk on the metal vehicle, a man walked past getting off the train — bumping into Levi’s shoulder harshly. Levi growled and turned around.

   “Watch it you fucking dumbass!” The other man turned around and flipped Levi off —  ‘wait a minute…’ Levi recognized the man. Green-blue eyes, messy brown hair, and a death wish of a will to fight anyone? Levi knew him alright. He was also a well-known ‘bad boy’ in Karanese High — Eren fucking Jaeger. Levi never knew the man aside from nods of hello down the halls whenever they saw each other out of respect for one another’s gang-affiliated past, but from what he heard of the man, he was worth recruiting when the time came.

   “Levi, come on, the train is about to leave.” Aella put her hand on Levi’s shoulder and lead him to two isolated seats. The party was in two days — Levi was finally going to get some answers.

[msbeccieboo]

Arrow 7x17 brain dump

So, this week’s episode was ok. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great. I had expected to not really be fussed by this week’s offering and as such wasn’t deeply disappointed. I really missed my Olicity babies in this episode though. The upside of the episode being a bit meh, is that this review didn’t take me 57 years to write, which whilst sick, was a bonus haha!!

Olicity

Olicity weren’t the focus of this episode, but we still managed to get some cute little moments and touches thrown in there. Felicity’s praise when Oliver came back to the lair looking like a prize fighter, was too cute! I love how smitten she still is with him even after all this time, and how bashful and blushing and gorgeous he gets in response is just 😍😍

Source: olicitygifs

We also got a lovely little comfort scene once Oliver realised that Emiko was in fact evil (shocker, I know). Felicity cupping Oliver’s face whilst stroking her baby belly was so damned adorable!!

Source: oliverxfelicity

Continued under the cut

Oliver

Oliver being so open and trusting and just happy to be training with Emiko was so lovely and so heartbreaking because you just knew she would let him down. He mentioned Thea (yay!) and said that she’d always wanted a sister 😭���� Why does this leave me feeling like Thea is gonna come back and try and kill Emiko??

I also loved seeing Oliver telling people the truth straight up, when asked how he knew about Emiko, listening to Dig’s advice (if not his wife’s) and just being an all-round hopeful bean!!  The growth he shows is amazing, it’s just a shame that his hope and faith in his sister didn’t pay off. He so badly wants to be in her life, to help her be good, and in turn redeem the Queen family name in her eyes. His line “If I abandon her now I’m no better than my father” just made me so sad. His parents were so important to him he wants them redeemed, so in turn it can redeem him too (not that he needs it). I don’t think he does, or will, find out just how much of a shitty Dad Robert was to Emiko, which is a shame, as I think it would give him some peace that some things just cannot be redeemed and that it isn’t a reflection on him. He had such faith in Emiko being good, he still didn’t think of her at first when he found the signal jammer in the lair. Even now I think he will continue trying to bring her back, despite Dig’s advice and reminder that sometimes evil siblings are just evil siblings 😂 I hope this isn’t foreshadowing Oliver having to kill Emiko like Dig did with Andy?

Bonus: Oliver shooting all the drones was so damn hot 🔥🔥

Source: legends-of-today

Felicity

Our girl didn’t have a huge role this week, but what we did get was fabulous! Felicity’s little pep talk to herself at the beginning of the episode about having it all was too adorable for words! 

Source: felicitysmoakgifs

We got to see the beginnings of Smoak Technologies, along with the first name drop of the company I think? I love that she brought Alena in to be CTO, she gets to have a friend in her company that won’t try and mansplain everything to her at last!! Alena’s reaction is all of us!

Source: felicitysmoakgifs

It was so nice to see her back as Overwatch on the comms, and just generally people being back in the lair! We even got a couple of OTA moments! I loved her “computers will never replace people” line too!

Bonus: Felicity being cute in the lair gives me life!

Source: ebett

Emiko/Robert

This was really Emiko’s villain origin episode. We saw her as a child being evicted and abandoned by Robert, who yet again, proves to be the scum of the earth, and the true villain of the entire series. Upon overhearing that Robert was kicking them out of their home and would no longer support them, the only words of comfort he had for her were “Life isn’t fair, we don’t always get what we want”…Robert Queen was a prize dick!! His reasons for abandoning his family? Moira will take his company, money and kids if he doesn’t. GTFO you philandering old bastard, you made your bed…lie in it! Ugh he was the actual worst!

So as a penniless and possibly homeless 11 year old in Starling City, Emiko naturally turns to a life of crime in order to support her and her mother when she meets Dante. (For the record, I found the younger Emiko far more compelling to watch than the adult version 😬) Dante evidently enrols her into the Ninth Circle, who present her with a gift, as her final induction…the plans to blow up the Queen’s Gambit. She goes back to Robert with a business plan for a new subsidiary of Queen Consolidated, a chance to prove herself to her family and earn some money, and despite the solid plan, Robert wants nothing to do with it, telling her that QC is Oliver’s legacy and that she needs to remain a secret, before leaving her again for his trip on the Gambit. Crestfallen and angry, she doesn’t show him the plans and lets him leave to meet his fate.  The horrible irony here is that Emiko would have failed the Ninth Circle’s ‘test’ and saved Robert/Oliver/Sara, had Robert not been such a massive douchenozzle.

I like that they managed to link everything with Emiko back to the Gambit, and they did so without retconning. Malcolm still had the yacht sabotaged, but it looks like he did it via the Ninth Circle.  The big ‘twist’ we see at the end of the episode is that Emiko is now, in fact, the leader of the Ninth Circle, not Dante, and as such appears to be the season’s Big Bad. Part of me is like yaaaasss female Big Bad woohoo! But then the way it has come about has been lacklustre to say the least, and we weren’t given the time (or the writing) to get to like Emiko in order to actually care or feel the impact or shock value of her turning on Oliver. Instead we’re just all left feeling a bit meh.

Emiko still seems to have a soft spot for Rene (someone has to I guess) and with both of them being Oliver/Team Arrow traitors, they make a good fit 😜  We also found out that she still hasn’t found her mother’s killer. Maybe if Oliver could help her solve her mother’s murder and Rene keeps making eyes at her she will come back round to the good side??? Doubtful haha, but just a suggestion. The season’s theme is redemption after all!

Black Siren

Whilst Oliver is at home, preparing dinner for wifey (adorbs), he gets a visit from an injured Laurel, looking for Felicity. Instead, she tells Oliver about Emiko killing Diaz, and not being as squeaky clean as he thinks. This, as to be expected, leads to a confrontation between the two, which is interesting, because we all know that Laurel is telling the truth. When accused of having a blind spot for his family, Oliver hits back with “it’s called loyalty, I know that’s a concept you don’t totally understand”. Burn. Their scenes are so much better when they are open in their dislike for each other! Much as I have enjoyed Felicity and BS friendship this season, the petty bitch in me still laughs at Oliver’s clear disdain for her…he didn’t even help her with her wound, just gave her some supplies and left her to it 😂😂 He ‘helps’ her here purely for Felicity’s sake, which is lovely though!

Next, Dinah gets on her arse about doing things by the book, which ordinarily I would agree with, but Dinah is a vigilante herself! And although they are now sanctioned by the SCPD, Dinah has herself coerced witnesses, stolen evidence and violated the law in about a dozen other ways in her pursuit of justice.  This is the premise of the show people! The hypocrisy is real! BS is just a little further behind on her journey than Dinah. Dinah later accuses BS of killing the gangster guy (I wasn’t really paying attention to who he was), bringing up her killing Vinnie, which immediately gets her back up. BS says that she has earned the benefit of the doubt, which I agree with to an extent. Dinah then effectively washes her hands of her.

I can empathise with BS for trying to do the right thing, and not being believed/trusted by anyone. I think it was intentional to not see a scene with her and Felicity this week, so as to keep her feeling isolated, whereas Felicity would have believed/reassured her. Felicity even defended her in the bunker to Rene. The episode finishes up with Emiko ‘outing’ her to the press, and ‘setting her free’ to be evil again. This will all set up her apparent return to her evil roots next week. I think she will ultimately end up being redeemed. We know (I think we know?) she is leaving for good after next week’s episode, so hopefully she will go back off to Earth 2 or something like that to become Black Canary there, and she can take all her little comic book friends with her, and everyone will be happy!

Other stuff

The drone attack in this episode was a practice run. Is this sarin gas attack going to be the thing that brings down the city, and causes it to turn on Oliver and the team?

Was the episode synopsis written whilst on crack?? I know we all laughed a little bit when we first saw how it was worded, but after watching the episode it was literally nothing like what actually happened??

Why on earth did they bring in Highlander, just for him to end up being Emiko’s lackey?? It’s like Cayden James/Michael Emerson being usurped by Diaz all over again!

Source: arrowdaily

I miss the flash-forwards!! I need me some Mia/William/Felicity goodness now please!!!

Anyway thank you as always to the gifmakers. Fabulous work as ever! 💗

[ellebabywrites]

Judas Kiss 2 - Mark Lee

Type : Series // Angst // Fluff // Future Smut Gang!au

Warnings : Violence // Character Deaths // Cussing

Summary : There’s only one rule. You protect your own. None of you had chosen this life, but sticking together was the only way to survive it. When one of you dies and things start going wrong, the boy that saved you once on a whim, might be the only one who can keep you together.

Author Note : Here is the second chapter of Judas Kiss , I’m reeeally proud of it so please let me know what you guys think🥰

Wrong. It was much worse than Mark thought.

The journey back to base took a lot longer than usual because of your injuries, a sprained ankle and bruises from the fall made everything a challenge. This was perhaps the one time you weren’t so grateful for King’s paranoid real estate choices.

“How far is this place?” Mark asked after a while; the pair of you had just crossed over N.River and the lights from the city were starting to get smaller and smaller in the distance.

“It’s just through the tunnels, King’s big on privacy,” you tell him. You never understood why King was so adamant about having your base so far out of the way till Johnny died; most of the time it was a hassle coming in and out of the city, but now Bangtan were after you, it was a blessing.

“So...you’re w-with King’s crew?” Mark tried his best to keep his voice from wavering, but it failed, and why wouldn’t it? King is notorious in N.City as one of the founding families of crime; he’s known for being cold and ruthless, rarely showing mercy to his enemies and taking no prisoners when it comes to war. While that was all true, to you King was the kind generous man who saved your life and was as much a father figure as one could ask for. He had given you everything, he would die for you and you him.

“Yeah. Why? Scared?” you teased. It was always very amusing to you how scared everyone outside of the crew was of King, because you only ever saw him as the big cuddly teddy bear that read you books and taught you how to make pancakes.

Mark visibly straightened his posture and avoided your eyes, he didn’t want you to think he was weak, even if he was shit scared of King… or the rumours of him at least.

“Don’t worry,” you put your hand on his shoulder in reassurance but the bursts of electricity you feel at the contact makes you pull back almost immediately, “he’s not that scary.”

“Are you kidding!?” Mark blurted out, a little stronger than intended, “King’s the most well known gangster in the entire city! He basically built this place from the ground up! Just last week he killed a bunch of rebels from the Westside with his bare hands!” You let Mark go on his little rant about all the big bad things Kings’ supposedly done, knowing that soon enough his idea of this terrifying crime boss was going to be crushed.

With a chuckle you guide Mark through a maze of alleys and buildings, getting closer and closer to the tunnels that lead out of the city.

“What about you?” you ask hesitantly, “Who are you with?” Bringing Mark back was risky enough, let alone if he was part of another gang, you should have thought this through.

Mark looked over at you curiously, he’d never been involved in anything like this before, did you think he was?

“No one,” he answered, eyes turned downwards and walking a little closer to you, “I never get involved in this stuff, to be honest I kind of just keep to myself. School and video games is enough for me.” he laughs a little nervously, like he just realised the situation he was in.

“Are you serious?” you ask in bewilderment, mouth agape and eyes so wide it’s almost comical, “you’re not in a crew and you were hanging around in Bangtan’s territory? Do you have a death wish?” you almost shout out, making Mark giggle.

The conversation flowed between the two of you as if you’d been friends for years, not just drawn together that night by the threat of imminent death. 

“Okay, okay, so you’re not some new gangster working for GD’s crew…” 

“Nope,” Mark answers, watching you closely as you count more names off your fingers, questioning him.

“....and you’re not a Bangtan spy sent here to corrupt us?” you wiggle your eyebrows, knowing already that Mark was harmless.

“Absolutely not!” he answers, “and I think you’re the one doing the corrupting here, don’t you?” he teases, nudging your shoulder playfully. You like that Mark teases you, it reminds you of Johnny. It feels comfortable being with him, even in the dead of night wandering through these dangerous streets.

“Hmm, point made.” The pair of you share a few more giggles as you finally reach the tunnels that would lead to where the base was located.

“I’ve never been this far out of the city before,” Mark confesses, following you through the graffiti filled passage.

“We like being far away from everything, makes it easier,” you say with a shrug. As the pair of you keep on walking, you’re suddenly hit with a worrying thought, “um, Mark?”

“Yeah?”

You slow down your walking and turn to him seriously,

“Do you have anyone? Back in N.City I mean, a family or anyone waiting for you?” It was an awkward question, one you regret asking as soon as you see the expression on Mark’s face; but you didn’t want to have put anyone else in danger.

“No. It’s just me,” after that things are slightly more tense. Maybe it was just the fact the tunnels were only illuminated by one, half busted, green light in the center, creating a sinister vibe the entire way down. Up ahead you see the red flash of the CCTV camera Johnny had installed when you all first moved in, leading you to talk about what Mark should expect when you both get to base.

“You see that red light?” You point towards the faint blinking in the near distance..

“Yeah? What is it?” Mark asked, visibly relaxing at a change of subject.

“It’s a camera from the base, if the others are home they’ll see us coming,” you explain, waving up at the camera as the two of you got closer. 

“Others?” Mark questions. While it’s pretty obvious that there would be more than just King and you in the crew, he hadn’t actually considered the fact that he was walking in to a hub full of the most dangerous criminals in N.City.

Even under the less than flattering lighting, he could see the way your face immediately lit up at the mention of the ‘others’, he thought you were beautiful.

“Yeah there are 4 of us; Me, Ty, Rikky and King. Hopefully King won’t be there though or I am definitely dead,” Mark stopped and looked at you with wide and worried eyes, making you giggle again, “don’t worry scaredy cat, King won’t hurt you,” you reach out and pull him to walk with you again, “if anything, it’s Ty you should be worried about.”

“W-what!?” Mark croaked out. You thought it was cute how nervous he got about all this, it was a nice change of pace from the usual gang antics you and the others got up to.

By this point you were both comfortably walking together down the last stretch of tunnel, after reassuring Mark multiple times that you were only kidding about Ty; he seemed to have warmed up a lot to the idea of staying at base with you.

---

Outside of the tunnels were mainly just abandoned buildings, not as glamorous as most would assume for the mighty King’s home, at least not on the outside. The base was located inside an old fire station that was hidden amongst a bunch of other crumbling buildings, unless you really went digging around it would be difficult to find.

Once you bring him inside however, Mark’s mouth drops in awe. The inside of the base is completely different; with oak wood floors and refurbished walls, decorated with a million photos; momentos and decor - it’s rather homey he thinks.

It’s just one big room really, an open space with seemingly different areas for different people. At one side, there are two couches, covered in those plushies you win at carnivals, in front of a huge tv thats surrounded by video games and consoles; on the wall adjacent there’s a skateboard rack with 4 boards hanging down, 2 of which are cracked down the middle. On the other side of the room, off in the corner, there’s an old record player beside a crate full of vinyls and a pair of boxing gloves thrown haphazardly beside them. It looks like a frat boys hang out, if it wasn’t for the extensive collection of first edition books lining one of the walls that is. The kitchen is immaculate with marble countertops and modern furnishings, the refrigerator could fit at least two bodies in Mark thinks, as you show him around.

“Do you want anything to drink?” you ask him, opening the fridge to reveal bottles and bottles of various health juices, Mark raises his eyebrow in curiosity, “oh, those are Ty’s, he tried getting us all on a health kick a few months ago but luckily Johnny got him off the idea.”

There’s no one around but from the looks of things Mark is curious as to the kind of people that are supposedly in this notorious crime gang with you, but then again just from the look of you, no one would assume you were involved in this stuff either.

“No thanks, I’m good” he answers, “um Y/N, where is everyone?” Just as Mark asks the question, you both hear the sound of footsteps through the ceiling.

“You’re about to meet them,” you tell him, an apologetic look on your face that Mark doesn’t quite understand, not until a door to the right swings open and two men walk into the open space.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN Y/N!?” The larger guy shouts. He is tall and clearly built, muscles stretching the arms of his shirt; his face is unshaven and short hair is scruffy. He completely ignores Mark as he makes his way across the room, engulfing you in a suffocating hug. “Why the fuck would you go out alone right now are you crazy!?” he scolds you after releasing the hug, keeping his arms wrapped around your own to keep you close to him.

Meanwhile, the other guy makes his way over to Mark, sitting down next to him at the table, seemingly unphased by his presence. He was shorter than the first one, skinnier too; his dark brown hair falling into his face as he leaned over the counter to grab an apple.

“Hey,” is all he says, giving Mark a quick nod of acknowledgement before returning his focus back to you and the taller man (who was now squishing your cheeks between his hands), eating his apple like he was watching a show.

“Why are you so fucking reckless! Do you know how scared I was when I woke up and saw you were gone!? You know King is going to kill you right? I don’t even want to stop him this time because you deserve it for being so stupid!” The one holding you in his arms, flailing you around, was still scolding you.

“C’mon Ty, look she’s perfectly fine. She even brought back a friend!” the man beside him smirks at you and wraps his arm around Mark’s shoulders, trapping him in place and making Mark look at you with wide and worried eyes.

“Fuck off Rikky,” you yell, seeing how he was trying to stir the situation, knowing how protective Ty was over you, “Mark saved me, he needs to stay with us for a while,” you explain, not wanting to get into it too much before speaking with King, you hoped that was enough to deter your brothers from killing Mark. You say brothers; Ty and Rikky aren’t related, none of you are, but you’re all as good as family so they might as well be. 

They were polar opposites. Ty being the big strong marine who was a secret softy and doted on you like you were the most precious thing in existence; while Rikky took on more of the typical annoying older brother role, who had play fights with you when he lost at Mario Kart and loved winding you up. The two of them were like Tom and Jerry, always bickering but loved each other nonetheless.

The sudden mention of Mark makes Ty let you out of his grip and turn to him, protective big brother mode activated. “You saved her?” Ty questions accusingly.

“Uh, I-I mean I was just there, a-and she was uh,” Rikky couldn’t hold his laughter at Mark’s stuttering while Ty continued to move closer and closer.

He looked absolutely terrified.

“Okay guys that’s enough,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes at the pair of them and moving to pull Mark over towards you instead, “Yes he saved me. I was in trouble with Bangtan and he got me out of it and now they’re coming for him too. That’s why he’s here and that’s why I’m going to ask King to let him stay.”

Ty’s face once again morphs into one of concern and anger, “Why the FUCK were you in trouble with Bangtan!”

Luckily before Ty can unleash the full waves of hell upon you, Rikky steps in, “Okay cupcake calm down, like I said Y/N is fine!” Ty shoots daggers at him over the nickname but there’s not time to unpack all of that right now. Rikky leans in and offers Mark his hand, “Thanks for saving her, she may be a dumbass but we kind of need her.” Mark accepts, albeit a little hesitantly, before Rikky turns to Ty with a smug look on his face, subtly urging him to do the same.

“Thank you Mark,” he said. You could practically feel the nerves fall away from Mark as the other two men seemed to relax a little.

“Where is King?” you ask, taking a sip of the water you’d gotten out of the fridge earlier and subconsciously handing it to Mark.

Ty, who was now sitting opposite you on the table next to Rikky, sighed loudly before explaining how they’d called him when they first saw you were gone, and he wasn’t happy. “He was at a meeting on the other side of the River but when he found out you were gone he said he was coming back straight away.”

“I really am dead aren’t I,” if Ty was the protective big brother, then King was on a whole other level.

“Don’t worry Golden girl, I’m sure you’ll survive,” Rikky teases, “but you have around an hour head start if you want to make another run for it with lover boy over here,” he taunts, raising his eyebrows at the way you and Mark had continued passing each other the water bottle after every sip.

“Or you could risk it,” he continues, loving the way your brows furrow and eyes harden at his relentless teasing, “sure King won’t kill you, but we can only imagine all the nasty things he could do to poor Mark,” You feel Mark stiffen next to you and resist the urge to reach for his hand, knowing it would only egg Rikky on more.

“Stop being a dick Rikky” Ty pipes in, ignoring the way the two of you were staring each down, like he’d seen it a million times before - which of course he had.

“I’m just saying,” Rikky shrugs, standing up and walking next to you, leaning his arm on the top of your head, “He could skin him alive, make him into a new suit, we all know King loves a tan blazer and Mark has such a nice glow…” before he can finish you stick your elbow into his ribs, making him double over, trapping you in a headlock in retaliation.

Mark watches unsure of what to do as Rikky and you continue to attack each other, he looks to Ty for guidance but he’s just looking on at you both bored.

“They do this all the time,” Ty explains, not missing the way Mark clenches his jaw when you cry out at Rikky pulling on your hair. “Okay knock it off! Rikky let her go before I rip your limbs out of their sockets!”

Ty’s threat working as Rikky quickly drops you to the floor and raises his hands in surrender, “Chill T, I was just playing,” ruffling your hair for extra measure before returning to his seat, “Don’t worry Mark, King wouldn’t do anything to upset the Golden girl, so you’re safe” The slight malice in his tone takes Mark back but he doesn’t say anything, nervous enough about everything and just assuming it’s more of the teasing relationship you two have.

“We take care of our own.” you explain further to him, seeing how Mark is slowly getting more and more tense, “You risked your life for me, King will protect you.” Ty nods along, giving Mark a warmer look.

“I really didn’t do anything,” Mark starts to protest but Ty steps in,

“If Bangtan saw you with Y/N you’re a target now, they won’t care if you just said hello in passing or orchestrated the entire thing,”

“Well, I wish I’d done more to help back there then,”  he laughs nervously and blushing as he looks over at you watching him, not even Ty can hide the fond smile that creeps onto his face at the exchange.

“Mark, I think King will like you.”

---

While you all wait for King to get back, you take Mark away from the others to sit and talk over on the sofas. Rikky and Ty busying themselves cleaning up in anticipation of King’s bad mood.

“So what do you think of them?” you ask with a little giggle, seeing how overwhelmed Mark seemed to be with everything.

“They’re...interesting,” he smiles, looking over to where Rikky was rapidly throwing discarded clothes over at Ty who was trying, and failing, to catch them all.

“Yeah they’re definitely characters huh,” You smile at him when he turns to look back at you, shifting slightly closer to you on the couch. “They’re great, might take them a while to get comfortable with you, but they will.”

You think back to when you first met them both, remembering how it took so long for them to open up, that without Johnny you probably wouldn’t have the strong relationship you do now.

“Rikky may act like an asshole most of the time, but he’s good people, it’s just how he deals with shit,” you explain.

“What do you mean?” Mark asks curiously, to him Rikky seemed to be the epitome of confidence and happiness, how he’d teased both you and Ty, knowing how to lighten the mood.

“Rikky used to run with this other crew, really nasty guys, I’m talking worse than Bangtan, worse than anyone in N.City honestly,” that must have made it clear to Mark because N.City had some of the most ruthless crews around, “They were evil. Pure evil. Killed anyone for anything and didn’t give a shit. The bloodier the better ya know. He saw some really messed up stuff with them, it took so long for him to open up to us after we got him out, he was terrified.”

Waking up, you feel around the bed for the warmth of Johnny’s body, but he’s not there. Worried and unable to sleep without him, you get up to look for him.

The noises from downstairs tell you he’s playing games again, so you head over to join him, only to see he’s not alone.

Sitting on the floor beside Johnny is Rikky, they’re both too immersed in the game of fifa to notice your figure leaning against the door frame watching them.

“Okay so you just gotta hit this button here to the pass the ball, and then use the joystick to move around,” Johnny loved teaching people how to play his games, usually he played online against some kid from England but time zones made it a pain.

“So just like…”Rikky moved his player across the field, dribbling between players and passing the ball to Johnny’s player, “This?” he asks hesitantly.

Rikky hadn’t spoken much since he’s been at the base, you all understood of course, it took 3 weeks planning the mission just to try and get him out of there, how King found him you still don’t know but didn’t want to pry too much, not till he was comfortable.

“Yes exactly like that! You’re getting it already dude! It took Y/N so long to learn it was torture,” Johnny jokes, getting Rikky to laugh along with him. He passes him one of the many bottles of mountain dew that was lying on the table once the game is finished, clinking them together in satisfaction.

“Can I join the party?” you ask, finally moving closer to sit beside Johnny on the couch.

Rikky smiles at you shyly and hands you his controller, “You Vs Johnny first so I can see what I’m up against” he challenges, already feeling more comfortable after Johnny showing him a sense of normality amid all the blood and horror.

“He doesn’t look like the type,” Mark wonders out loud. He was right, Rikky was just a skinny looking thing, no one would suspect he would have been apart of some of the horror shows his old crew used to pull.

“I know, he’s not much for physical violence but he’s a master with a gun,”

“What about Ty?” Mark asks, drawing your attention back away from the now squabbling Tom and Jerry, “You two seem really close,”

You smile at that. Ty was your favourite person in the entire world, bar Johnny that is. He treated you like a little sister, always gave you the last slice of pizza, even stomached your terrible attempt at Christmas cake that one year, only throwing up after he’d thought you’d left the room.

“Ty came to N.City to look for his sister, he knew King somehow so we helped. He’s always treated me like a little sister, always protected me, even when I messed up,” You tell him, thinking back on all the times Ty has saved your ass over the years.

“You don’t have to carry me the whole way, I can walk Ty,” you protest from behind, Ty carrying on his back.

“You fell on your foot Y/N, walking on it will make it worse, just let me help you.” The two of you had been out on patrols by the river when you’d spotted someone grabbing a woman’s bag from the bus stop. In hindsight, maybe trying to parkour your way after them wasn’t the best idea.

“It’s another 5 miles to base Ty, let me walk!” you try to wiggle your way off of him but it’s futile, just one of his biceps being bigger than your entire head, there’s no way you would win.

“Sit still spider monkey, I’ve got you.”

“Johnny and Rikky gave him so much shit after that, but he always does it,” you giggle at the memory, making Mark smile and cheeks redden, you really were so beautiful. “Anyway a few days later Rikky fell off his skateboard and bruised his back so Ty carried him around for a week too, just so Rikky would stop bringing it up, Johnny of course carried on, but it was always different with Johnny,” you explain, looking back over to where Ty was now chasing Rikky around the Kitchen, trying to rescue one of his records.

Mark watches your face, observing the way you look at the other two with such fondness, such love. He can see how much you all mean to each other, but he’s curious about one thing.

“Y/N?” he calls, grabbing your focus again, “You keep mentioning a Johnny, where is he?” Mark sees the way you tense up and look away, but before he can take it back, Rikky yells ‘King’s back’, and you move to stand.

“Johnny died,” you say, before taking Mark’s hand and pulling him towards the door to meet King.  

[donutpwns]

Stanuary - Love

When his father had demanded Stan come with him, he'd expected the worst. The feeling of dread had grown when he'd forbid Ford from coming with them, pointing his brother to the stairs. He'd exchanged looks with his brother and knew they were both thinking the same thing: what had Stan done now? The thought followed him to his father's car, anxiety cranked up when an old shoebox was placed in his lap.

His grades were in the toilet as usual, barely passing thanks to copying Ford's homework. He'd stolen a few candy bars from the local store but he was sure no one had seen him. He'd long since broken his last pair of glasses so it couldn't be that and it wasn't like he could really break his braces, not for lack of effort on Crampelter's part though. Maybe old man Samson had finally figured out that he'd been filching tools and stuff to fix the boat from his beat down old hardware store? Oh Moses, was that it?

His fingers tighten on the edges of the shoebox as they drive to park in a sandy parking lot on the beach; he can count the steps to where the Stan O War is sunk into the sand. Oh god, it was finally going to happen. Their dad was going to destroy their boat and they'd never get out of here. Shit, why had he stolen those tools? Shit shit shit.

“Stanley, there's a reason I brought you here.” His dad's deadpan voice cuts through his thoughts. He grips the steering wheel, the sunbaked leather giving out a muffled creak. “You're fourteen now and it's time you start acting like a man. That's why we're here.” And with that he's getting out of the car.

Stan gets out too, hugging the shoebox to his chest; whatever is in it feels heavy. “Is this about my bar mitzvah again?” He knows his dad was mad about the Groucho glasses but he'd still passed. Technically. And with very little cheating, thank you very much; just the occasional look at Ford who'd been mouthing the words. “I told Rabbi Bachman I was sorry.”

He can see a muscle twitch in his dad's cheek. “No. Give me the box.” He opens it once it's in his hands and sets it on the hood of the car. “This stays under the counter at all times; it's not a toy for you to show off to your little friends, you hear me?”

Stan doesn't have friends to show things off to, aside from Ford of course. But he doesn't correct him, especially when he finally sees what's sitting in the bottom of the box. It looks like a pistol from the westerns Ma likes to watch with a box of bullets next to it. Stan swallows, something heavy and wriggling climbing up the back of his throat. “Dad?”

His father picks the gun up and puts it in Stan's hands like it's just something one does. “My dad taught me how to shoot when I was your age and I taught Sherman how when he was your age. Now it's your turn to learn.” He taps the chamber, “We’re not leaving here until you are a decent shot.”

It's heavy and the metal is cold, it nearly slips in his sweat-slick hands. Stan doesn't like the weight of it; all he can picture is the way the cowboys fell from their horses with a bang and a puff of smoke. He knows they got up when the filming stopped but in the movies they’re dead. “Sh-shouldn't Ford be here too then?” Maybe he can postpone this forever. At the moment he can't think of anything he wants less than to be shooting a gun alone with his dad.

“This isn't about Ford. Your brother is brilliant but he can't even throw a punch, Stan. He's better off focusing on something important he can actually do. This is a man's weapon.” He grabs the back of Stan's neck with one hand and scoops up the box of bullets with the other. He guides them just a fair distance from where the parking lot ends and points to a mostly broken wooden fence that is supposed to mark the end of the asphalt and the start of the sand, though the sand has long blown past it. “Aim for the middle post and pull the trigger.”

It takes effort to not let the gun shake as he steps up, carefully aiming the gun towards said post. There’s a bump at the end of the barrel, is that what he’s supposed to aim with? He guesses so and lines it up with the top of the post. The trigger is firmer than he imagined it would be and it seems to fight him when he pulls it.

There’s no puff of smoke but there’s definitely a bang, so much louder than Stan was expecting and it nearly makes him drop the gun when it jerks in his grip. He fumbles and hugs it to his chest on habit. “Shit!” he yells.

He flinches when his father’s palm finds the back of his head with an audible smack.

His dad grunts, “Aim again and don’t drop it this time.”

He hates the weight of the gun in his hand and his ears are ringing slightly from the bang. “Dad, I don’t—”

“Do what I said, Stanley. We’re not leaving until you hit that post.” He says it with the finality he always uses to threaten them and Stan knows that he’ll be standing here until dawn if he doesn’t do what he’s told.

BANG

Miss.

BANG

Miss.

BANG

He clips the very top of the post three to the left of the middle with that one and lets his hands fall in front of him. The ringing in his ears is louder and his hand is starting to ache a bit from how the trigger resists being pulled. Frustration is bubbling up to fight the unease of the whole situation. “Dad, c’mon, do I have to do this?”

His father has taken an unimpressed stance with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his youngest fail to make a single shot. “Yes. Aim again.”

“Dad, I don’t want to do this.” He tries with a huff.

“Aim again, Stanley. That’s an order.”

Stan grits his teeth and tightens his hold on the gun if just so he doesn’t throw it like he wants to. Instead he lifts it back up once more and tries to aim to the right since his one hit was so far to the left. He pulls the trigger and this one hits two to the left, a little further down but still not the target. He takes another shot and hits that same post, the wood splintering and cracking from the second bullet.

His dad lets out a bland sort of noise and extends the box of bullets to Stan. “Reload and do it again.”

“What’s the point? Just add this as another thing I’m bad at!” he tries to shove the box back to his dad. He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to learn how to shoot. “I don’t like it and I’m not gonna get it so let’s just go home!” it feels like he keeps getting called on to give an answer he doesn’t have just so the rest of the class can snicker at him.

“Stanley, I gave you an order.” There’s a dangerous tone creeping into his father’s voice.

Stan’s face burns, heat digging into his cheeks and the back of his neck. “Why are you even doing this? Who cares if I know how to shoot? I’m not even allowed in the shop half the time so what does it matter if there’s a gun in there?”

There's a hesitation, an awkward stretch of silence where Stan is almost entirely sure he’s going to get his hide tanned, and then his father reaches a hand towards him and he clenches his eyes shut for the blow. Instead his father’s hand closes on Stan's shoulder. “Listen, Stanley. You're...hell, you're a screw-up.” He looks up but his dad is impossible to read, though he at least doesn’t seem angry. “Most of the time it seems like all you can do is lie and leech off those around you. The direction you're going, you're not going to make anything of yourself.”

The words are nothing new but they still dig in, little barbs that drag Stan's shoulders down. “Thanks, Dad.” He bites out as his only defense. He can't punch those words away, not like what people say about Ford. “I’m a good-for-nothing, I know.”

“Let me finish.” The hand on his shoulder cuffs him on the side of the head. “You're not good at much but you are good at fighting and I know you care about this family. No matter what, you’re still a Pines. That's what this gun is for: protecting our family. So that's why you have to learn this. So I can trust you to keep your mother and brother safe if I'm not around. You understand that?”

His gaze goes back down to the gun in his hand then to the splintered post then back to his father. The idea of actually shooting anyone twists his stomach but the knot eases just a bit if he adds his ma or Ford to the equation. “Dad, I can just use my boxing—”

His dad holds up a hand. “Sometimes you can’t fix things with a punch or a pretty word, Stanley. Sherman is out of the house and I’m getting older. Ford’s smart but he’s not a fighter.” he takes the gun from Stan’s hands, effortlessly popping the barrel out and slotting bullets into the chambers. He spins the barrel and puts it back in place with a snap of his wrist. It’s held out to Stan then, his father frowning. “Can I trust you to be a Pines man and protect them? Because if not then there’s no point in you coming back home with me.”

Stan stares at the gun for a long moment before nodding. “Okay. Yeah. You can trust me, Dad.” He takes the gun and takes aim once more. He’ll get some knuckledusters, like the gangsters in the movies. He’ll get better at lying. He knows he can protect everyone with that but if he has to, he can shoot. If his dad trusts him to be the protector, Stan can do that. He never wants a gun to be the answer but he’ll do it. For Ma, for Ford, for Dad.

BANG

Miss.

“Aim again.”

[eldarya-darling]

First day in a new world

As soon as my 19th birdayparty ended, I went in the forest, for some fresh air, befour starting learning for her graduation. I'm going to a language-school, so they had to go there for 5 years, instead of 4. So I walked in the forest, that I knew from my young age, while thinking about my 2 friends, Amilia and Amanda. They are twins and my only friends. Maybe my parents adopted me because I has heterochromia? My right eye is pinkish purple, and the left is poision green. I wear an eyepatch on her green one, I don't like it's colour. My peach hair is quite wavy, and covers up my scapula, but I alway tie it up. Like my mother said: “You're beautiful in you're own way.” I lost in my thoughts, I didn't even looked were am I going, until it was too late.

I seen a bright light, then a beautiful women, who said something in a different language, I couldn't understand.

As soon I got up, I was surronded by weird people, making me let out a smaller scream.

- A visitor, perfect timing. Let's act like we weren't in the middle of something very important. -a guy with long blue hair said with an irritating smile, making me want to punch him. His eyes where starring at my soul, or it just looked like it.

- Who are you, young kumiho? -a girl started with a suprised face. She looked pretty, with her 4 tails and fox ears. Long, black hait with bangs, just like me. But what is a kumiho and why do I feel like I have 9 tails?

- Excuse me, but what is a kuhimo? -I asked shyly.

- Oh, so you're from the Earth? -the fox girl asked.

- Of course! Wait, where are we now?

- In Eldarya. -a white haired man answered. He looked more like a human, then the blue haired, expecially, when I noticed it's long and pointy ears. The white haired is the most simpatic, even if he was almost 2 meters tall and super muscular. But he's eyes are just beautiful with it's golden tone.

- Oh... Is that a new country?

- No. It's a different world. -a male voiced answered from behing me, that made me jump up from the ground. As I stood up, I noticed my fluffy tails, and after touching my head, my ears too. I was quite in a shock, but as soon as I could, I turned back. The guy has black hair and an eyepatch. I'm no longer weird, yes! As I stared at his left, cold grey eye, that reminded me of my dad, who has grey eyes and black hair as well.

- You look like my dad. -I said what was on my mind. A loud laugh from the blue haired, and a light, girly laugh from the fox.

- Nevra it's the first time a girl said this to you, isn't it? -the blue haired tried to catch up his breath.

- Uh, yeah... -that Nevra looked like he failed an exam. He must be very liked by girls, I think.

- Well. Can you tell me your name? -the fox asked as I turned back to them.

- Emini. -I replied shortly.- But how did I got here?

- Basicly you were born here, but when you were a kid, you managed to go to the human world. That's why you immediately changed to you're real form. -the blue haired spoke.- Hey, were kumiho's here 18-19 years ago?

Then a heavy silence fell on the room.

- Well I guess it's a no. -I started shivering, it felt like something cold was hugging me.

- Don't move. -the elf whispered. Everyone was looking at something behind me. I felt ready to jump, as that thing made me more cold. Then it pass through me, and the guy befour me told something in a weird language, then that thing disappeared. It was just a black spot for me.

- Was that a ghost?

- Yeah. Lately there's many of them. -Nevra replied.

- And it's bad?

- Clever girl. -the blue haired said.

- Here, take the key of one of the guest room, and then find Kero about the companion test. We'll decide where are we going to placed to. -the fox gave me a roomkey.

- Hey! I don't want to stay here! I want to go home even tho' I don't have any friends!

- Honey, I don't have any friends and I live far away from my birthplace. SO SUTH THE F*CK UP AND GO! -the blue haired shouted at me, so I decided to leave.

What an asshole!

I was walking up and down in the corridor, when I saw a pretty blonde boy. He's shirt was cut on his abs. So not only the people, but the clothing style is weird.

- Good afternoon miss, my pleasent to meet you. -he got my hand and put a kiss on it.

- Ohhh... Hello blonde guy. I'm not a princess or anything, and I'm from the Earth. I only arrived minutes ago.

- Huh? But I could bet on you're from royal blood. Anyways I'm Leiftan.

- Well hi Leiftan. I'm Emini. Nice to meet you.

- I believe that you already met Miiko.

- Oh, yes. She told me to go to the guest room, if I want to sleep. And I have to find Kero about some test.

- Well, Kero is in the library, or usually he is in there. But I think you don't know where it is, am I right?

- Yeah.

- Come with me.

He was the first person who treated me nicely. He must be a good guy. Like really good.

As soon as I met Kero, he went away, because he had to take a shower. Kero IS A UNICORN. He'll be my best friend, not boyfriend, because I already took that place for Leiftan. HE IS JUST SO PERFECT. I don't know him, but he is perfect.

The test I had to take was about the companions, and I had a jipinku. I hope it's fluffy. Kero told me things about this place, and about the main guards, the Light Guard the leader is Miiko (the fox girl I think), the Absynte Guard the leader is Ezarel (the blue haired I think), the Shadow Guard the leader is Nevra and the Obsidian Guard the leader is Valkyon (the white haired I guess). So this is another world where the faeries live. And I've born here, but somehow get to the Earth with a portal. Okay, confusing as f*ck. But now, kumihos are the most powerful species of kicunes, because all kumiho has 9 tails. Oh, and Miiko is a kicune, but I have more power then her, so I could beat anyone up. It's not that bad that I got here. I'll be a gangster, that I've always was. Jup, I was so boyish, so many people thought I lost my eye sigh.

After I talked about a hour with Keroshane, I left the library, with my egg and my hatching stuff.

I walked to the guest room, which was at the end of the corridor. I opend it, and made my hatching thing work. I dropped myself in the bed, feeling tired from all the things that was happening to me.

When my companion hatched, it looked like a pink dog with a giant blue tongue. Oh, and this eats cotton-candy and has 4 ears. I had to give a name to her, since she's mine.

- You're name will be... Liele!

The companion jumped on me, and I really felt like she loves her name.

I decided to took a small nap.

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I think discipline in a It Just Seems Like Somebody Definitely Touched My Drum Set T Shirt home is probably some young people today but say all the time you are you going to say I go you say I got a key never never really angry and don’t be a yes Jan I gather I know that when I do yeah raise my voice and start top grades as a whole another to do what used in the early they know so I wanted to gave my all I like 68 a regular thing look I had a you know we usual board and again with some comments you are planning you like cursing and yelling a line with me what you hope and delete this holiday smoke in a know the you have no choice but to. 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So I said no mother is not going anywhere my diet your concern about my daughter being sick why the fuck would you want to leave the house on the coldest weather is rainy as they that makes no fucking sense as you as well unfortunately once we get the report we have to file other fitness and that so when can I come get her like we need computer and his vision literally wanted to come pick up my infant daughter from my house without me or mother and take her to it to another location to have strangers look at the no I wasn’t having it so I thought it was my daughter’s not going anywhere so delayed as well if I have to take her if I have to take her then you have been targeted by these thinkable so as a laser well if I take it you become along with so I said I said okay cool on the widget so she came out was about the ways my gas on at bullshit saw me to come pick us up from the house so she shows up the gun because of my house and all that Chevy Malibu

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King want to continue have run this economy into the It Just Seems Like Somebody Definitely Touched My Drum Set T Shirt ditch work were slowly every since the Great Depression aliens more people living in poverty today than the day that Barack Obama with Hillary Clinton at his side the lowest 2014 and 20 honestly senator you can roll out the numbers and in the Sunnyside. This is so sad at the base already helps couple officials because already done couple of your fishing events so I’ll be able to show for you how we fishand other stuff so don’t worry but like for some reason this event is really hard like it’s impossible to catch any of these fishes either developers are to change the difficulty of these events or are there will be something else but like Sears is impossible I don’t understand what else can we do like you can see the most super quicklyand as you can see that yellow bubble just doesn’t move as fast as you can let either you have to guess what is going to go but when you guess it’s impossible it’s really just annoying like I would love to see a person would actually be able to get catch the fish here when is Mauricio like this like I’m just trying to guess that is gonna drop down in a drop down differently low while you so sad I wanted to get at least one fish for you here on the camera but it’s impossible to this associate I don’t want that one make you feel at this event is bad because this event is really good as you guess he thought something super easy but there are definitely easier fishes to catch like these ones are really arts molecular you to be super big because yes there is the size of fish will loftily sketch a lease want to show your giving up to give up at this pointand also forgot to mention for you I’m sometimes trying to catch this fish that look at this like it just got away whatever so I think every time I failed to catch a fish one fish disappears from the pond so there’s only limited amount of fish in the pond here hopefully will be able to catch at least oneand show for you but if you were to go to the topand I’ll try to catch fishes there from the topand I think in the northern locations you will need to have this armor otherwise you will freeze here to definitely that’s what I’m assuming you mean why would spawn in the northern so it looks like we will be able because this fish I want to scream to early but I think this fish was bit easier than the rest of us is doing all my pocket please like 90 done all know dude no game is getting away made like all my God how my supposed to catch it please it was almost done I’m going to catch you anyways like I’m ready I’m ready I’m focusing here hundred percent like the sun vocal instinct ultra instant you know what I’m talking about right the I’m clicking it as hard as it is almost done I was almost done made like what is going on but fishes that my fishing sharks here lay it’s impossible way it seriously impossible that what is going on dude I’m I give up I give up on the light I came I swear there are easier fishes to catch me this event is the hardest one but is seriously just annoying like this is not easy catching fish like it’s not easy but it’s not easy at all like I would love to see somebody catching it hopefully it will reduce the difficulty because I don’t understand like I’m just going to give up on this fish was just mutually video complaining about how hard it is to fish but I swear there are easier fishes to catch him enough to focus on whatever that officials got away ultra to go to the very very topand I’ll try to fish from over here maybe night looks bad but whatever list of fish from the side but it super but I don’t see anything like this spot but we will see maybe that will help out the case we have here another fish please tell me I will be able to catch it so it’s impossible this one we won’t catch this one as well it most quickly for your bubble I think you I mean I would be fine if we got kind of fish is a once in a while but like getting five fishes like that in a row that it’s like it’s impossible to search escape I did my best all I could in my weapon broke this mistake here another fishing rodand let’s try to fish once againand I think there’s a limit to fishes in the pond left or something so I mean okay Boomer we will see it will save your soul soon soon I’m to pull it once again please let me fish let me get at least one fishing vessel there is a chest right so from that Jesse can get the various items if I would if I will be able to catch that fish I will be able to show for you how to works okay so I don’t have to let the physical otherwise the chess will disappear here as well so I have to be very lucky with catching the fishand catching with that just for the chassis can get like items to the for your whatever it’s called decides on at least guys that this because there is no way I’ll be able to open up that thing you if I don’t catch the fish so I called the fish catfish finally after foreverand a little after four attempts I was able to catch this fishand it’s a decision of soft meet almost with no bones the most important thing when catch a catfish is not let it take you underwater year no way also these fishes are to have different rarities as you can see there’s that starand it looks like Brown or something vendors blue a quality fishand then there is like golden quality fish so I was able because this one is there still couple more fishes in the pond so let’s keep catching the babyand I don’t know how that just mechanic works like I do understand how it works you have to like cash that just for smalland then you can catch the fish but like is one such a difficulty it’s impossible like I don’t think anybody could ever do it like is a serious to just guess when the fish is gonna jump upand when it won’t jump up but for now it seriously impossible like it’s pretty cool but other easier events I think it’s just because this is like winter location event so it’s a bit harder hopefully that will change the difficulty for real unless I’m doing something wrong here which I don’t understand the case I’m trying to catch this one I’m trying to catch this fish it just doesn’t work as you can see guys that’s it like it’s impossible I would love to seriously see a person who could catch a fish from there like seriously unless they’re going I know even if you know the pattern it’s physically possible like in the game to move that orange bubble like that while well that’s a great event okay there is another chess of the topand in order to catch it all have to move that yellow bubble to the top to break the chestand get that reward from it but do I have to catch the fish of the sink that we will try to maybe just guys that reward I think this is going to stay well maybe Lisa got the reward know I didn’t even get the reward I think that’s itand it’s all the fishes disappear from the pond so if I was maybe a bit more pro because me that just sucked. 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This is a list of my favourite films of the year. That sounds like a simple statement, but in some quarters the long-running arguments about what is and isn’t a film got very heated in 2017. Even the year bit of that can get very messy.

But for at least this one last time, I’m keeping things simple: these are the films I enjoyed most out of the ones that were released in UK cinemas in 2017.*

There were plenty of films I didn’t see: some I wanted to but didn’t get round to – Colossal is the one that stands out. Others I just wasn’t drawn to – Detroit, Dunkirk (give money to Christopher Nolan and he’ll only keep making movies) and the critically adored Call Me By Your Name (the super-annoying title probably didn’t help).

There were lots of movies I did see and like, though, and that’s what we’re here to talk about…

*This decision was made simpler because I didn’t love any of the films that Netflix streamed without even giving a token cinema release, which included Noah Baumbach’s The Meyerowitz Stories (New And Selected) and Sundance favourite I Don’t Feel At Home In This World Anymore. The best of the bunch was The Incredible Jessica James.

1. Manchester By The Sea

Back in October 2016, I wrote: ‘If a better film is released in the UK in 2017, I’ll be very impressed.’ Well, I have been impressed by the excellent movies below on this list, but none of them beat Manchester By The Sea as far as I’m concerned. In outline, it sounds like nothing special: a story of some grim stuff happening to a fairly ordinary family, in particular a bloke who likes to pick fights in bars and his teenage nephew. But writer-director Kenneth Lonergan turns the ingredients for a predictable drama into something very special, not least by lacing this grief-laden story with lots of (appropriately) funny moments.

Full review here

2. The Handmaiden

A lot of the films on this list are fairly light on plot, so if you want a movie with scheming, counter-scheming and deception, not to mention pretty costumes, sex, cherry blossoms, perviness (its 18 certificate is richly earned) plus differing Korean views of their Japanese occupiers, this is the one. It’s directed by Park Chan-wook, best known for Old Boy, and loosely based on Sarah Waters’ Victorian-set melodrama Fingersmith, which turns out to be perfectly suited to Korea in the 1930s.

Full review here

3. Certain Women

Resolutely low-key collection of three slightly overlapping short stories set in wintery Montana. It’s a character piece, with Laura Dern, Michelle Williams and (the excellent, previously little-known) Lily Gladstone leading each segment. Director Kelly Reichardt knows exactly who these women are, and how the place they live shapes them. It seems modest at first, but it stuck in my mind long after flashier films had faded away.

Full review here

4. Moonlight

So much of what I read about Moonlight made it sound so much less interesting than it is. Around awards time, you could have easily formed the impression it was a heart-tugging issue movie, not helped by the campaign to get Naomi Harris an Oscar (‘Look! Pretty woman getting grubby to play junkie skank!’)**

What makes it a remarkable film – and it is a remarkable film – are the extraordinary cinematography and the telling of the story via often fragmentary scenes, and how little is explained, at least until the much more conventional, even theatrical (and thus slightly disappointing) final segment. Great moviemaking is about the how, not the what.

Full review here

**The classic awards-season tendency to grade performances by perceived difficulty points led to people talking about Harris rather than the way better Janelle Monae.

5. The Happiest Day In The Life Of Olli Mäki

Lovely, bittersweet based-on-real-life tale of Mäki, a small man who was Finnish boxing’s big hope in the early 1960s. It’s not really a boxing film, more a story about two decent young people trying to work out what they want. Which probably doesn’t sound like the most gripping core of a film, but it works. My favourite Finnish film of the year, narrowly shading…

Full review here

6. The Other Side Of Hope

Why should social realism be the only way of looking at problems like the refugee crisis? Aki Kaurismäki brings his taste for dramatic lighting, deadpan acting and vintage rock’n’roll to this story of a young Syrian braving bureaucracy and street racism in Helsinki. Less funny than most Kaurismäki films, but I found it very moving.

Full review here

7. Spider-Man: Homecoming

I’ve had enough of super heroes on screen – Marvel’s The Defenders on Netflix was the last straw. I’m voting for a moratorium on them*** and gangsters. So it took a lot to persuade me to see yet another Spider-Man reboot. ‘Don’t think of it as an action movie, think of it as a high-school comedy,’ said my friend Jess, and she was right. It’s nimble and funny and doesn’t take itself too seriously – the best surprise of the year.

Full review here

***I’m totally prepared to believe that Thor: Ragnarok is enjoyable in a bonkers, proggy kind of way, but I’m not risking it. Too many people insisted Captain America: Civil War was good.

8. The Death Of Stalin

After dealing with the (by comparison small) monsters of the Blair era in The Thick Of It, Armando Iannucci turns to the worst – by at least one measure – men in history: Beria, Molotov and Uncle Joe himself. 

I don’t think by portraying the farcical nature of the days after Stalin’s death the film is disrespectful to all those who died. I think humour has always been part of how we confront the horror. 

The Death Of Stalin has the best ensemble cast of the year – Jeffrey Tambor as Malenkov, Steve Buscemi as Khrushchev, Jason Isaacs giving the performance of his career as Marshal Zhukov, and – best of all – Simon Russell Beale as Beria. And, crucially, it’s definitely a film, not a bit of TV that has snuck on to the big screen.

9. Daphne

Essentially, a classic US indie movie transplanted from Brooklyn to Walworth. The title character is a pretentious and self-centred 30-year-old failing to get her life together – she’s just like women I used to meet at parties in south London 10 or 15 years ago. That could make for a dull film, of course, but the writing, the feel for the place and Emily Beecham as Daphne make it funny and involving.

Full review here

10. After The Storm

Once promising writer with a gambling problem becomes low-rent PI and uses his new skills to keep tabs on his ex. If you think you can imagine how this film goes from that description, you’re probably miles from Hirokazu Kore-eda’s typically patient, generous-spirited and occasionally funny family drama.

Full review here

11. A Ghost Story

Or that one with the white-sheet-with-eye-holes phantom. A Ghost Story is definitely a film you either buy into or you don’t, an austere tale about grief and loss. I did, and found it sad and moving and pleasingly different. 

Full review here

12. Neruda

It’s a playful movie about a playful title character – the Chilean poet and dilettante politician during his dramatic time on the run from the authorities –  but Neruda has a melancholy underlying mood that rises to the surface as the film goes on. It’s a smart, complex and entertaining film.

Full review here

13. The Florida Project

A group of small kids living in a low-rent long-stay motel have adventures and misbehave a bit. And that’s mostly it, with a few dips into the struggles of the mother of one of the kids, plus a sense of the endless patience and generosity of spirit of the motel manager (Willem Dafoe, the sole big name in the cast). What’s impressive is the way Sean Baker maintains a tone that manages to dodge both ‘look at what grindingly terrible lives poor folk lead’ and being a whimsical adorable-kids-running-wild picture. It does drag a little about three quarters of the way in, but the ending pulls it back.

14. La La Land

First it was an instant masterpiece that was going to change the game, then it was a deflating bubble as the haters managed to shout louder than the lovers. So which take on this nostalgia-soaked showbiz musical do I agree with? Well, there are problems with the film – mostly to do with director Damien Chazelle’s continuing attempts to foist his rotten ideology of music on the rest of us via his movies – but I think the people who were swooning were closer to the truth than the raspberry blowers.  

Full review here

15. Lady Macbeth

Bracingly bleak and at times hard to watch, this is very much in the anti-heritage industry counter-tradition of British period dramas. It’s about the rebellion of a young woman against a grim arranged marriage in Victorian Yorkshire, a struggle that makes strange and grim turns. Unpleasant, but an impressive and memorable piece of filmmaking.

Full review here

16. Blade Of The Immortal

‘Blood-drenched’ would be an understatement when it comes to this gleefully violent supernatural samurai tale in which an almost unkillable ronin is hired by a young girl to revenge her father’s death. If it doesn’t match up to veteran director Takashi Miike’s kinetic 2010 masterpiece 13 Assassins, Blade Of The Immortal is still full of staggering set pieces. Not for the squeamish.

Full review here

17. I Am Not Your Negro

In a variant on the title of this blog, I’d describe this documentary as kind of unsatisfactory yet powerful. It’s got a curious premise: it’s an ‘adaptation’ of a book that was only vaguely started: James Baldwin’s look at the meaning of the lives and deaths of Medgar Evers, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King. 

The result is a slightly rambling wander through what Baldwin wrote and said about black lives in America. The clips of Baldwin on TV and at the Oxford Union are electrifying. The chunks of his writing are beautifully read by Samuel L Jackson in a warm, wise deep oak-aged voice than sounds precisely nothing like either Samuel L Jackson or James Baldwin. 

Dropped in around the place are news stills from the last couple of years by way of saying, ‘Yes, Obama made it to the presidency, but otherwise things are still fucked.’ That’s a bit clumsy and crude. What makes the film is Baldwin himself – a great writer (I’m still annoyed that someone nicked my copy of The Fire Next Time in 1991) but also a figure who confounds our condescension of past times: here was a black gay man who was an international public intellectual in the 1960s.

Best old films I saw on the big screen

Scarface

Not every rapper’s favourite movie – this is the terrific 1932 original, a ripped-from-the-headlines account of the rise of a ruthless Chicago gangster that’s as electrifyingly urgent as current organised-crime dramas are weary. 

Full review here

Un Flic

Jean-Pierre Melville, whose career stretched from the 1940s to ’70s, made some of my favourite films ever – Bob Le Flambeur, Le Samurai, Army Of The Shadows – and the BFI showed all of them in a splendid full retrospective this autumn. Of the ones I’d never seen before, my favourite was Un Flic, his last film, a bleak, minimalist film in which a laconic, sadistic cop (Alain Delon) slowly gets on the trail of a heist crew. Moody, stylised and very cool.

Full review here

The Cobweb

Over the top, and unashamedly so, Vincente Minnelli’s undervalued mid-’50s melodrama is set in a psychiatric clinic, has a great cast and a plot in which the choice of a set of curtains causes all manner of scheming, bitching and betrayal. 

Full review here

La Vérité

An uncharacteristically meaty role for Brigitte Bardot is at the centre of this courtroom drama from Henri-Georges Clouzot. BB plays a beatnik girl on trial for murder, but what made her do it and can a patriarchal justice system treat her fairly? I suspect this felt dated when it appeared in nouvelle vague-era Paris, but it seems pretty relevant now.

Full review here

Salesman

Extraordinary documentary about a group of travelling salesman doing their damnedest to flog absurdly overpriced Bibles to low income Catholics in a late 1960s US where the Age of Aquarius most definitely isn’t in effect.

Full review here

And DYB’s films of:

2016

2015

2014

2013

2012

2011

[tevotbegotnaught]

Dubov's Last Jump-off pt 3

Saturday afternoon, we found out the club couldn’t (or wouldn’t) accommodate our third night. Dubov had to pay us, of course. Mo was looking at other venues, possibly for tonite, realistically for the coming week. He asked our availability. Once we all responded, possibilities quickly evaporated. That weekend passed and more days after.

After waiting a week, I texted Mo about money. Hours later, he replied:

“High paint he otter eyes or sue didn’t cut anything”

At the gigs, I watched Mo use his phone; its screen at his nose, glasses mid way between forehead and hairline. He looked down precipitously, grumbled, grumbled again, then pressed send. What usually came through was a ransom note clipped from Beckett. He never corrected these puzzles until one of us asked. Here, a fully translated version of our exchange:

“I paid the other guys, you sure you didn’t get anything.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Did you send your invoice to Julie.”

“Yes”

“I’ll call them”

“is there anything I can do to expedite this?”

“Chris, I’m not your employer”

“Right”(!)

“There’s a rehearsal tonite, will you be there”

“I didn’t know about a rehearsal. Where and when?”

“Still working on a place. Maybe 7?” (3 hours from now)

“Tough for me”

“No worries. If you go, you’ll be paid of course”

“Ok”

“No worries. I’ll get back to you”

Now, I was enrolled in the Godot payment plan. Dubov was looking at spending four lifetimes in more chains than Issac Hayes ever wore. I just wanted to get my money.

Weeks later, Mo Bedbug went live.

“Bears ash oh Friday”

Mo called in a favor with some Long Islanders. We had a show Friday. I lobbied for travel money.

Any evening rush hour on the LIE (a highway, not an enormous falsehood) was a parking lot. Friday rush was tailgating minus libations. I pressed him for my other money in the bargain.

“I paid Pianist with Venmo. Do you have Venmo.”

(I send my Venmo)

“This is will be easy, I didn’t know you had Venmo.”

“Ok”(I offered twice before)

“I’ll see you Friday my place"

Mo balked at travel money, though. Arranging an Uber from his place and promising we'd miss rush hour. To get to Mo's, I took the bus, two of them. It cost me way more than the fare. Flushing Avenue, Shabbat imminent, was a sightseeing tour: high school kids, restaurant workers, construction crews. So many people boarding, I couldn’t see nor hear my stop and had to walk an extra half-mile.

Turning onto Mo’s street, a familiar Bushwick tableau appeared. A massive pit, surrounded on three sides by green plywood. Graffiti tags and band decals fading under the shrouds of old posters. At the curb, a ziggurat of garbage-strewn ten-foot pipes and a marooned RV, black spray paint scrawled over its siding and vents, windows cracked and stuffed with wads of insulation, front seats piled to the ceiling with bundled magazines and crumpled newsprint.

On the next block, I found Mo's address stenciled on the brick wall of a old factory. Drummer stood away from its entrance smoking and scrolling his phone. He looked up.

"Man, I texted him like 10 minutes ago."

"No answer?"

"He said he’s coming right down"

"I’ve been giving him progress reports. F***ing bus was crawling."

The building’s entrance, a glass and brushed steel module, sat cheek by jowl with a battered freight elevator. After a text reminder and more waiting, the freight elevator doors parted vertically. Mo let the canvas strap swing overhead.

"This way" he said, glancing over his shoulder at the gleaming foyer before pulling the strap down. The elevator enclosure, a hypoxic chamber of fuel vapors and sawdust, led darkly to a huge steel door. Mo punched a code and pulled the handle. Inside, a newly carpeted hallway, filled with tarps, drywall, paint cans and the potent smell of sandalwood.

"They’re still doing work....as you can see. My place is cool, though.”

"Where’s Keys (the new pianist)?"

"He’s here. Been here a while. Working on the music."

"You have a piano?"

"Uh, I have kind of a studio. Not for recording, but you know, instruments and stuff."

Mo had room for those instruments and plenty more. His walls sprouted art in every medium and material: paintings on wood, metal, plastic jugs, shards of glass; sculptures of bottle caps, cardboard, styrofoam; violent, erotic black and white photos fetishizing punk style and concert posters from Downtown’s acme.

I stooped to gawk at an undulating video in a KFC bucket.

“That’s from my gallery. I used to have a gallery. When it closed I moved everything here. Well, not everything, but…you know.”

Keys sat on a leather couch. He was a kid, maybe twenty-five. I was his grandfather. That messed me up. Before excusing himself, Mo pulled me an espresso from a fancy Italian machine. I packed sandwiches and coffee, but the extra shot was welcome. From a closed door, medicinal-grade weed wafted. We were a full hour behind schedule.

Out on the street, waiting for the Uber, Mo nodded at the construction site and listing RV, saying in his mumblecore voice,

"That’s my girlfriend’s art project.... I mean, ex-girlfriend. "

"The RV? She did THAT?"

"Yeah....Well, her friends... they did it together. I don’t know who did which part"

(There were ‘parts’?)

"How long has it been there?"

"Uh....nine months. Wait...yeah. We broke up six months ago. She was living in it for a while."

"Living in it? You’re kidding. Was that part of the project?"

He chuckled. "Yeah...I don’t know."

"We’re still friends" he said, mostly to tumbling litter in the street.

Inside the Uber, Mo continued: “the realtor told me this was east Williamsburg, but it’s not, it's Bushwick. I don’t care what they call it, of course. I don’t mind living in Bushwick. It’s easier to have a car here.”

“You have a car?”

“Not now. Had to get rid of it. Wasn’t right for this neighborhood”

“Wasn’t right?”

“it was an Audi R8. Midlife crisis car. These streets are so bad, I kept having to get it fixed.”

Driving due east, the winter sun behind us pooled on the shiny road. We careened through four lane traffic. Ahead, break lights fanned out, ruby droplets cascading off a humpback’s tail.

Drummer and Keys talked through the set, then volleyed gossip about mutual friends.

When the radio spun an artist he knew personally, Mo turned around and apropos-ed a story, interrupting the other guys. In the 80s, he produced videos for many fledgling stars. It was a new medium for him and Pop music. A few of his clients soared from Downtown digs to world domination. Mo didn’t stay on for their ascent, though. He also worked on an early Dubov-produced movie until the boss’s relentless cost-cutting and hostility wore him down. While he rambled, a vape pen did plenty of its own talking.

Tonight’s venue, a redux of a famous Long Island rock room, now tucked in the basement of a new boutique North Shore Inn. That building, a block-size Cape Cod, dropped like Dorothy’s whirling farmhouse at an angle to the tony commercial strip.

We had a seriously low pressure slot, opening for a veteran blues band. Ten white guys from three generations; a solid outfit with a long history playing sincere, tasty covers. Always simpatico, Karolina added "Stormy Monday" to our set list. Due to the short notice, we lost Pianist, our stellar MD, and Trumpet wasn’t available. Pruned to prototypical stripper band: saxophone, piano and drums. Not without some irony..

When the ladies hit “Uptown Funk", shimmying and signifying, the audience, almost all sixty year-old white dudes with the occasional spouse, started hooting and whistling. T and A wasn’t on the bill, but it still satisfied. Margherita did her canned steps for ”Too Darn Hot". Karolina was confident and sold her songs. Keys somehow kept the basslines and harmonies together. I completely missed the famous trumpet intro to “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy". The ladies jumped in undaunted. The Male Gaze kept the show alight until we exited, dodging the headliner's B3, Leslie and vintage amps.

The ladies were pros now and we repaired to the underground parking lot to celebrate. The girls in jeans and hoodies, band in our "gangster suits". While she waited for Keys to blaze up. Margherita asked me,

“Did you have fun?”

"Sure, I always have fun" I told her. What counts as honesty when the entire premise of an act is fakery?

"Great" she said, tracking down the joint.

A couple hits and we went back inside, sitting down near the jacked-open exit door. The blues band’s horn section looked on wearily as the front man sang verses fashioned by tougher men for harsher times. From our seats, we saw Mo sweep through the green room doorway, his long canvas coat and scarf swinging. He pivoted at the closest table and exchanged with the owner, a grizzled man with a barely legal date. Their conversation rearranged chairs and sent the men striding out of the club, proving there actually were blues to be had everyday.

When Mo and dance partner failed to return, we headed upstairs and onto the porch, where patio furniture gleamed under blinding lights. At the foot of the wooden steps, livery cars glided in and out of the glare. After a flurry of texts, the ladies gathered their garment bags and kissed us goodbye. A black SUV, indistinguishable from the others, stopped and a rear window opened. Inside, Dubov’s face, like crumpled paper, if paper were milled from lipids and dusted with ash. "Good job guys" he said, voice level and hoarse. We thanked him. The ladies got in on the far side, Dubov’s window closed and the car drove off.

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

After dropping him at the factory, Mo left the meter running on our Uber so the band could get home. On the way, we speculated about Dubov’s eventual prison sentence, Mo’s fee and when "the New Yorkers" might book their first Bar Mitzvah.

The driver, a Bengali, navigated without commenting on our post-mortems, confirming and re-confirming each address for his app. I was last on the circuit. Once we were alone, I asked the driver about his night. His answers were brief and courteous. As we waited at a light, he turned his head toward me. "Excuse me, one question. Have you ever been to Las Vegas?"

[elementalchick1]

Birds of Prey rewrite

Birds of Prey/ Harley Quinn Fix this story

My disclaimer: I ma more a Birds of Prey than Harley Quinn fan, though I love her in the cartoons and Suicide Squad. However, this movie was not good. Basically the story needs to be an empowering, funny, sexy, chick flick and it fails miserably. First, the costumes must be wonderful, not the trash bag thrift store panic shopping of the movie.

Synopsis: Harley and the Joker break up. Not sure what happened because it does not matter, but it happened when she was in prison. Harley does a drunken melt down, similar to the movie, but the soundtrack is “bang” by AJR. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4THFRpw68oQ During this Harley realizes that she has no friends. They are all Jokers crowd, and the ones who are still friendly think they are getting back together. They are also all gangster groupies. One can even quip “girls just wanna have fun”. This is different from the movie because she thought she had friends, not just Joker. Harley is doing what she calls couch surfing, which means breaking into rich people’s second homes while they are out and eating their food and raiding their closets. Harley is arrested and Amanda Waller tells her that she is on indefinite probation if she can show she is rehabilitated. Basically the suicide squad can only be from activated criminals who have potential to be rehabilitated instead of the worst. “I want you on a chain, but they want you lobotomized or put down like a rabid dog. Your choice. Is this you or is this him?” She chooses mandated rehab. “Which one?” “I don’t care. You are the psychiatrist. DO them all” New Rules: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2qgadSvNyU

SO we have the joy of Harley quin going through 12 step (and other) programs.  Shot of a board at a Y/center with the Support Groups schedule. She takes the whole thing. Comedy montage of Bikram yoga mindfulness class, breaking the finger of a guy that gropes her, “SO sex addicts group was a mistake” etc. Visual quote of Fight Club support scenes. In “co-dependents no more” she meets Canary/Dinah, who she had seen around. Canary is assigned as her sponsor. Part of the fun is we are not sure who Canary means when she describes “Men in power are addictive. The surrender of control, the reduction to Id, seems like a type of freedom. But it is a cage. You are on their leash.”  Ras-al Ghul or Arrow? (Hint underlying message- all of the birds in the movie destroy their cages- or make new ones) HQ:“You know the 12 step programs don’t work if you are an atheist.”  Canary: “You know that placebos work even if you know it’s a placebo?” Therapy montage song options:  I Love me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vImvzQCb0o8&list=PL3oW2tjiIxvTKa5OYCIb8TdKjxSYuv5dg&index=23

I drive me mad: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SqBvK14JPGg&list=PL3oW2tjiIxvTKa5OYCIb8TdKjxSYuv5dg&index=36

In the different groups, she meets many people including Cassidy Cain in Klepto Anonymous. Harley co-opts and ends up leading several of the sessions. (I am OK with the casting of Canary but would like Camila Cabello. Though she could be Huntress.) Cassidy is a very different character from the movie. She is still 13, but smarter, and always on a phone. Running joke, it is a different phone in every scene. She is an epic pickpocket, appearing to be a clueless teen who bumps into people because she talks and texts and selfies all at once while actually picking people’s pockets and photographing security. She also gleans information and is the source of information on why people hate Harley.  “Wow. You should see his Instagram. He should be banned for those images. Just a sec. Done.” She is the definition of plucky comic relief. Casting should actually cast a minor. (Marsai Martin, Mckenna Grace, Brooklynn Prince.)

The Bertinelli Diamond is a nice plot device, bringing in Huntress who is tracking it as well as the gangsters who killed her family. (BTW this needs to be recast with someone who has a charisma and can at least dance. Madison Beer, Nicole Maines, Hailee Steinfeld, etc. Huntress wears motorcycle leathers, a very Asian gang vs American biker look) HQ: “OOo! Italian leather!” The Huntress backstory is necessary but cut the bit about young Helena drawing with crayons. If she draws, it should be recognizable. She’s had art lessons since 2.

Harley sees Cassidy Cain on the street steal from a known gangster.  The chase begins. We can keep the glitter cannon/ prop room brawl, but it should be a gangster hideout not the police station, (unless she can get out of it another time and have a joke where Canary coughs “white privilege”) However, to preserve a better story arc, let’s move this to a gangster vault, and have this be where we meet the Huntress. Here is where we realize that Harley loves to hit things, but hates to shoot things. Huntress is fine shooting things. “Do you have to kill everybody?” “Do you have to blow up every crime scene?” “yes” Bad Guy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyDfgMOUjCI

SO Harley has Cassidy and Huntress hanging around. Huntress wants to use Cassidy as bait while they wait for the diamond to drop. Funny bit as Huntress gets sucked into group, probably an anger management group. “I always wanted to be a teacher” Harley wants to finish her program and needs to check in with her sponsor. She is on step 8/9.

Canary: “DID you make your list” HQ: “ I think so.” Drops a ream of paper. “I have to apologize to everyone?” “It’s a start. And I know someone you could start with. It might be easier than the rest because she was hurt when you were in jail” HQ”????” Canary “Practice” Barbara Gordon is never referred to using her whole name. (casting: Liana Liberato, Kennedy McMann) The cop in the movie is completely unnecessary. Either have Oracle, “B” be in the movie or cast someone like Rosario Dawson to be a kick ass Hispanic cop and have her stuck in vice and always asked to work for ICE. Since Gotham city embodies the worst of our current world skewed through a dark lens of madness, having the women in the movie own that “the women in Gotham are the ones who have to clean up and deal with the shit and the fallout of all the crazies.”-B. “That ain’t me”-HQ. “You act like the only options are to be the ass who trashes the place or the maid. (I’m going to) Find something else”-Cassidy. The rest of the film is Bs first real run as Oracle, remotely feeding them information, using drones, shutting down the bad guys tech. “There’s more than one way to fight.”

At the climax, which does have a giant brawl of gangster thugs after the team, but all of the team, each having a dose of enemies. It begins with a girl power makeover scene as they are arming. Cassidy:“We should RUN!” Huntress: “I have been running and hunting my whole life. I want this over” Huntress gets carbon fiber outfit from B “Moves better than leather and is knife and bullet resistant, but not proof” Harley gives Canary the fishnets. “Just try them. You need some fun.” The girls make Harley stop with the white face. “Keep the Harlequin Loose the clown. “  Cassidy has a CIA briefcase she stole from the gangster prop room HQ: “Where’s ya get that?” Cassidy:” Stole it from the gangsters but can’t open it”  B:”Here let me” It is adaptive camouflage stealth tech armor. Cassidy: ”Yay! You can’t hit what you can’t see” HQ and Huntress: ”That’s what grenades are for” HQ: “Jinx!” B: “No grenades!” HQ:”we know. No Grenades! (softer)… inside”

Makeover song montage options: My way: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5I4KwxMXAA

All the good girls go to hell:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PZsSWwc9xA

Nice to meet ya: (also might work for the group therapy montage)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRvKL8FnrtU&list=PL3oW2tjiIxvTKa5OYCIb8TdKjxSYuv5dg&index=42

The massive gangster fight proceeds. The movie does OK with this except for the dubious production design, and the lack of using Huntress well. And that all of the gangsters are completely incompetent. Note on the bad guys: We do not need a named bad guy. The “Black mask” was lame and sucked screen time. It can just be gangs, at least one run by the gangster(s) Huntress needs to kill. But just mafia, not stupid mask nonsense. As part of the makeover montage, they make a plan and set up a kill zone. B: Looking at Cassidy:”cough- Capture zone” Cassidy (on phone) “Please, what am I 12? Gotham only has kill zones.” B: “maybe we can change that” HQ: “Not tonight we can’t. Baby steps” Huntress snipes the ones with automatic guns that enter the building. Casandra fights and hides. Dropping stuff from vents, etc. When the dust settles, Joker appears: “DO I have to do everything myself?” He tries to talk Harley into coming back, She freezes, then realizes he is just distracting her so he can grab Cassidy.  It works. She chooses her new life and goes to get Cassidy.  She defeats him and kicks him off of the pier, possibly while analyzing him. “You were a horrible boyfriend!”

At the end, Birds of Prey is formed, with the good costumes. HQ:“I drop by every now and then, but I need to work on me. Cassidy stays with B, but we see each other all of the time” “Do I have to stay with you? You’re no fun” B: “I’m the only one who can pass a background check”

HQ; “I got an apartment. I had to get a roommate but I think it will work out.” There is a shot of the Help board at the Y/center with the “roommates” section and she grabs one of every tab numbers including one that says “Ivy” (Cameo of Evan Rachel wood or one of the CW redheads asking “Do you like plants?”) (This can occur earlier if we need a comic break)  

“And I got a job. Turns out in Gotham, group leaders can have an expired license.” Shot of Harley sitting in a bright spotlight with a notepad in a shadowed room full of figures in chairs with a highlight on a cape, an animal ear, etc. “Who wants to go first?”  

Playlist:

My Oh My: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fd2kkLmSDQ&list=PL3oW2tjiIxvTKa5OYCIb8TdKjxSYuv5dg&index=18

The man: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AqAJLh9wuZ0&list=PL3oW2tjiIxvTKa5OYCIb8TdKjxSYuv5dg&index=27

Good in goodbye: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQZJsOSw1pU&list=PL3oW2tjiIxvTKa5OYCIb8TdKjxSYuv5dg&index=45

Bang bang: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0HDdjwpPM3Y

New Rules: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2qgadSvNyU

Burn the house down: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UnyLfqpyi94

Good as hell: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmbmeOgWsqE

Beach bunny Prom Queen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dc6SSu5pnHw

Bored: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tsPxaAVg584

Kings and queens: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jH1RNk8954Q

Sweet but a psycho: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXBHCQYxwr0

All the good girls go to hell:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PZsSWwc9xA

Insane like me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeltAGwwsDQ

[stormyvixen]

Blog Tour with Excerpt! Wheels Up: A Novel of Drug, Cartels and Survival by Jeanine Kitchel!

Title: WHEELS UP: A NOVEL OF DRUGS, CARTELS, AND SURVIVAL

Author: Jeanine Kitchel Publisher: Independent Pages: 294 Genre: Thriller

BOOK BLURB:

Layla always wanted to run the family business. But is she willing to kill for it?

When her notorious drug lord uncle is recaptured, Layla Navarro catapults to the top of Mexico’s most powerful cartel. Groomed as his successor, Layla knows where the bodies are buried. But not all the enemies. She strikes her first deal to prove her mettle by accepting an offer to move two tons of cocaine from Colombia to Cancun by jet. Things go sideways during a stopover in Guatemala whe Layla unexpectedly uncovers a human trafficking ring. Plagued by self-doubt, she must fight off gangsters, outsmart corrupt officials, and navigate the minefield of Mexican machismo. Even worse, she realizes she’s become a target for every rival cartel seeking to undermine her new standing. From her lush base in the tropics, she’s determined to retain her dominant position in Mexico’s criminal world. If she can stay alive.

AVAILABLE in print or ebook at:

Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/Wheels-Up-Novel-Cartels-Survival/dp/0692064699/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1531070072&sr=8-1&dpID=51WOvdpfbqL&preST=_SY344_BO1,204,203,200_QL70_&dpSrc=detail

Chapter 1 Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico Present Day The Gulfstream jet, loaded with two tons of Colombian cocaine, careened over dense Yucatan jungle as Layla stared out the compact window, horrified. If they weren’t running on empty and destined to crash, it might have looked lush to her, even beautiful. Without fuel, the engines starved into silence, she heard only the whooshing sound of the aluminum plane as it cruised over mangrove swamps and fast-approaching mahogany trees. All thoughts of her hasty departure from Guatemala to escape Don Guillermo’s wrath had vanished along with any hopes of safely landing in Cancun. They were going down. Layla gripped the armrests, dropped her head between her knees, and prepared for the worst. # Three weeks earlier, Layla was sitting at the crowded bar in Bucanero’s Cantina in Ensenada, on Mexico’s west coast, while she waited for Clay Lasalle, Canada’s biggest pot dealer, to show up. Carlos, her bodyguard and sometime lover, was with her, but rather than relieving the stress, his overbearing presence just added to the pressure. With the recent recapture and imprisonment of El Patrón, her notorious uncle, Layla had catapulted to the top of the Culiacan Cartel as his replacement. Now she was facing her first deal without her uncle’s guiding hand. To calm her jitters she resorted to the one thing that never failed her: tequila shots. “Don Julio, por favor!” Layla called to the paunchy bartender over the clamor of the rowdy, alcohol-fueled crowd—mostly tourists in shorts and Hawaiian shirts. Above the polished mahogany bar a framed poster-sized photo showed a nude blonde being ushered out of the century-old watering hole by two Mexican policia. Of course it’s a gringa, Layla thought, Mexicans treaded more carefully in shark-infested waters. She waved a two-hundred-peso note as the bartender passed by with a tray of margaritas. “Momentito!” he promised. Carlos stepped away just as she downed her second shot. Though he’d given her his “cuidado” or “be careful” look before heading to the restroom, she ignored it. When a handsome gringo sat next to her and started talking, she was all in. By the time Carlos returned, Layla was too busy chatting with her neighbor to worry about her bodyguard’s glare. Carlos hated outsiders as much as seeing her drink, but she needed to chill. Tequila shots and flirting were a mindless diversion. The agave centered her, allowing her to distract herself without losing her edge before the meeting. “You’re from Chicago?” she asked. “I’ve been there.” The man gazed at the dark-haired Latina by his side. “What did you think?” She gave a dismissive shrug. “Too cold.” Her intelligent almond-shaped eyes were the color of charcoal. “I prefer Mexico.” A sardonic smile highlighted her cheekbones, making her face even more appealing. Layla turned back toward her bodyguard and focused on the shot glass the bartender placed in front of her. Poor Carlos. Coming to Baja always rattled him. It wasn’t only the jaw-breaking drive from Culiacan on dodgy Mexican roads. It was Ensenada—far from the safety of Sinaloa, well out of their comfort zone. But for Layla, Bucanero’s Cantina qualified as northern Baja’s one saving grace. The dive bar brought back memories of her wild, reckless early years. At thirty-five, Layla still had plenty of the right stuff. Her five-foot-six frame seemed mostly legs and Carlos’s rare compliments always focused on her tiny waist. She emphasized her striking physique by wearing low-cut tops but her most notable feature was the cascade of curly dark hair that spilled over her shoulders. She downed her last tequila shot, scooted off the wooden bar stool a step ahead of Carlos and moved towards the empty dining room. The cantina was not the best place for a meeting, but it suited their needs: an easy landmark near the border with a back room for business. Layla slipped into the barely lit room, accepted a menu from the waiter, and handed him a two-hundred-peso note. “Our associate arrives soon. We need privacy. Close the restaurant,” she ordered. “Your manager knows.” He nodded, pocketed the bill, and turned towards the kitchen. Layla walked across the worn wooden floor to a corner table in the back. She took a deep breath to steady herself before sitting down. Things would escalate into a full-scale argument once Carlos reached the table. She could already hear him scolding, “Bosses keep to themselves, especially in public.” When Carlos had a bad day, everyone had a bad day. He could easily vie for title of most miserable man on the planet. Too bad the sex was so good. Hijole! He had the body of a male model but two sizes larger, with café au lait skin. So handsome, but so disagreeable. Granted she shouldn’t have given that gringo the time of day, but tequila made her bold. Layla opened the menu, waiting for her bodyguard’s interrogation to begin. Carlos banged a cheap wooden chair against the table before sitting down. “What the hell do you care about Chicago? It’s not Madrid, not even Barcelona! That guy was boring! Are you so starved for conversation you have to talk to a gringo?” Layla silently perused the bill of fare. “I’ve had it,” he said, his voice rising. “I’m tired of my life. Am I just your bodyguard and nothing more? Everyone, everyone, told me to keep it strictly business, even your uncle. But I didn’t listen. I thought it would be that one drunken one night stand, and now I’m fucking chained to you because of this goddamn job!” His powerful hands clenched into fists as he rubbed them over his knees. “If only I could’ve left you in Guadalajara. But I’d have never made it out of the city before taking a bullet from your uncle.” That was accurate: You didn’t quit the cartel, the cartel quit you. She looked at the menu, avoiding eye contact, glad the waiter hadn’t yet returned. “Should we order?” He glared at her. “Are you acting like this conversation isn’t happening? Do you want me to walk out of here, meeting or no meeting?” Best not to test him. He’d do it, and then she’d be without a bodyguard. The drone of his voice, the bullying, started to sink in. Chinga! She had no trouble working the cartel mob, but Carlos ran her. He was as overbearing as her two brothers. Reynoldo who should have been running the cartel had died trying, and Martín, her other brother, wasn’t up to the task. Now with one brother and two cousins dead, Layla found herself atop the Culiacan Cartel. She looked up and said in as soothing a tone as possible, “Carlos, let’s not fight, okay? We’re here for business. I need you with me. You’re not only the man who protects me. I love you.” She did love him, though his bad attitude and barking complaints—usually aimed at her—were tiresome. He shifted his perfectly-proportioned body forward, staring at her with eyes she’d been lost in a hundred times. He surprised her by grabbing her hand, a little harder than necessary. They never touched in public. “After this meeting, we’ll talk about you and me.” He scowled. “I don’t know why you drink so much—and with strangers.” These macho men! “Okay, okay. I’ll let up on the shots. One last Pacifico while we wait.” The waiter came and they ordered. She checked her watch, 10 p.m. Lasalle would be showing up soon. She’d met him once before in Miami and sparks had flown—there was no denying they had chemistry. Layla changed topics. “So, what does he want?” “Chinga! Who cares?” She backpedaled. “Carlos…” He gave her a cold look but couldn’t hold back his opinion. “Routes for coke or pot.” The meal went smoothly. Layla pushed an enchilada around her plate and watched Carlos demolish an order of chilaquiles, three tamales, and a couple chicken enchiladas. As he piled it in, a rare calm settled over him. He was well into his second beer when Clay walked into the restaurant. Layla saw him first, but Carlos looked up the moment Clay crossed the threshold. As a bodyguard, Carlos’s instincts were flawless. The thirty-something Canadian smuggler was six feet two, a looker with brown shaggy hair and an easy smile. Though his frame was solid, almost hefty, he moved like a cat. Spotting Layla, he gave a nod as his long strides brought him across the room. He let his knuckles graze the table as he flashed her a warm smile. “Layla, it’s been a long time. Good to see you again. And this is…” “Carlos.” “Carlos, hola. Clay.” The Canadian extended a hand. Carlos rose from the booth. “A pleasure.” He spoke in Spanish. “I’ll be close by,” he said to Layla. “Have a seat.” Layla slid over to allow room for Clay. Not much had changed about the northern grower since she last saw him—still that laidback air even though he controlled the lion’s share of Canada’s pot sales. “Something to eat?” Layla continued in English, though she knew Clay spoke passable Spanish. He shook his head. “Just a Pacifico.” She gestured toward her beer and the hovering waiter sprung into action. “Long drive?” “Not bad. Been waiting long?” Clay asked. “No.” They silently watched the waiter set down the bottle of beer and retreat from the room. “Salud,” said Clay, raising his bottle. “Layla, I’m glad you could meet with me. I’ll get right to the point. I want a partner to move a couple tons of coke to Cancun by air—a regular run. I heard you lost a yacht recently, so a partnership could work out well for both of us.” How did Lasalle know about the navy seizing their yacht? “Cocaine…” “Boats are fine, but flying’s faster and we can carry more. Plus I’m dealing directly with FARC. Gotta hand it to ’em. For a guerrilla army in the Colombian jungle, they know how to run those cocaine fincas. And we can get better prices from them than anyone’s gotten before.” He took a swig of beer. “Interesting,” she said without emotion. “How will you manage those good prices?” “A combined order with you.” He paused and waited for her reaction. She said nothing. “The airport manager’s on board,” he said, “Already allowed some of my flights through.” She leaned back against the worn naugahyde booth, settling into the game of cat and mouse. “What kind of planes?” “A Gulfstream and a DC-9.” Layla raised an eyebrow. “Who owns them?” “A couple guys in Lauderdale run a shield for drug planes by providing American registration to the cartels. It’s complicated—big money down, more than what the plane’s worth. In return these guys maintain the plane registration, and hire Vietnam vets to do the cartel runs.” She nodded. “If the plane’s seized, the pilots deny responsibility. These hooked-up guys can reclaim the plane because their corporation holds the lien,” Clay said. Layla slid forward, placed her elbows on the table and picked at the label on the empty beer bottle in front of her. “How can they do that? Someone must hold the original papers.” “They disguise ownership by sheep-dipping it—you know, a fake identity—and pass it on to straw owners. It’s a slick process, an old scheme used by the CIA.” “The CIA? Come on, Clay,” she said with a slight frown. Do I look naïve? She flipped her dark hair over one shoulder. Clay’s gaze shifted to Layla’s long elegant neck. He caught himself, looked away, and readjusted his long legs under the table before speaking. “These vets couriered traffickers from Colombia to Miami for the CIA. Talk about walking the line. They did time for trafficking, but they’re back, and they’re hotshot pilots.” “Your shipments came in with no problem?” Layla asked. “Like I said, I have connections, and the players, they’ve worked it out.” “Does that include the Gulf Cartel?” He nodded. “Hmm. I’ve got to think things through,” Layla said. “When’s your next run?” “Got a few details to sort out. I hear you’re growing the European market—this’ll get you a lot closer to that trip across the pond.” Layla gave him a cool smile. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were spying on me.” “Layla,” Clay said with a chuckle. “I’m just trying to keep up with you.” She looked at him a second too long before she continued. “Can I get back to you?” “Sure.” Clay finished off his beer. “Let me know where and when.” # Layla and Carlos left Ensenada immediately after the meeting, heading out on the road to Culiacan. Carlos high-powered the black SUV through the moonless night while Layla closed her eyes and imagined the impact of bringing in new business on her own. In a four hundred billion dollar global industry, she could begin to stake out her territory. “By working with us, FARC will see Clay as a real player,” she confided to Carlos. “Basta! Always business!” Carlos said, still in a huff. Layla composed herself before responding. “Yes, it is. Business that allows you to drive a new Escalade, wear expensive suits and five thousand peso boots, and drink Don Julio and Dom Perignon. Let me remind you: My uncle’s in prison and he’s left me in charge. Get used to it!” She leaned against the window, pulling as far away from Carlos as possible. Always fighting. She turned her attention to the darkness outside. It was a lonely two-lane road, not used much even in the daytime. Though she couldn’t make out the mountains that surrounded them she knew they were there. They rode in silence, absorbed in separate thoughts. Carlos concentrated on dodging potholes. Layla contemplated moving powder with Clay. The rules were changing and in this game they all had to stay ahead of the curve. She was anxious to run the idea by El Patrón. But they had a long drive ahead.

About the Author

Jeanine Kitchel, a former journalist, escaped her hectic nine-to-five life in San Francisco, bought land, and built a house in a fishing village on the Mexican Caribbean coast. Shortly after settling in she opened a bookstore. By this time she had become a serious Mayaphile and her love of the Maya culture led her and her husband to nearby pyramid sites throughout southern Mexico and farther away to sites in Central America. In the bookstore she entertained a steady stream of customers with their own Maya tales to tell—from archeologists and explorers to tour guides and local experts. At the request of  a publisher friend, she began writing travel articles about her adopted homeland for websites and newspapers. Her travel memoir, Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, and Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, are available on Amazon. She has since branched into writing fiction and her debut novel, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, launched May 2018. WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website - http://www.jeaninekitchel.com/

Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/jeaninekitchel

Facebook (personal) - https://www.facebook.com/jeanine.kitchel

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/Jeanine-Kitchel-255426494528083/

[wxat]

S12E41 - Raising the Stakes

Mary: This episode of writing excuses has been brought to you by our listeners, patrons, and friends. If you would like to learn how to support this podcast, visit www.Patreon.com/WritingExcuses.

Season 12, Episode 41.

Brandon: This is Writing Excuses—raising the stakes. Mary: 15 minutes long, Mary Anne: because you’re in a hurry, Wesley: And we’re not that smart.

Brandon: I’m Brandon. Mary: I’m Mary. Mary Anne: I’m Mary Anne. Wesley: And I’m Wesley.

Brandon: And we’re going to talk about raising the stakes and making it more personal. In the “Novel” month, we want to specifically talk about how you can continue to raise stakes for a story across a long period of time. So I’m going to ask you that.

How do you keep readers’ interest through the longform?

How do you get them to keep reading something so long?

Wesley: Really, for a novel-length piece we’re talking about an overall plot that will span the 100,000 words that encompasses the novel. Brandon: 100,000. Mm. Mary: [laughs] Wesley: Or half a novel, or act one of a Brandon book.

But then also within that 100,000 words of the main plot are a bunch of smaller plots—smaller scenes that are continually raising the stakes in different ways. Brandon: Okay. What are some of those ways?

Wesley: So for example, in The Rise of IO there’s the main plot for the character who is a person inhabited by an alien and she’s trying to not only survive the whole encounter but she’s also trying to figure out who she is. But on top of that she’s also a conwoman who is on the run from gangsters, and she is dealing with the fact that she lives in the slum.

Brandon: So you’re talking about adding some subplots and things like this to raise the stakes? Wesley: Subplots that help build environment, to develop the character... and you’re ratcheting things up slowly.

Mary: Yeah. When we’re talking about raising the stakes, what we’re looking for are things that make things worse for the character. And I’m going to talk about 2 basic paths that you can take.

One is that you can still have the same thing that can go wrong but you can...

Make the failure point of that worse.

So if, for instance, the popular kid is afraid that people are going to discover that they are homeless. That’s a bad failure point. But the failure point can become worse if as a consequence to that, that could lead to them being put into foster care and being taken away from their family.

The same thing is at stake: “I don’t want people to find out that I’m homeless.” But the failure point can become worse and worse and worse and worse.

Brandon: Right. I had this in college when I was a professor. Actually I still am. But it happened a lot more when I was teaching freshman-comp. If somebody failed, that was bad.

But if a student from another country failed, that could be even worse. It could mean they didn’t meet their credit requirements and they could get shipped home. Your parents angry at you is one thing. Getting shipped back if you’re doing study abroad and losing your ability to continue at school is even worse. 

So yeah. You can make the failure more drastic. Wesley: The consequences of everything that happens.

Mary Anne: It’s funny—I was also thinking about parent-child conflicts and school. But I want to take a step back, because when I’m trying to figure out what the stakes of my story are, and the stakes for the characters... I tend to go back to “What do I care about? What is frightening to me? What is at stake for me? What am I emotionally invested in?” Because I feel I write that more convincingly.

For example, when I was in college we had this South-Asian students group meeting where we all sat around in a circle and it was this encounter session kind of thing. And we were talking about “What are we afraid of?” and “What it’s like being here in college?”

And 95% of us wanted to talk about dating and how we were terrified that our parents would find out. And we were really really scared of that. Because it was a huge deal! And there was one girl whose parents found out that she was dating a white boy and they cut her off, and she had to drop out of college for 2 years until she could re-apply independently for financial aid... and it is potentially your whole family on the line.

And then there were a couple of people who were like, “Oh, wow. My parents are totally cool. This is just not an issue for me.”

So that’s always made me think on that when I’m setting the story...

“What are the issues for my character?”

And there’s not necessarily going to be universal issues.

Wesley: That’s a really good point. So for example, “The world is ending.” Well, that sucks. But then for the character what does that mean, that the world is ending? “Suddenly my child will never grow up and experience a full life.” Mary: “I’ll never finish this novel!” Wesley: [laughs] I’m at 90% of the novel and I’ll never finish...

Brandon: Two general themes, here. One is what Mary was saying earlier, which is “Make it more specific.” Make the consequence a little rougher by making more specificity in their life. And the other one’s a take on the same thing, but you’re saying “Make it more personal.” Let us know the personal consequences of this failure.

Mary: And a lot of times that’s the thing that makes the failure point worse. “Oh, if we don’t do this the drinking water could become contaminated.” And everyone agrees that’s a bad idea.

But as soon as the main character meets one of the kids who’s drinking that water, that is actually—all by itself—making the failure point worse. Because it has become personal for the main character, even without adding any complications to it. So that’s one way that you can actually raise the stakes without adding plot points.

Mary Anne: And I think you can keep interrogating yourself, as a writer. My awareness of consequence changes every year.

Last year I was diagnosed with breast cancer—and I’m fine now—but one thing I realised the day I was diagnosed is that I suddenly had this terror that I was not going to be around long enough to tell my kids everything they would need to know. And I wanted to go and record video messages to them for hours. “Here’s all the wisdom I have!” just in case. It would not have occurred to me a week beforehand that that would be the biggest issue in my life.

Mary: And I think when we talk about “Write what you know,” that’s the kind of thing people are talking about. It’s not “Oh, you must write your life experience.” 

It’s that you can take things that you know—the deep emotions—and extrapolate from them into things that your characters are experiencing.

And a thing that happens a lot with try-fail cycles, is that you can...

Introduce a new problem that has been caused by a previous solution

For example, in the southern United States they were having problems with soil erosion so they introduced this plant called Kudzu. And if you’ve ever been to the South... Brandon: It looks so cool! Mary: It’s this great ecological faux pas.

Brandon: It’s a disaster, but it looks so cool! Wesley: Why does it look cool? Now you’ve got me curious. Brandon: It looks like the Zerg arrived and they’re taking over the ecology with this alien creature... Mary Anne: What?! Brandon: You drive along the road and you just see vines covering everything and turning it into an alien landscape. Mary: And they’ll just go over houses, and... it is a disaster.

Mary: And it’s this thing where a new problem has arisen. They solved the erosion problem. That problem has been solved! Brandon: That goes back to one of the plotting methods you taught us a few years ago which is the “Yes But, No And,” where it’s always make it worse. I’ll have a question for you guys after the Book of the Week. But let’s stop of the Book of the Week because you’re going to tell us about “The Incredible Adventures of Cinnamon Girl”?

Book of the Week

Mary: Yes! “The Incredible Adventures of Cinnamon Girl”! This is a book that I picked up when I was in Australia. And I was “I want to read an Australian author that I am not familiar with.” I picked this up on the recommendation of a bookstore owner, which is why we support local bookstores. And it’s amazing!

It’s a Young Adult novel, and it begins with signs of the end of the world. There are legitimate signs that the apocalypse is coming, and specifically the focal point of the apocalypse is going to be this small town in Australia. So it is totally this ��End of the World” novel, but the author pulls out some incredibly surprising things. It’s hard to talk about without spoiling one of the fun things. But you spend a lot of the novel going, “Wait— Is the world actually going to end, or is it not?”

And she manages to raise the stakes for the characters, which you wouldn’t think was possible when the book begins with “The world is about to end.” But she does it by getting more specific and more personal.

The characterisation is great. It’s also a very body-positive novel. And it’s just fantastic. I loved the heck out of it. Wesley: The author is Melissa Keil. Brandon: Excellent! That sound really cool. Mary: It is a fantastic book.

Brandon: So, back on the topic. Let me as you guys... we have this raise the stakes “Yes But, No And.” All of this stuff that keeps us tense and on the edge of our seats...

Doesn’t this just get old across the course of a long story?

Doesn’t it just get frustrating for the reader? How do you not have that illusion break down?

Wesley: I feel like you can’t write an entire novel pedal-to-the-metal. There’s got to be times you pull back a little, let the reader catch their breath... Brandon: So occasionally do you need to have a, “We fixed this one. We’re okay”?

Brandon: For those who don’t know “Yes But, No And,” you plot by saying:

“What is our conflict?” “They try something and solve it.”

“Does it work?” “Yes. But it causes a bigger problem.”

No, Kudzu is taking over. And, we have the original problem. That sort of thing.

Can we have a “Yes, period”?

Mary Anne: As a reader I really appreciate rest points. I like a chance to breathe, a chance to just delight in, “Oh, these characters are having a small, intimate/funny/romantic/whatever moment that’s just enjoyable.” And you can lean on the structure of the book. If there are 200, 300 pages left... as a reader you know something else bad is coming. We’re not at the happily ever after. So we’ll just enjoy  the little rest. [sigh] And then we turn the page and we’re going to be plunged into it again.

Wesley: There’s different formats. There are a lot of thriller movies where you are on the run the entire time. Any time you solve something it gets even worse. 

Brandon: Lots of them do that. But I will say part of the reason I’m asking this question is because occasionally in thrillers, about halfway through I’m emotionally done. I’m not invested anymore. You’ve lost me. The first half was super-gripping... Wesley: You’re exhausted. Brandon: Oh, of course it’s going to go wrong in some ridiculously over-the-top way. Of course there’s going to be, “Yeah, we fixed this but now there’s scorpions in my shoes.” That sort of thing breaks down for me eventually.

Mary: Yeah, I would agree with that. One of the mental metaphors that I think about is constructing a story is much like constructing a stairway, where things are going up for the character, but at a certain point you have to have plateaus—you have to have a level spot so you can catch your breath and continue forward. But those still are always forward. There’s a sense of progression.

You see this done badly where things are going wrong, things are going wrong... and then we have the seemingly unrelated happy scene in the cafeteria where everyone seems fine. And then you know, “Oh, everyone is happy right now. Something bad is about to happen.”

So the challenge is to provide that sense of rest while giving that sense of, “This rest moment is serving a function.” Otherwise people are like, “All this rest moment is doing is setting me up for the next thing.” Brandon: Yeah, I can’t enjoy it because I’m too tense for what’s coming next.

Mary Anne: I enjoy reading cosy mysteries. I enjoy reading funny romances. These do not have thriller pacing to them.

And there is a tension, but it’s...

A quiet tension

There’s a lot of people sitting around and having conversations and knitting, etc... But nonetheless it’s gripping because there is a question that was raised at the beginning, and it’s a question that matters. The stakes are high for the reader. I mean, what’s more important than love? It’s a big deal. So that can be enough to carry you through.

In genre Nicola Griffith’s “Hild” is a really interesting book. It’s told very quietly. It’s a brilliant Norse-type story with a young girl as the protagonist. And Griffith is a beautiful writer. There is a tension that grows incrementally over the course of the book, and she turns it up a tiny bit in every chapter.

Mostly it’s very domestic. It’s this little girl learning how to navigate her world, and she’s doing handiwork and cooking and whatever else. But you can feel the looming disaster.

Mary: This is a really good point that a lot of times early-career writers will raise the stakes too fast and too high. And that’s the thing that’s hard to sustain.

When I was writing “Shades of Milk and Honey,” my instinct was to put in evil overlords, to have... Brandon: Wow! Mary: It was so hard not to do that, because that’s what I read. And it would’ve been a disservice to the novel. Mary Anne: Because it’s based on a Austenian kind of model, right? It is a complete disaster if someone turns away from you instead of speaking to you when you walk into the room, right? That’s enough.

Brandon: This is a really good point. Spacing out how you raise the stakes—even backing up on the stakes for your beginning. Despite our discussion of “You need to start strong.” Well, starting strong can be, “I’ve just broken up with someone, I’m looking for someone else. Hey, I’ve got a nice fling. Hey, I’m getting attached. Hey, I’ve found this person I’ve been looking for forever, and now they’re moving to Australia!” Mary Anne: Aww~! Brandon: That is a raising of stakes that’s very personal to someone but also has an escalation.

(SPOILER ALERT for JESSICA JONES: Skip the indented block below if you don’t want to see any spoilers.)

Wesley: One example that clearly illustrates what Mary’s talking about is Jessica Jones. It’s 10 episodes of Jessica fighting Kilgrave. In the middle, they raise the stakes right away: they caught him by episode 5. But they’re like, “We’ve got 5 more episodes; what do we do with him?” So then they let him go. Brandon: [laughs] Wesley: And they catch him again. Wesley: And for 3 or 4 episodes that’s all they do, because they’ve already gotten to the very end and they have time to spare.

Mary: This is a fine example of you’ve got this really epic finishing shot, you don’t want to throw away your shot really early.

The other thing that I think that you can do is...

Delayed consequences.

These are sometimes a way to keep the stakes raised.

Going back to the question that you’d asked earlier Brandon about whether or not you can ever just close an arc... I think that if you ever just have a “Yes,” that does close that question. But you can have a “Yes dot-dot-dot, but.” And have the “but” come later.

Brandon: Right. “We’ve delayed this.” I think you’re right; that happens a lot in epic fantasy. We say, “This is a big problem. We have put a band-aid on it. This will be a dangerous thing later on.” You see it all the time in films that are planning a sequel as well, though. “Now we have to deal with this other evil...” I think this is a good way.

Mary Anne: I have a story, Seven Cups of Water (erotica), where it has escalation and every night it escalates a little bit more. And one of the things that worked really well in that story is the next-to-last night, it de-escalates suddenly. And you’re like, “Wait— We’re not on that track anymore. We’re going somewhere else. We’re no longer engaged in that.” And then it comes back. And you’re like “Oh no! We did not actually solve this. We’re right back in the midst of it. And now it’s really bad.”

Brandon: This has been a great discussion. I’m going to have to call it here.

Homework

But I do have some homework for you guys. I want you to try a few of the things that we’ve talked about in this episode. Number 1, specifically raising the stakes by taking a side character from a story you’re working on and raise the stakes for what’s going on for them. Try making it more personal first. But I’m not going to let you use the crutch that a lot of us use, that they have lost someone in their past, or that it’s personal because this is the person that killed their mentor or something like that. It can’t be related to the loss of a loved one. Mary: No fridging! Brandon: Yeah, let’s make that one not on the table, and just see what you can do with that, then.

And then make it more specific. Try to make it a little less epic but more specific to the person. Try that instead. And see if this raises the stakes in interesting ways for your story.

This has been Writing Excuses. You’re out of excuses; now go write.

Mary: Writing Excuses is a Dragonsteel production, jointly hosted by Brandon Sanderson, Dan Wells, Mary Robinette Kowal, and Howard Taylor. This episode was mastered by Alex Jackson.

[theloudpedal]

Car Week on a Budget: The View From the Cheap Seats

Now that the dust has settled and we've (mostly) recovered from Car Week activities, we want to take some time to highlight Car Week opportunities that will not empty your wallet.  To any who will listen, we always make the pitch that you can "do" Car Week on as little, or as much money as you like.  

At at the very minimum, driving to Monterey will cost you some gas money, possibly/probably a bridge toll, and  potentially some unwanted speeding tickets if you can't control your heavy right foot.  Area hotels and motels triple and quadruple their pricing so people can pay 5 star prices for 1 star accommodations.  Marque events require tickets and they are typically not inexpensive.  All of this plus meals and any swag can add up to a pretty expensive weekend.  Luckily, we’ve done this before so we have a suggestions and tips to help you hit up Car Week with the least amount of damage to your wallet.  Call it balling on a budget.

If you want to do things "right," Car Week requires several days to soak it all in, so hotel/motel costs are unavoidable.  The best advice we can give is to reserve your accommodations as early in the year possible.  And by early, we mean the day you leave.  If you can find a place that will let you reserve a room a year in advance, we suggest you do it.  If you can't swing a room because of the cost, or you're just not willing to drop some coin till you're sure it's for you, just go for a day.  Posting up at one of the locations we're going to be talking about in this post will absolutely deliver an experience that will probably rival most of what you've seen at your local meet-ups, or shows.  It's damn near impossible to avoid having your mind blown or your neck broken, just walking down most streets in Carmel or Monterey during the event week.   We've both done single day trips, and have even driven down and back from Sacramento twice in a weekend a few times.  We don't recommend it, we haven't done it in quite a long time, but we can absolutely guarantee that it's worth the effort and/or fatigue.

Here are some of our picks for Car Week activities that will cost you nothing more than time and a little patience with traffic.

Exotics on Cannery Row:

EOCR is a Car Week event that’s been around for a few years now.  It’s a free car show/street party that occurs on the Friday night of Car Week.  It draws almost every modern sports car, super car and hyper car that you might dream of seeing.  The only bad news is that, as popularity has grown, so have the crowds.  It gets so packed that we've developed a mild case of claustrophobia.  (we won't mention the incredibly loud pop music remixes they blast, as we may just be getting old and sensitive)(but it really is excessive)

EOCR is a mix of car fans, fan boys, gawkers and tourists.  The best advice is to arrive early as cars are coming in, or conversely, arrive late as cars are leaving.  For those that just want to see cars and not take photos or video, any time will work.  (You just have to be prepared for crowds and noise)

Since it began, EOCR has delivered (for FREE) an overstuffed menu of modern wonder cars that is unrivaled.  Year after year they have presented something special,  and this year was no exception as Christian Von Koenigsegg was on hand with eight of his namesake cars.  One egg is rare to spot anywhere, but eight in one place is ludicrous! And if that wasn't enough, we saw a Bugatti Chiron two Lambo Centenarios, 3 Ferrari F50s and no less than 2 Ferrari F12 TDFs.  It got a little nuts.

The Garages:

With a little luck and some planning and strategy, it's also possible to check out many of the cars that you'll see on display at various venues, in absolute tranquility.  All of the people that arrive to Car Week must stay somewhere, and their cars have to park somewhere too.  From our years of experience, we have found a number of hotel garages that serve as temporary vaults for exotics cars.  Unlike bank vaults though, these things generally aren't guarded.  Where are these places?  Sorry, we’re not ready to give up our secrets yet, but the best advice we can give is, pay less attention to where you see a car stationary and pay more attention to the direction from which it came from.  Frankly, you're unlikely to find and garage or parking lot in the area that doesn't have something amazing in it.  We've found many great finds on accident.

Spotted on the Street:

The best place to get your free fill of the Car Week buffet is Friday through Sunday in Monterey and on Ocean Ave and surrounding streets in Carmel (next year we'll be exploring the area near Quail Lodge).  Our earliest adventures in Car Week, long before we became the "legit automotive journalists" you now know, we's spend the evenings around Carmel taking in the constant flow of supercars, vintage cars and rare automotive oddities. 

The Random Rolling Car Show:

Car Week is all about finding the unexpected.  Every year, without fail, Car Week has provided us with something unexpected.  Maybe it was the garage with two Koenigseggs and countless Ferraris. Perhaps it was a rare pre-war Bentley cruising down the avenue.    This year, the unexpected surprise occurred in central Monterey as we stood around drinking capuccinos on Saturday night.  We were reflecting that the streets were pretty OK, better than the last few years, but not as good as the good old days. 

Then It started with the low grumble of an American V8.  Then there was the sound of a siren, one of those old siren sounds like you hear in 1950’s gangster movies.  Our attention focused down Alvarado Street.  As the cars came closer,  other sounds emerged such as the hiss of hydraulics.  What happened for the next 20+ minutes was parade of custom low-riders and hotrods and customs that were clearly the product of passion, sweat, talent, perseverance and grease.  It was a nice change from the constant parade of manicured classics and super exotics that usually prowl the streets.  Those minutes will remain a seminal memory for us at Car Week and representation that Car Week is about a love the automobile in its many forms.  It was everything we love about cars...and trucks....and bikes.

Pebble Beach

Yes, Pebble Beach, but let's be very specific.  Pebble Beach on Friday is another opportunity.  Friday is the time when things are starting to get set-up at Pebble Beach for the Concours on Sunday.  This includes major (and some minor) automakers that often set up their displays early, to take advantage of the heavy foot traffic that Sunday will bring.  It's also a way for automakers to charm and "appreciate" current owners of their brands.  The good news is that many of these opportunities are free.  Check out this gallery of things we found at Pebble Beach that didn't costs us a dime.

And in conclusion...

The long and the short of Car Week is that you can go everywhere, spend lots of coin and see lots of spectacular stuff.  Or, you can post up on the boulevard with a cup of coffee and get much the same experience.  You can't go wrong no matter what you do...or what you don't do. Take it from us, we've done it every which way.  The most important thing of all is simply to do it.  Make the plans, reserve the room, get the time off from work, arrange for childcare, beg, lie, obfuscate...whatever it takes.  Get to Car Week and prepare to see the show.  You will have no regrets.

Full Gallery