#me in hell: where is michael bachelor i just have to talk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heyitsphoenixx · 3 years

Text

I Hope You’re Happy Pt. 5

I loved writing this and getting into the legal research of it, hope you like it too, lmk :)

TW: brief mentions of rape, murder, suffocation, drugs

All Parts AO3

gif by: @mickeysjones

Cassie was always prone to insomnia, and last night was no different. She had fallen asleep an hour before her alarm went off and woke up feeling ready to run a marathon. It was now Friday morning, and Cassie sat in the courtroom watching people file in before the plea hearing began. It was initially set for next Tuesday, but Al’s lawyer had specifically asked for the hearing to be sooner rather than later. He either wanted to just get everything over with and plead guilty, or he really wanted to shove it in everyone’s faces when he didn’t. He wanted to shove it in her face.

Cassie watched the doors as waves of people entered through, including eager journalists and their cameras. This was all anyone was talking about, it had made national news, so everyone wanted their own piece of the pie, even if that just meant sitting in for a damn plea hearing. Eventually, she started to see familiar faces: old classmates from Forrest, Al’s newlywed wife Anastasia who was already weeping, his friends, some of which were at the bachelor party that night and now attempted to kill her with their eyes, her parents who came to sit behind her for support, Madison McPhee, who Cassie wasn’t expecting to see this early but welcomed the challenge, and at last she saw Gail and Michael walk in together. Mrs. Fisher was notably absent. She stood to meet Gail’s tight hug and shake Michael’s hand again before they both sat on either side of her. She and Michael had gone over every possibility for what might happen today over the last couple of days in preparation. She was ready.

“No matter what happens,” said Michael, “we can handle this. He knows he’s fucked to high heaven no matter what he does, so whatever moves he has now are just his attempts at getting a little breathing room inside a vice grip.”

“And we’ll be right here, I’ll be right here for you, no matter what honey,” said Gail as she took Cassie’s hand in hers. Cassie gave a tight-lipped grin.

“Thank you. Honestly, I’m just eager to see his panicked, pathetic face, in orange,” she joked.

Everyone had been settled for a few minutes now, talking amongst themselves and speculating in a chorus around her, when the door opened again and Cassie lifted her head to see Ryan enter. The chorus instantly dimmed to a low whisper. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the accidental meeting at the coffee shop. His eyes immediately found hers and he stopped in his tracks for a moment. She made her face unreadable, and he gave a weak smile before gluing his eyes to the floor and taking a seat parallel to hers, but far across the room. Gail watched this interaction with utter fascination and looked at her with a wide-eyed question on her face.

“Okay, when we’re done here, you have got to tell me what in the hell all of that was about just now,” she insisted. Cassie shook her head but kept her gaze forward and steady.

“We broke up, right before I left,” she whispered.

“And you’re telling me this now?” said Gail incredulously.

“You’ll have to excuse me if I had bigger things on my mind, Gail.”

The doors opened on the opposite side of the room where Ryan had entered, and a long line of policemen made their way to surround the defense stand, and behind them in a fluorescent orange jumpsuit was Al Monroe, in handcuffs (plain metal this time, no pink fur), followed by two lawyers that looked like they were eager to get back to the country clubs they owned. She studied what she could briefly see of his face before he turned his back to her. He wasn’t a hard man to read, but she saw an odd mixture of fear and arrogance in his expression that made her wonder what he was thinking. Nonetheless, she wasn’t shaken.

Cassie had been here before, with Nina. She was the one holding Nina’s hand the last time she was in a courtroom with Al being charged. But this time was different. Last time, Cassie didn’t know what could happen, and she didn’t have the possibility of a trial of her own hanging over her head. Last time, she was a kid and inexperienced, full of fear and rage and uncertainty. Now, she felt more ready than she’d ever been before.

Finally, the judge, Judge Turner, was the last to appear, and everyone rose to their seats as he slowly made his way to the podium. Another crusty white man who looks like he could die any day now, Cassie thought. On the right of her periphery, she saw what could only be Ryan’s head, a foot over the next tallest man in the room, quickly turn in her direction before the judge asked for everyone to be seated. She almost wished he hadn’t come.

“Good morning, everyone,” Turner started. “We are here today, Friday, July 28th, 2019, to hear how the defense, Alexander Randall Monroe, pleads according to the criminal charges brought against him on two counts: the first charge being second degree rape, and the second charge being an attempt to commit voluntary manslaughter.”

Judge Turner further explained the penalties for each charge, how he could be sentenced for anywhere from three to ten years in prison for rape, and anywhere from seven years to a life sentence for the attempted manslaughter. He would also owe over $30,000 in fines. He explained Al’s rights that Cassie knew he had had repeated to him relentlessly by his attorneys. She also knew those fines would be a drop in the bucket for his family to pay off for him, and that he was more concerned about his time in prison than anything.

“Mr. Monroe, please stand.”

He did as he was asked, the sound of his moving handcuffs ringing throughout the room.

“Can you confirm that you are here of your own free will, and that no one has threatened you in any way or promised any sort of financial gain to you for being here?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Al, his voice thick with fear. Cassie sat up straighter in her seat in preparation, and Gail held tight onto her hand.

“Alright. Then I ask, how does the defendant plea to the first charge against them, of second degree rape?”

Cassie could almost hear the air being sucked out of the room as Al’s lawyers stood, and everyone held their breath. Her jaw clenched as she ground her teeth and she suddenly felt the July heat make its way inside and directly onto her skin, but she kept her face stone cold, expressionless. It was the lawyer on Al’s right, a few feet in front of Cassie, who spoke.

“The defense pleads guilty.”

There was an uproar all around her as people rose from their seats in celebration, clapping and cheering, and Gail hugged her again and cheered just as loudly, but she was hugging a statue. Cassie was overjoyed inside that finally, finally, she did it. She got justice for Nina, all she ever wanted. She could cry from the waves of emotion that ran through her all at once, one of the most prevalent being that she so badly wished Mrs. Fisher was here to see it. But she kept her face motionless, save a small upturn in the corners of her mouth, and turned to Michael who matched her expression. They both knew it wasn’t over yet.

“Order, order! Order in this court!” Turner demanded as he slammed down his gavel, and eventually the voices quieted as they all came to the same conclusion as Cassie and Michael.

“Now then, if the court can contain themselves, I ask the defendant how they plead to the second charge brought against them, of an attempt to commit voluntary manslaughter?”

The room had become even more silent than before, and Cassie could feel her heart in her throat ready to burst. The lawyer on Al’s left now spoke.

“The defense pleads not guilty.”

There was no celebration, no cheers, no claps, no hugging. It wasn’t to comply with the judge, but out of a mix of heavy emotions. There were some in the room who silently agreed with this plea out of a hatred for Cassie, out of a hatred for women, and out of a lifelong assumption that this was the morally correct plea that men like Al always made, that always saved them. Cassie felt their blood boiling in self-righteousness, and she felt their eyes burning her skin. Then there were those in the room who didn’t know Cassie, but felt the implied message that the plea was meant to send, that he wanted to cause her pain, and he wanted to re-establish the age-old idea that he could cause her pain by bending the legal system to his will purely based on his own privilege, and they hurt for her. And then there were the few in the room who did know her, or knew as much of her as she was ever willing to give them. She felt their hurt and she felt their rage too. She was grateful for them, but she knew that by the end of this most of them would turn on her too as they learned more about the version of her they never knew.

Cassie was more than happy at the guilty plea for Nina, so much so that she didn’t care in that moment what was going to happen to her because of this. She had gotten the only thing she had ever really wanted this whole time. No matter what, Alexander Monroe was going to prison for raping her best friend. Anything else would have been extra, and she wasn’t surprised at all that he chose to fight this. He knew he couldn’t beat the evidence of that tape, but he knew he could fight her. She had drugged his friends, assaulted him, attempted to carve him up, and then drugged him too. In her stupid hurry to escape, she had left the spiked alcohol and the scalpels at the cabin. He had enough ammo to turn her against the entire country, added onto some inevitable bribery with the jury to boost his chances. He had a solid case against her, but she knew her case was just as good. This wasn’t going to come down to who was really the victim and who was really the attacker. This was going to be pure theater. It was going to be a magic show for everyone watching, and the ultimate thing that would push the needle determinedly in either direction wouldn’t be the amount of evidence given against someone, but who could better entertain a hungry crowd. You could easily swap the word “entertain” for “manipulate,” and no one was better at manipulation than Cassie.

Judge Turner explained that the plea sentencing for the rape charge would be held next week to decide how long Al would be in prison, and that the trial for the attempted manslaughter would begin in a month from now. Cassie heard her mother start weeping behind her and her father’s hand squeezed her shoulder. Nonstop camera flashes were threatening to blind her vision.

“That son of a bitch is gonna fucking pay,” Gail seethed.

Cassie and Michael looked at each other as they both felt their phones vibrate. They read an identical text from Jordan Green, the retired lawyer who first defended Al.

Now the real work begins.

_________________________________

Cassie felt deeply claustrophobic as she made her way out of the courthouse. Cameras and journalists swarmed her every step, asking her opinion on Al’s pleas, how she felt about it all, what it felt like to finally get justice for Nina. Michael told each one that she wasn’t ready to comment, and that if they wanted to keep their jobs they would stop hounding her. Gail had her arm around her shoulders protectively, and her parents followed close behind, and though she knew they all meant well, she couldn’t stand how close they all were. Finally, before brother or sister started slinging curses at the press, Cassie slid out from Gail’s grasp and stopped in front of the plethora of microphones.

“Everything I do will always be for Nina. If he wants a war, I’ll give him a war.”

And with that she walked on ahead of everyone out of the courthouse doors as she heard Michael’s attempts to wave them all off her trail. She breathed the air outside for the little time she had before being followed again. She felt a strange sensation that this might be the last full breath she would take for a long time.

“You ok?”

Cassie flinched and turned to see Ryan leaning against a pillar behind her. His sudden appearance annoyed her, and so did his sharp, tailored suit.

“Are you gonna do that every time? You can never just walk up to me like a normal person?” she deadpanned. He hung his head in defeat only to bring it back with a tight smile.

“I figured you wanted some space,” he said.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong...” she trailed off, suddenly realizing she had been standing there for at least thirty seconds and saw no sign of cameras anywhere.

“I told them you were coming out the back for privacy, thought I could buy you some time before the vultures descended.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning her head so he couldn’t see her smile.

“Seriously though, are you ok? I know everyone is probably going to be asking you that from now until the end of time, but I was hoping to get in there early on,” he asked, moving to stand beside her, facing the street in front of them.

“And I totally get it if I’m the last person you wanna talk to or see, just tell me to fuck off and I’ll-”

“I’m alright,” she stopped him. “I could go for some pizza though, ya know, before the vultures circle back.” She finally looked at him as his face changed to a kind of hopeful confusion.

“Yeah?” he asked cautiously, wanting to be sure.

“Yeah,” she assured him.

“Alright.” He jumped to the edge of the street and hailed down a cab almost immediately. He was hard to miss. He opened the door and ushered her in with urgency.

“Come on, lets go. I know this great mom-and-pop place that just opened downtown called Dominoes, real down to earth, you’ll love it.”

Cassie bit her lip to try to stop her laughter, but failed as Ryan hit his head on the roof of the car climbing in.

_________________________________

I’m gonna kill that boy

No you’re not. And you shouldn’t’ be texting me things like that now. I’ll be fine

“Everything alright?” Ryan asked around a mouthful of pizza. Cassie snickered at her phone.

“Yeah, Gail’s gonna kill you though, so I’d watch your back,” she warned with a smirk. He held his hand over his mouth to stop pizza flying out before he swallowed and laughed.

“Honestly, I think that might be a better fate than the alternative, I don’t think I’d last a day in court against her,” he mused.

“No, you wouldn’t, and with Michael on her side you’d be obliterated.”

“Really though, I don’t want either of us to face her wrath if I’m taking you out of school here,” he said earnestly.

“No, I love Gail and I appreciate them all, but she hasn’t let me out of her arms since I left the hospital and I think I was about ready to suffocate for a second time before we left. And she knows I’m perfectly capable.”

“Yeah, I think everyone knows that now,” he remarked.

You have no idea, Cassie thought.

An awkward space in the conversation fell on them as they both internally winced at the memory of her waking up in the hospital. Cassie swirled her straw around in her glass of water, deciding what was necessary to say. Just four days ago she had woken up from a coma to the sound of his snoring and it had made her want to reach for a scalpel all over again. Now, here she was laughing over pizza with him. Seeing his face on that video, hearing his voice, had felt like someone had pushed her into the path of a bullet train. Because of that, when she made the plans to infiltrate the bachelor party, she had already felt dead. And all it took for him to apologize and take some kind of responsibility was some blackmail, seeing her on the brink of death, the threat of losing his medical license and the possibility of a trial of his own. How the fuck could she even look him in the face?

She remembered confronting Jordan Green at his house. She had fully expected the previous attorney who had represented Al Monroe, and had gotten his case dropped, to be proud of what he’d done, and to even threaten her with his big and scary lawyer connections to try and keep her quiet. Instead, he welcomed her like he had been waiting for the grim reaper to appear at his doorstep any day now, and begged for forgiveness at her feet, weeping like he was confessing his every sin to a priest. And she had forgiven him. She didn’t trust him as far as she could spit, but she forgave him. All she ever wanted from her interactions with the people connected to what happened to Nina was for them to take responsibility for their part in the wreckage, and to feel deep, true remorse. Green had been one of the first to give that to Cassie, and it had unexpectedly shaken her to her core. She didn’t need them all to have as big of a reaction as him, but that was definitely ideal. And she knew if she had let Ryan go on in his apology he would probably get there, whether out of fear or guilt she wasn’t sure, but she thought now that she had probably stopped him short because she didn’t fully want to know the answer. She remembered what her father had said to him.

...She means to say thank you, for going out of your way to stay with her, and with us, through all of this.

Had he really been there the whole time? She had gone to the local ER, and he worked at a private clinic in pediatrics. He had acted like he was part of the staff, and had most likely convinced the actual staff to let him watch over her until she woke up if they had let him check her vitals and get her discharged. At the time, she had been too furious with him to register much of his emotions besides what anger was being mirrored back to her, but she remembered now that he had looked absolutely exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken from a lack of sleep and his scrubs looked like they hadn’t been washed in days. He was going back and forth from work to the ER every day, she thought. Why the fuck would he do that after I broke up with him and blackmailed him?

“But she is right,” said Ryan, interrupting Cassie’s thoughts. “You’re still technically in recovery, you should be in bed instead of running from the press to chase down some pizza.”

“I’ll take that over supervised bedrest any day,” she admitted.

“Yeah, I know,” he laughed grimly, “but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

“I’d beg to disagree, but begging disagrees with me,” she countered.

He shook his head but flagged down the waitress for the bill anyway.

“It’s been a long day, anyone would be begging for some sleep after all of this. Let’s get you back to your car, and my car for that matter. I don’t know what I was thinking getting a cab, we’re three blocks away from the courthouse,” he laughed at himself.

He walked back with her as they talked about nothing, dancing around heavy subjects, mainly relieved to be making each other laugh in a situation that would normally be devoid of laughter.

“...and for three days, this kid was determined to convince me that he had lymphoma. He had memorized all of the symptoms so his parents had already been convinced, and they were screaming at me to just yank out his lymph nodes already. I have never considered the consequences of killing a child more in my life.”

“Then you’d really give Gail her motivation,” she quipped, which got a real laugh out of him as they reached her car.

“Look,” he said, his smile slowly fading. “I know we’re not on the best terms right now, and you are completely free to go tell me to fuck myself at any point-”

“Ryan-”

“But if you ever need to talk, or hide from the press, or you need an accomplice to steal pizza with, I’m free.” His hands were shoved into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, clearly nervous as he waited for her judgment.

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” she said, smiling.

“Alright. Goodnight, Cassie,” he said, slowly backing away backwards before turning to walk back to his car.

Cassie sat in the driver’s seat and waited for him to leave the parking lot. She breathed a deep sigh and then slapped herself in the face, hard.

Pull. Yourself. Together. You do not need this distraction. That’s all he is, a distraction. You don’t even like him. Remember what he did.

And she did remember. She also remembered the look on his face when he apologized to her in the shitty coffee shop, and she remembered him trying to hold back pizza as he laughed, and she remembered his white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and she remembered his tie loose around his neck and his jacket draped over his shoulder as he walked back with her. And she couldn’t stop remembering.

She hit the steering wheel with her palm before getting out of the parking lot and slamming the gas down the road, windows down.

#bo burnham #carey mulligan #pyw #promising young woman

17 notes · View notes

leiakenobi · 3 years

Note

#7 with👀 Santiago or Michael

7. dancing together, one of them takes the other’s hand, kisses it

ohh i love the image of either of them here for very different reasons but i think we’re gonna go with Santiago today because i’ve got a Michael prompt sitting in my inbox

we’re jumping in with the scene leading up to the climax of what could easily be a longer fic that i don’t think i want to write, but oh did i manage to get myself very invested in it anyway.

——

The charade is almost over.

You and Santiago have spent the past week convincing your old friends that he’s your boyfriend. Now that dinner is over, the easiest part of the reception is all that stands between you and normalcy—just dancing. Dancing and small talk with a few dozen strangers.

After the invasive grilling from competitive friends who refused to believe that you could bag someone like Santi, some small talk will be a piece of cake.

Even so, it’s a relief when Santi rescues you from a conversation with the groom’s sister by settling his hand at the small of your back and smiling graciously. “Hi, would you mind if I steal her away for a dance?”

The sister is all gracious smiles and, “Yes, of course!” and then you are being led toward the dance floor, your fingers slotting easily between Santi’s while you whisper, “Thank you.”

“No problem. Figured it was time to look blissfully happy on the dance floor,” he replies, his own voice low. “I think there’s something slow coming next.”

You swallow hard at the thought, because right now your reaction should be something along the lines of, Excellent. One last so there before we leave. It’s difficult to revel in how well you played everyone, though, when part of you doesn’t want the whole thing to end. So all you can really say is, “Okay.”

Some upbeat pop tune wraps shortly after you reach the floor, and then, as Santi predicted, a new track starts up: slow and sentimental, with a sweeping orchestral introduction. Santi reaches for your hand and pulls you close, almost as automatic as breathing.

Because you’ve had a lot of practice this week, of course. Small touches and your fair share of kisses, all for the sake of the show.

That’s why he grabs you so easily, and holds you so tenderly.

Meanwhile, your heart pounds in your throat while you lean in close and breath him in. Pounds all the faster for knowing that he must be so damn ready to be through by now.

“Do you hate me for making you do this?” you ask.

“What? Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Swallowing nervously, you concede, “I think I might hate me, in your position. Having to meet and play nice with all of these people...”

He laughs in your ear and squeezes your hand tight. “I could never.” After pausing for a moment, he does add, “Although I could have done without the groomsmen trying to include me in the bachelor party. If I’d been more sober, we could have watched The Bachelorette like we were planning.”

“Let’s keep that in mind for next time. Better excuses to avoid the social niceties.”

It was meant as a joke, but it doesn’t occur to you until the words have left your mouth that they might rub Santi the wrong way. And it seems like they do, because when you pull back to look at him, his brow is furrowed. “Yeah, might as well.”

You’re such an idiot. He can probably tell that you’ve started earnestly crushing on him over the course of the week; you can’t imagine how embarrassing you must sound to him, joking about a next time.

So desperate.

Neither of you say anything for some seconds. It’s not discomfort from that comment, really, that hangs over you—just a general dread.

It’ll be good and easy so long as Santi’s holding you.

“Maybe we could head back to the room soon,” he suggests at last. “So I can get my beauty sleep.”

You want nothing less, but you can also feel the weight of Santi’s hoping for it, and you want to oblige, for his sake. So you tell him, “How about after the bouquet toss? I probably shouldn’t miss that.”

“No, no, of course not. Give them fodder for asking me about marriage, too.”

“What are you talking about?” You stop swaying, now; instead, you clutch his his shoulder tight, holding his gaze. There’s an intensity and frustration there that baffles you. “I just mean since I’m part of the bridal party. I’m not going to actually try to catch the thing.”

Besides, you don’t say. By this point, everyone who matters has heard the line about how you and Santi never intend to get married because neither of you believe in such an archaic institution. None of them are asking about marriage.

“Right, why would you try to catch something that’s being thrown right at you?”

Okay, seriously, though: what the hell is he getting at?

You can’t ask—before you get the chance, Santi brings your hand up to his lips – your fingers still intertwined – and kisses it gently before releasing his grip on you and pulling away. “I’m too tired to wait, I’m sorry. You stay as long as you like, though, cariño. I’m sure I’ll be fast asleep by the time you get to the room.”

And then he is gone.

The dance floor feels conspicuously empty as soon as Santi has disappeared, and you can only hope that you don’t look as lost as you feel.

Is there even the slightest chance that he--

Oh, fuck the bouquet. You hurry off after him as fast as your heels can carry you.

#marvelousmermaid #santiago garcia x reader #prompt fill #my fic #my drabbles #created #fanfic

67 notes · View notes

transmascfrankiero · 5 years

Text

all of mcr’s songs ranked out of ten based on whether or not you can strip to them:

romance: could work if you were going for a Super Melancholy smiths-esque vibe but overall too slow and pretty. 1/10

honey: headbanger soundtrack to showcase your revenge body to ur ex. bonus points for underlying ‘gonna murder shitty boyfriend’ context thanks to audition-inspired video. but slightly too angry to be seductive. 5/10

vampires: too goth, too many feelings. reminds me of pot dreads frank. would not work. 0/10

drowning lessons: this song is cursed and cannot be listened to in public unfortunately 0/10

sorrows: if u were going to do a strip routine while beating the shit out of someone for trying to stealing ur tip money this would be a gr8 choice 6/10

halos: it’s about blowing your own head off and taking too many pills to cope w/ wanting to die all the time. 0/10

turnstiles: please do not!!! strip!!! to a song!!! about 9/11!!!! what is wrong w/ you!!! -100000000/10

monroeville: if u were doing a private lil strip dance for your george a. romero-obsessed s.o. where u both cry over the idea of having to kill the other person b/c they turned into a zombie then sure??? but other than that no. .5/10

best day ever: ehhhhhh. too fast. kinda weird to get sexy to unless u have a hospital kink. 0/10

cubicles: wow the thought of doing a strip routine to a song about pining for ur coworker who doesn’t know u exist is too sad to even joke about -20/10

demolition lovers: it’s a long song but it’s got cool tempo changes for variety and if u got the stamina then go for it. 4/10

helena: so, like, i get it. it’s a bop. u could dance to this beat for sure. the costumes and color scheme from the video make for gr8 stage pictures and the dancing corpse lady is v pretty. i could understand why if u were doing an emo strip routine u would want to use helena. but please for the love of all that is holy do NOT strip to a song gerard way wrote about his dead grandmother okay i am BEGGING you -∞/10

give ‘em hell kid: FUCK YEAH YOU LOOK PRETTY WALKIN DOWN THE STREET IN THE BEST DAMN DRESS U OWN. 10/10

to the end: this would be a hilarious choice for a bachelor party ngl 7/10 for that alone

prison: absolutely you could strip to this song but u gotta COMMIT okay u gotta light something on fire onstage and challenge gender norms while screaming your head off 8/10 but only if ur not a coward

i’m not okay: it’s a bop, but can u strip to it? no. 0/10

ghost of you: mikey way did not die on a beach in fake normandy for u to strip to ghost of you. seek help -5/10

jetset life: dude this song like. actually works??? for a strip routine??? so long as you don’t actually listen to the words, from a musical perspective, u could totally strip to this 10/10

interlude: what kinda weird catholic shame kink do u need to have to strip to this song. also it’s too short and too pretty. -5/10 (unless ur into catholic shame idk)

venom: this would require such a high energy routine but if u can make being sweaty work then this is a gr8 choice 7/10

hang ‘em high: this is a BATSHIT INSANE choice for a strip routine but if u want to do it then PLEASE do. i like ur style. 8/10

deathwish: u can strip to this only if u introduce ur routine by dedicating it to everyone who ever said eyeliner on dudes was gay. 5/10

cemetery drive: i think not. 0/10

never told you: if u are a highly theatrical highly murderous stripper then yes definitely 7/10

desert song: this song is Way Too Beautiful to strip to sorry you can’t have it -300/10

the end.: the only sexy thing about this song is how good gerard’s voice sounds so no. 0/10

dead!: this is a bold fucking choice but u have to play your cards just right. high risk high reward but SO much to potentially get wrong 6/10

how i disappear: u could. but why. 2/10

sharpest lives: holy SHIT yes ABSOLUTELY u should strip to sharpest lives. the drama. the beat. the spy rock guitar that frank accidentally nailed. this is one of THE choicest options from their catalog. why aren’t u stripping to this right now 50000000/10

wttbp: cute idea but don’t actually 0/10

i don’t love you: again, a bold fucking choice. u could strip to this in an edgy, meta sort of way but it’s missing the trashy factor so it’d have to be part performance art and part strip routine. if ur into that then totally 5/10

house of wolves: i mean i would pay money to see someone strip to this song so 7/10

cancer: LMAO YIKES -2000000/10

mama: this would be GLORIOUS if u fully embraced the sheer insanity and went Bonkers in Fuckin Zonkers burlesque-show-in-hell w/ it. 100/10 but u gotta pound the floor wailing at some point

sleep: i’m conflicted on this one like on the one hand it’s a good tempo for stripping but on the other hand it’s a song about being cruel to ur loved ones in order to force distance between u and them b/c you’re terrified of them getting hurt and it being all your fault. so maybe don’t strip to this one actually 0/10

teenagers: a bop w/ a great beat and fun costume ideas from the video but two major drawbacks being 1. ur getting naked to a song about teenagers which is uhhhh sort of Inappropriate and 2. it’s kind of also about school shooters which is also Inappropriate to get naked to. 0/10

disenchanted: why would u want this. you sad fuck. idek what to say except if you want to strip to this song i’m crying on your behalf -100000000/10

famous last words: don’t????? don’t. Do Not. stop that. -12/10

blood: this is HILARIOUS omg please strip to blood 10/10

kill all your friends: sure?? no objections but it’s an odd choice. this goes for the demo too. 2/10

heaven help us: if u want to strip to this then you definitely just read unholyverse for the first time and while u are valid, Don’t 0/10

my way home is through you: not an especially sexy song but it’s fun!! you do you 3/10

astro zombies (cover): uhhhhhh it’s a no from me dawg. i’d be thinking about danzig, like, the whole time. 0/10

desolation row: sure but u gotta be willing to get punched in the face by the riot squad for maximum effect 4/10

common people (cover): just b/c gerard would strip to britpop doesn’t mean u can. 0/10

emily: NO!!!! -50000/10

party at the end of the world: nah. 0/10

not that kind of girl: literally please consider the subject matter of this song and rethink ur life choices. -10/10

all the angels: it’s a cool song but don’t strip to it that’s weird -2/10

jack the ripper: you and the person who wants to strip to astro zombies can go sit in the suicidegirls corner together how about that. 0/10

na na na: a banger!! strip away my friend 9/10

bulletproof heart: a good song but not a strip song 1/10

sing: sorry this song is [REDACTED] it gets no score

planetary (go!): you could try to strip to this but it’s such a classic four-on-the-floor that i think you’d end up just regular dancing to it and forget to be sexy so 4/10

the only hope for me is you: are you doing a strip tease for michael bay. stop. put ur shirt back on shia lebeouf 0/10

party poison: like this is a hilarious option and i support you but realistically it’s pretty fast for a strip song 3/10

save yourself, i’ll hold them back: this is a safe option. Too Safe. almost soulless. a person who’d strip to this would avoid eye contact the entire time and never smile and later when you went out for a smoke break you’d overhear them on the phone with their ex arguing over child support payments. 4/10

s/c/a/r/e/c/r/o/w: the more i think about it the more fun the idea of stripping to this becomes so i say go for it 6/10

summertime: i’m Certain that gerard would prefer if you didn’t -5/10

destroya: is this objectively the best mcr song to strip to? Absolutely. it’s got everything you could possibly want right down to built-in moans and fever dream drums. but the only person in the universe who Can Must and Should strip to this song is gerard. sorry them’s the breaks. ∞/10 but only if you’re gerard way

kids from yesterday: don’t. 0/10

vampire money: 100% yes you should strip to this. bonus points for stealth twilight references 1000000/10

we don’t need another song about california: do i like this song? yes. is it sexy? no. 0/10

black dragon fighting society: i can’t understand what the FUCK gerard is saying in this song AT ALL so i can’t recommend that u strip to it b/c i have no fucking idea what it’s ABOUT 0/10

f.t.w.w.w.: i mean. this song is about eating pussy. and robots that are built specifically to fuck. so yes you can strip to this but you gotta dress up like a pornbot 100/10

mastas of ravencroft: again i cannot understand most of the fucking words and the ones i do understand are something something RICKETY BONES RICKETY HANDS so like. probably not the one 0/10

boy division: i could go either way on this one like it’s really fast but it’s also about cocaine so??? 3/10

tomorrow’s money: while this song slaps overall violent nihilism does not a strip song make 1/10

ambulance: no. 0/10

gun.: antiwar messages are sexy but not the right kind for stripping 1/10

the world is ugly: PLEASE no. 0/10

the light behind your eyes: oh my god this is so DEPRESSING why would you want to strip to this who hurt you -2000000/10

kiss the ring: yes yes yes it’s got built-in audience participation conceit factor if u let ur audience kiss ur ring, totally works 10/10

make room!!!: again, slaps, but not a strip song 1/10

surrender the night: dude we talked about this!!! dying violently w/ ur loved ones is Not Sexy!!! 0/10

burn bright: i guess you could strip to this but again it’s Too Safe tread carefully 3/10

fake your death: i want frank iero to strip to this song so i can throw tomatoes at him for being a LYING SACK OF SHIT FOR TWO YEARS i’m not gonna rate this one but frank if ur out there i have a basket of slightly squishy heirloom tomatoes and i am COMING FOR YOU

#mcr #this is the dumb post idea #i spent like an hour on this lmao

2K notes · View notes

theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years

Note

Hey again! I was the one that requested the domestic one and omg it was amazing! Could I be cheeky and ask of you could write another one? I know, I'm sorry but I'm dying at everything you write! Maybe one where the emerson's are part of vamp family but Michael's older sister moves back in and flirts with the boys but she has a really bad case of baby face and they are unsure of her advances because she looks a bit too young for them? They find out she's older than Michael and just go ahead

I am always taking asks!! Feel free to ask for as much as you want!! God, I love the au that the Emersons joined the vamp fam so this may be a long imagine

Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader That’s the Emersons Baby-Faced Older Sister

You were the oldest of the Emersons. You’d left sunny Arizona for a full-ride scholarship in Ohio, and it had been the worst mistake of your life. The second you got your bachelors degree, you were ready to get the hell out of there. You were nearly twenty-two, and you already felt like you’d missed a thousand opportunities. You swore that if you had to see a cornfield one more time, you were going to blow your brains out.

While you couldn’t return to your home in Phoenix, your mother, Lucy, was more than willing to welcome you back into the nest. They’d moved to Santa Carla, California, and you were doing your best to unpack your bags from your mothers car as you said, “We couldn’t have moved here before I went to college?” You asked, and your mother gave you a look as she handed you one of the boxes. They’d only moved there because your mother had divorced your father, and Sam gave you a look as well. “Way to go, y/n.” He said. Okay, maybe not the best thing you could’ve said.

You spent the day unpacking and arranging your room exactly how you wanted it. You had to admit. It was pretty awesome. Much bigger than your dorm, and you actually had space to stretch out. However, you still had a few boxes left unpacked when your mother knocked on your door.

Your mother told you that you were having a welcome home dinner, which would include her boyfriend and his kids. You hadn’t asked many questions, mainly because you didn’t really want to end up spending your night with either. You wanted to hit the town and roam the boardwalk. Not meet Mr. Rogers and his children. You showered changes into a fresh t-shirt and shorts, and you bounded down the stairs when you heard the sound of a motorbike. Well, motorbikes. You thought your brother, just your brother, had just arrived home, and you hadn’t been able to see him during the day. You met him in the living room, and missed the sight of the little boy and girl walking into the kitchen to greet your mother. When he walked in, you gave him a big hug before punching his arm. It was super lame of him for ditching you for the entire day.

“Nice piercing.” You teased, commenting on his new earring. He scoffed and pushed your head. He joked and asked you how ‘boarding school’ was. It was what he called your college, because when you’d showed him the brochure he’d commented on how it looked like one of those old boarding schools in the upper east-coast. You missed your brothers, and you were happy to talk to them again. You almost hadn’t noticed the boys behind him.

Well, as soon as you did, you had to keep your mouth from dropping. It almost looked as if Michael had become friends with a metal band, and you had to keep yourself from staring too long. They were gorgeous, each in their own way. You had to flirt with them, even if they were Michaels friends. How could you not?

“Who are the local hotties?” You asked and the wild-haired blonde with a laid-back smile and a slight Californian accent replied, “I’m Paul. Who’s the babe?” In almost just as flirty of a tone as you had given them. You smiled, and one of his friends, the curly haired blonde, quickly elbowed him. He had an awesome jacket, but a face practically made for a museum. And that hair? The tied back blonde curls were perfectly styled, and practically begging to have fingers run through them. The brunette sent him a look, and then the blonde besides him replied, “Marko.” The mulleted blonde looked you up and down, as if trying to figure out something. You caught him, and gave him a wink. He was hot, in a punk way. He looked dangerous and almost a little mean, but his eyes were mesmerizing. He narrowed his eyes, and you genuinely couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “I’m David.” He said. From just those two words you could tell he was intense, and his voice was as smooth as silk. The brunette was last, and you didn’t even try to keep your gaze off his exposed abdomen. Nice. “Dwayne.” He said, and you sent him a wide grin. His voice was deep, and he was tall. He loomed like a statue, and his face was perfectly neutral. He was pretty intimidating, those dark eyes practically boring holes into your skin. You really wished you could ditch this lame dinner and spend it with the them instead.

The boys didn’t know what to make of you. You had flirted with them, and they usually would’ve been eager to swoop in. You were cute, and definitely their type. But you were Michaels sister. He hadn’t told them much about you, and the four guessed that was on purpose. More so, they had no idea how old you were. You still had a baby-face, and you were shorter than Sam. They guessed you had to be older than him, but Sam was only fourteen. Wait, fifteen maybe? They couldn’t remember. As far as they knew, you could’ve just been a very flirty sixteen year old and they were not going to make that mistake.

It didn’t help that you continued by supplying your name and saying, “Y’know, guys like yourselves could definitely show a lady around sometime.” It was a not-so-subtle hint, and Paul was dying to respond. He was their biggest flirt, and you definitely had your own silver tongue. He was positive that you had to be at least eighteen. “Oh, yeah?” He asked, and this time it was Dwayne that elbowed him before he could continue. Paul gave him a glare, and Dwayne returned it tenfold. “Yeah, I’d offer tonight, but I have this family thing.” You said, waving your hand and rolling your eyes. Then, David smirked. Oh, you had no idea who they were. This was perfect. And like always, Max had perfect timing.

He’d strode in with a full suit, making you feel a little under-dressed for your own dinner. He had a bouquet of flowers in his hands, and he gave you a wide, dorky smile as he passed the boys and held out his hand. You shook it, and then took the flowers. “You must be y/n. Your mother has told me so much about you.” He said, and you gave him a smile. You wished you could say the same. “I’m Max,” He started. You expected to see some little tykes trailing behind him, but you didn’t see a single one. Instead, he gestured to the four boys besides him. “And I see you’ve already met my boys.” You felt your mouth drop. These were his kids? You stared at them, and you could feel your face go instantly red. Curse your giant mouth. Michael took way too much pleasure in seeing how surprised you were, and you sent him a deadly glare. He couldn’t have warned you? You excused yourself, hiding your escape by saying you wanted to help your mother with dinner. Max offered to come with you, and you thought it would be too rude, and suspicious, to deny him.

You fled into the kitchen, and you were confused when you saw two new faces. Okay, how many kids did this guy have? You were quickly introduced to Star and Laddie, and you sided up to the other girl. She was soft-spoken and kind, and you asked her some questions. Mainly just to get to know the others without having to ask them yourself. You learned that all of them were adopted, and that she was even dating Michael. Okay, that made you feel a little bit better about flirting with the boys. It also made them completely fair game.

All twelve of you couldn’t fit at the dining room table, so you split up. Sam and Laddie were banished to the kids table, and Star stuck to Laddie like glue. This made Michael aim to sit with her as well, and your grandpa decided he was too much of a kid to sit at the ‘adult table’. You were left with Max, your mother, and the four boys. The parental figures took the heads of the table, and you slid into the seat squeezed in-between two other chairs. It’d guarantee that a boy would have to sit on either side of you. Paul tried to sit next to you, but he was quickly pushed away from the seat by the platinum blonde. It was obvious the boys were trying to cock-block him as much as possible, and you thought it was because you were fresh meat and they each wanted you to themselves. Really, it was because Paul couldn’t be trusted. You grinned as David took the seat instead, but he didn’t smile back. You sat between David and Marko, while Dwayne and Paul sat on the other side.

You all begun eating, and Max began asking you all types of questions. You answered them, but you weren’t really paying attention to the conversation. Instead, you were playing footsies with Paul. Well, trying. You were dragging your foot up his leg, and he’d nearly choked when you started. He excused himself, saying something about the bathroom as he left the table. Paul went in there just to give himself a pep talk and remind himself that you were Michaels sister, making you his as well. Just as quickly as he reminded himself that, he said, “Well, Stars technically his sister and he fucks her all the time.” He stayed in the bathroom as he mulled over the morally vagueness of the situation.

You grinned, and next you tried Marko. You gave him a sweet smile as you reached out to touch his jacket. You complimented it, and then your hands trailed up to his hair. It’d been a ghost of a touch, but you asked him what he used to style it. He tried to seem unbothered as you touched his curls, but then you gently rubbed your leg against his. The boy had dropped his fork, and everyone looked at him. You stifled your laugh, and he became flustered as he picked it off the floor and excused himself to go get a new one. You rolled your eyes. Marko was doing his best to ignore you before, but you weren’t making it easy. He went into the kitchen and the ‘kids table’ gave him confused looks when they saw how flustered he was. The two blondes were gone, and you were running out of options.

So, you reached over and gave Davids thigh a light squeeze. He stilled, almost impossibly so. You trailed your hand up further and gave him another, and then he glared at you. He knocked your hand off his leg, but he didn’t get up like the others. David had far more self control than either of the two other blondes. He didn’t need to excuse himself to collect himself. Hell, he was almost impressed by your bravery. David didn’t care that you were Michaels sister. Michael had stolen Star from him, so he actually thought it would be quite fitting if he did the same to him with you. He just needed to know that you were legal first.

You set your eyes on the brunette, and he’d arched a brow at you when your eyes met his. You commented on his piercing and complimented it, and then lifted the edge of your shirt as you told them that you were thinking about getting a belly button piercing yourself. You’d done it just to expose some skin, and Dwayne’s eyes quickly flicked down to your stomach. He nodded, but he didn’t say a word as he quickly looked anywhere except at you. You were hell of a tease, and Dwayne refused to give in

You let your shirt drop when your mother asked you why, and when, you planned on getting one. Your mother wasn’t the judgemental type, and you cooly said, “Oh, just as a birthday present to myself. I’m older than Michael and even he has more piercings than I do.”

Marko and Paul had just returned to the table when those words fell from your lips, and all of the boys paused for a moment. You were older than Michael. Definitely legal age. And you were definitely into them. All of them, it seemed. They’d been holding back before, but now every bit of restraint they had quickly left the building.

Marko touched your hair gently just as you’d done to him, and hid the action by mentioning your unpierced ears. He trailed his fingers along your neck and leaned in close as you talked. As soon as that was brought up, Dwayne offered to pierce them for you. He offered to pierce your belly-button as well. That was one way to get you out of your shirt, and the slight smirk he gave you told you that was exactly what he had in mind. Pauls leg rubbed against yours, and you didn’t hesitate to reciprocate the action. He gave you a wolfish grin, and even managed to keep up the conversation as he did. It was all topped off when Davids hand gripped your thigh. He wasn’t shy, and he even managed to worm his hand between your legs. He gripped your inner thigh and lightly traced his fingers over the exposed skin, and it took every ounce of willpower to not be a blushing, embarrassed mess from the onslaught of attention from all four of them

Both of your parents, a term loosely given to Max, were oblivious, and they even seemed happy that you were getting along with them so well. Once dinner was finished, you invited them upstairs to show them your room. It was completely under the guise of showing them your wicked music and comic collection, and perhaps having them help you finish packing since someone *cough* Michael *cough* had conveniently been gone the entire day so some of the heavier boxes and your TV (it only played vhs’ but it was better than nothing) hadn’t been brought up. Your parents didn’t see any harm. If it had just been one of them, they would’ve been suspicious. But all four? What could go wrong? Three of them grabbed a box and Dwayne carried your tv, and you told them where they could place everything. Michael was the only one who seemed concerned when Paul kicked the door to your room closed, but he was too distracted by Star to go investigate

At first, you really did unpack. Well, the boys looked through your stuff, and took them out of the boxes. Marko had snagged your box of comics, and he commented on the hefty collection. You told him that Sam had gotten his love of comics from you. Paul had gotten your box of vinyl and cassettes, and he was pouring through them and geeking over some of your heavy metal albums. Dwayne was doing his best to help set up your tv, and David had grabbed your box of vhs tapes. Once you and brunette has succeeded in getting it working, David popped a tape in. To add more noise, Paul put on one of your casettes into the boom box in your room. You had set up the tv on your desk, which was at the very end of your bed.

The two blondes didn’t move from their spots on the floor, and Dwayne sat on the floor with them. He leaned back against your bed, and David took off his boots and shed his coats before he was climbing onto it to sit at the headboard. He arched a brow at you, and you didn’t have to guess where this was going to go. You grinned as you climbed onto it with him, and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

Sam had, unfortunately, come to collect a comic you had promised to give him once you got back about twenty minutes later, and had opened your door to find you underneath and in a passionate lip-lock with the platinum blonde while the others seemed to be patiently waiting for their turns.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys imagines #david the lost boys #the lost boys david #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys marko #marko the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys x reader

421 notes · View notes

haleviyah · 2 years

Text

It's been a Decade...

Did another “Draw this again meme” this time with our main guy here.

Just an FYI "Rose of Sharon" did officially turn six years old this past Passover/Easter Sunday. However, Joshua (or "Yeshua") as a character has been scribbled by me since I was roughly sixteen years of age.

(Compared to Michael and Gabriel who both have been around for a record 16-17 years - hot damn!)

All I can say is… WOW.

Just, wow. Almost a decade and here we are. As I have stated before, Joshua has been through one hell of a metamorphosis that mirrored my personal growth and struggles. Wether that can be taken in a positive or negative stance is completely up to you and what you want to see here.

With that being said, art-wise it's obvious where the improvement is and how much it has changed dramatically since 2013 or 2012 (the before drawing) compared to now (2022).

I want to keep this short, so let's look at the improvements for Yehoshua design shall we?

=========

Before (2012-2013)

So what was Yeshua like in 2012-2013 originally? Well, let's see:

Majority of the personality traits that Yehoshua had a decade ago was rooted mainly in Baptist Christian beliefs. Here’s a list:

Omnipotent

Idle

Incapable of learning

G-d-complex

Independant

Sovereign King (makes all the decisions)

Somewhat the “Straight-man” of the group.

Kingdom first

Entitlement based Judgement

Not very athletic

Hermitic

“Straight-edge”

Loves the Worship

Knowledgable most of the time.

Personification of a Lion.

Other:

Jewish/Hebraic/Middle Eastern heritage is nonexistent and has no impression on his design or personality.

This is mainly due to my lack of access to the Jewish community at the time and being over saturated in Christian based-doctrines only.

For some reason he had a scars all across his head. I guess it’s because everything else including his hands and feet were covered and it bugged little “fanatical” me.

Originally he was a only meant to reside in Heaven and was forbidden to leave.

Unmarried bachelor.

Fancy curtains for robes.

Almost never interacts with other people, unless the person is picked by him.

Angel’s automatically liked and obeyed him without a second thought.

No soft spots or quirks I can think of.

In short, unkosher and SEVERELY detached from his Jewish background and culture. But he damn well road on that "G-d-king" coat tail like it was the white horse everyone talked about. Everything he ever learned growing up (if any)... be damned.

=========

Now (2022)

So who is Yeshua now in "Rose of Sharon" ? The polar opposite now ever since I started hitting those Judaism books like they were the last supper and completely separated from the Christian church for good due to personal fallouts.

After years and YEARS of studying and discussing with others over how life was like back then and now for the Jewish people and Israel as a whole, affectively moulded our male lead into something a lot more than just a name and face.

And because of that cultural baptism, Joshua is now:

Empathetic

Active

Capable of learning

Fixer-complex

Josh does have a habit of thinking if he broke it, he can fix it again and this is where his most stubborn side comes out.

Team player

Congressional Legislature (needs to find a compromise among peers)

Slick Smart Ass of the group

Loved ones first

Incentive/Character based Judgement

Athletic

Social and curious.

Drinks [wine] and smokes [hookah]

Hates being worshipped.

Clueless at times.

Personification of a lamb… or ram, if you piss him off.

Other:

Married man.

Prostitutes, Widows and Orphans have a soft spot in his heart.

Jewish/Hebraic/Middle Eastern heritage is a huge influence his design or personality to the point he respects cultures in the region.

Heavily interacts with other people native or not native to Israel.

Very simple, mundane wardrobe that would have you mistake he’s a lumberjack as a side hustle. Hunting gear is based off military and athletic-wear.

A wanderer. Joshua travels from place to place until someone decides to host him for a time, because... what is this “kingdom come” you speak of?

Angels (or Malakim) are skeptical of him unless given a reason otherwise (Michael is a prime example).

In short, more attached to his cultural background and is very open personality-wise and communication wise. I suppose you can say Josh's a lot more conscientious this time around; at least to the point he doesn't give a shit if he's patted on the back or not in the end.

All I can say is the change is quite stark in contrast. One minute he is a G-d-King who can command angels with a flick of his finger, the next an exiled soul trying to understand his worth and such angels only listen to his host rather than him.

I will not say which is better, but I will leave the judgement up to you wether this progress is headed in a solid direction or not. Regardless if you like the Christian Jesus or the Hebrew Yehoshua, this progression for me as a creator is more than a 90º turn... it's a 180 and it's going somewhere.

4 notes · View notes

andrea-lyn · 4 years

Text

It starts with family obligation, because of course it does. “You’re my favorite brother,” Greg says, “I want you to be one of my groomsmen.” It’s a lot to process. Alex knows Clay and Flint haven’t been asked to do this, but then, it’s not like they’re close. Alex hadn’t thought he was, either, with Greg up at the reservation. He hasn’t even met the woman he’s marrying, only knows that she and Greg met when she’d driven up to learn more about her family. “How am I supposed to say no?” Alex replies, balancing the phone. “Just tell me what I need to do, Greg, I’m happy to be in your wedding and make it an amazing day for you.” “Great,” Greg says brightly. “Um, there’s just the one thing and I hope you’re cool with it.” One thing. Alex doesn’t know that he likes the sound of that. It’s still Greg’s big day. “Hit me.” “My fiancée sort of did this whole plan where she paired off my groomsmen and her bridesmaids for our joint events. We’re doing the bachelor and bachelorette together, then the rehearsal dinner, and obviously the ceremony itself. It’ll be someone you’ve never met before and you’ll kind of be glued to their side.” Alex had been expecting a lot worse than that. “It’s an open bar, right?” Greg lets out a huff of laughter over the line. “Priorities are still in the right places, huh?” “I can handle some wedding wildness,” he vows. “It might get awkward if the bridesmaid tries to sleep with me, though.” “I’ll make sure Isobel has a talk with her people.” “Thanks, man,” says Alex. “And congratulations again.” “It’s gonna be amazing, Alex, just wait. You’ll see.”

---

For a few months, Alex doesn’t have to think about Greg’s impending nuptials or any of the responsibilities, but invitations swiftly follow Save the Dates and then the emails come in a flurry with plans, suits to buy, and wedding party people to meet. They’ve whisked away to a spa in Arizona for the bachelor and bachelorette, which means that for the next week, this is Alex’s life. Wedding minutia and schmoozing with people he barely knows. It’s all for his brother, though, which is why he can do this.

“Alex,” Greg says, rushing over to him in the hotel lobby of the spa they’re staying at. “Awesome, you’re here. Look, I need to warn you…” Alex gives Greg a warning look. “Please tell me the bridesmaid you’re putting me with isn’t some kind of psycho,” he hisses. “I don’t think so? I don’t know, it’s just…” “There you are!” Alex turns to see Isobel approaching in a romper, looking breezy and gorgeous as always. She lovingly cups Greg’s face as she leans in to kiss him. Out of politeness, Alex looks away, which is when he sees the man standing just behind Isobel and holding onto her bag. “I can take that,” Alex offers, gesturing for it. “I’m pretty sure they’re gonna be a while,” he says, gesturing to Isobel and Greg, who’ve gone from polite kisses to making out. “Nah,” says the guy. He’s wearing a pair of linen white shorts and a loud Hawaiian print shirt that’s unbuttoned three down, and on top of his golden-brown curls is a cowboy hat that definitely doesn’t belong. It’s pretty much the worst fashion disaster he’s seen in a while (and he’s seen the bridesmaid outfits). “No, really,” he says, a little more insistently. ��I can tip you.” “Oh, well, if you’re offering me the tip,” the guy drawls. “Michael!” Isobel snaps, pulling away from her kiss. “Sorry,” she tells Greg. “Alex, I want you to meet my bridesmaid that you’re gonna be paired with over the next week. This is my adopted brother, Michael Guerin.” “Bridesmaid,” Alex echoes, gaping at the man. “Isobel’s non-traditional like that,” Michael drawls, winking at Alex. “So,” he says. “You still wanna offer me a tip now that you know you’re gonna be walking me down the aisle in less than a week?” Flushed, Alex turns to Greg and gives him a pleading look that asks him to help him out. Greg, unfortunately, knows Alex’s type exactly and probably had a hand in making sure this happened, so he claps Alex on the shoulder, leans in, and whispers, “Play nice. This is my groomsman gift to you.” He eases back with the smug smile of an almost-married man and it’s the only reason he’s getting away with this. “So,” Michael says brightly. “I think we’re rooming together. Wanna go see what we’re putting up with?” Alex is already in over his head, but Greg and Isobel have clearly manufactured this set-up on purpose, which means that not only is this for Alex, but it’s also for Michael somehow. “Sure,” he says, getting his wits back about them as he tries for something confident and, dare he say it, sexy. “I’m pretty curious about what you look like in the bridesmaid dress.” “In it?” Michael quips, as Alex leaves behind his brother and the glowing almost-bride, “Or do you wanna see what it looks like pooled on the hotel floor.” It’s gonna be one hell of a week, Alex can tell, and he can’t wait.

#malex #belmanes #roswell new mexico #ficlet #au #meet-ugly #ish

212 notes · View notes

anhed-nia · 4 years

Text

BLOGTOBER 10/17/2020: SPOOKIES

What do we watch, when we watch movies? This question was sparked by my SOV experience with the very different, and differently interesting BLOODY MUSCLE BODYBUILDER FROM HELL and HORROR HOUSE ON HIGHWAY 5. Within the Shot On Video category, one can find inventive homemade features that are driven entirely by blood, sweat, and the creators' feeling of personal satisfaction. The results are sometimes fascinating, in their total alienation from the conventions and techniques of mainstream filmmaking, and after all, one rarely sees anything whose primary motivation is passion, here in the late stages of capitalism. But, all this talk about what goes on behind the camera points to a discrepancy in how we consume different kinds of production. The typical mode of consumption is internal to the movie: What happens in it? Do you relate to the characters? Are you able to suspend your disbelief, to experience the story on a vicarious level? One hardly needs to come up with examples of films that invite this style of viewing. Alternatively, we can experience the movie as a record of a time and place in which real people defied conventions and sometimes broke laws in order to produce a work of art. SOV production is usually viewed through this lens, where the primary interest is not the illusory content, but the filmmakers' sheer determination to create. We find some overlap in movies like EVIL DEAD, which simultaneously presents a terrifying narrative, and evidence of what a truly driven team can create without the aid of a studio, or any real money to speak of. See also, Larry Cohen's New York City-based horror films, in which a compelling drama with great acting can exist side by side with phony but beautiful effects, and exciting stories of stolen footage that would be dangerous or impossible to attempt today. I'm thinking about these different modes of consumption now because I just watched SPOOKIES, a legitimately cursed-seeming film whose harrowing production history has superseded whatever people think about what it shows on the screen. The lovingly composed blu-ray from Vinegar Syndrome includes a feature-length documentary that attempts to explain the making of the film--which is accompanied by its own feature length commentary track by documentarists Michael Gingold and Glen Baisley. The very existence of this artifact suggests a lot about the nature of this movie, in and of itself. The truth behind its existence is as funny as it is tragic.

I'm not going to do a whole breakdown of the tortured origins of SPOOKIES, which is much better told by the aforementioned documentary. To summarize: Once upon a time in the mid 1980s, filmmakers Brendan Faulkner, Thomas Doran and Frank Farel conspired to make a fun, flamboyant rubber monsterpiece called TWISTED SOULS. It was wild, ridiculous, and transparently fake-looking, but it was loved by its hard-working creators; as a viewer, that soulful sense of joy can rescue many a "bad" movie from its various foibles. Then, inevitably, sleazoid producer Michael Lee stepped in--a man who thought you could cut random frames out of the middle of scenes to improve a movie's pace--and ruined it with extreme prejudice. Carefully crafted special effects sequences were cut, relatively functional scenes were re-edited into oblivion, and the seeds of hatred were sown between the filmmakers and the producer. Ultimately, everyone who once cared for TWISTED SOULS was forced to abandon ship, and first time director Eugenie Joseph stepped in to help mutilate the picture beyond all recognition. Thus SPOOKIES was born, a mangled, unloved mutation that would curse many of its original parents to unemployability. For the audience, it is intriguingly insane, often insulting, and hard to tear your eyes off of--but in spite of whatever actually wound up on the screen, it's impossible to forget its horrifying origin story as it unspools.

As far as what's on the screen goes: A group of "friends", including a middle-aged businessman and his wife, a vinyl-clad punk rock bully and his moll, two new wave-y in-betweeners, and...a guy with a hand puppet are somehow all leaving the same party, and all ready to break into a vacant funeral home for their afterparty. Well, this happens after a 13 year old runaway inexplicably wanders in to a "birthday party" in there, that looks like it was thrown for him by Pennywise, and he has the nerve to act surprised when he is attacked by a severed head and a piratey-looking cat-man who straight up purrs and meows throughout the picture. Anyway, separately of that, which is unrelated to anything, the island of misfit friends finds a nearly unrecognizable "ouija board" in the old dark house. Actually this thing is kind of fun-looking, having been made by one of the fun-havers on the production before the day that fun died, and I wonder if anyone has considered trying to make a real board game out of it...but I digress. Naturally, the board unleashes evil forces, including a zombie uprising in the cemetery outside, a plague of Ghoulie-like ankle-biters, an evil asian spider-lady (accompanied by kyoto flutes), muck-men that fart prodigiously until they melt in a puddle of wine (?), and uh...I know I'm forgetting stuff. One of the reasons I'm forgetting is because of this whole side story about a tuxedo-wearing vampire in the basement (or somewhere?) who has entrapped a beautiful young bride by cursing her with immortality. That part is a little confusing, not only because it doesn't intersect with the rest of the movie, but because sometimes it seems contemporary--as the bride struggles to survive the zombie plague--and sometimes it seems like a flashback, as our heroes find what looks like the mummified corpse of the dracula guy, complete with his signet ring. So, I don't know what to tell you really. Those are just some of the things that happen in the movie.

Some people like this a lot, and have supported its ascendance to cult status, which is a huge relief when you know what everyone went through to make this movie, only to have it ripped away from them and used against them. I found SPOOKIES a little hard to take, for all the reasons that the cast and crew express in the documentary. It holds a certain amount of visual fascination, whatever you think of it; something of its original creativity remains evident in the movie's colorful, exaggerated look, and its steady parade of unconvincing but inventive creature effects. But then, you have to deal with the farting muck-men. What was once a scene of terror starring REGULAR muck-men, that sounded incredibly laborious to pull off, became a scene of confusing "comedy" when producer Michael Lee insisted that the creatures be accompanied by a barrage of scatalogical noises. Apparently this was Lee's dream come true, as a guy who insisted everyone pull his finger all the time, and who once tried to call the movie "BOWEL ERUPTOR". But, of all the deformations SPOOKIES endured, the fart sounds dealt a mortal injury to the filmmakers' feelings, and even without knowing that, it's hard to enjoy yourself while that's happening.

Actually, all the farts forced me to ask myself: Is this...a comedy? Like for real, as its main thing? As the movie slogged on, I had to decide that it wasn't, but I was distracted by the notion for around 40 minutes. I was only released from this nagging suspicion when the bride makes her long marathon run through throngs of slavering zombies who swarm her, grope her, and tear off her clothes, before she narrowly escapes to an even worse fate. The lengthy scene is strangely gripping, and sleazy for a movie that sometimes feels like low rent children's entertainment. Part of the sequence’s success lies in its simplicity; it is unburdened by the convoluted complications of the rest of the movie, whose esoteric parts never fall together, so it seems to take on a sustained, intensifying focus. The action itself is unnerving, as the delicate and frankly gorgeous Maria Pechuka is molested and stripped nearly-bare by her undead bachelors, running from one drooling mob to another as the horde nearly engulfs her time and again. Actually, it feels a lot like a certain genre of SOV production in which, for the right price, any old creepy nerd can pay a small crew-for-hire to tape a version of his private fantasy, whether it's women being consumed by slime, or women being consumed by quicksand, or...generally, women being consumed by something. I wish I could describe this form of production in more specific or official terms, because I genuinely think it's wonderful that people do this. Anyway, Pechuka's interminable zombie run feels a little like that, and a little like a grim italian gutmuncher, and a little like an actual nightmare. Perhaps it only stands out against its dubious surroundings, but I kind of love it--and I'm happy to love it, because apparently the late Ms. Pechuka truly loved making SPOOKIES, and wanted other people to love it, too.

Which brings me to the uncomfortable place where I land with this movie. On the one hand...I think it's bad. It's so incoherent, and so insists on its impoverished form of comedy, that it's hard to be as charmed by it as I am by plenty of FX-heavy, no-budget oddities. Perhaps the lingering odor of misery drowns out the sweet joy that the crew once felt in the early days of creation--which is still evident, somehow, in its zany special effects, created by the likes of Gabe Bartalos and other folks whose work you definitely already know and love. But I feel ambivalent, about all of this. On the one hand, I can be a snob, and shit on people for failing to make a movie that meets conventional standards of success. On the other hand, I can be a DIFFERENT kind of snob--a more voyeuristic or even sadistic one--and celebrate the painful failures that produced a movie that is most interesting for its tormented history and its amusing ineptitude. I'm not really sure where I would prefer to settle with SPOOKIES, and movies like it. (As if anything is really "like" SPOOKIES) With all that said, I was left with one soothing thought by castmember Anthony Valbiro in the documentary. At some point, he tells us how ROSEMARY'S BABY is his personal cinematic comfort food; he can put it on at night, after an exhausting day, and drift to sleep, enveloped in its warm, glowing aura. He then says that he hopes there are people out there for whom his movie serves that same purpose, that some of us can have our "milk and cookies moment" with SPOOKIES. Honestly, I choke up just thinking about that.

#blogtober #2020 #spookies #horror #supernatural #vampire #zombie #creature feature #old dark house #cursed film #thomas doran #frank farel #eugenie joseph #michael lee #vipco #twisted souls #brendan faulkner #maria pechuka

12 notes · View notes

onelittlebookgeek · 4 years

Text

Book Challenge 2020 (100 books!!) (I did it!!)

After forgetting to track my reading for three years, I started recording my reading on Tumblr last year again, and I’m committed to continuing that this year!

This year is my final year of my Bachelor’s Degrees (I’m finishing English in June) and I’m planning to do a gap year from September on, so now more university after June (at least as far as 2020 is concerned).

I do not really foresee any issues or obstacles to reading this year, except of course finishing my thesis which will probably take quite some time, so I do expect a decline around April until early June. Although I do have a lot more time off in my gap year, I used to read a lot of mandatory books for my studies, so I don’t know whether having a gap year will mean reading more books. Since I’m not doing any university studying, I am interested in reading academic books by myself, studying by myself. Those books are often longer, denser and just take more time to get through; consequently, I might read fewer books in the same amount of energy and time spent reading.

To make a (somewhat) long story short: my expectations are in line with the amount of books I’ve read in the last years, so I’m expecting to read 75 books this year!

Update: it’s mid-October and I’ve already read 99 books this year, so I’ve finished my original goal of 75 books! Now I’m going for 100 books (which should be easy to do, and after that we’ll just see how it goes!).

The crossed book is the one I’m currently reading, I’ve written reviews for books that have a (x) behind them, with the (x) being a link to my Goodreads review!

Update: Today (November 23) I’ve read 114 books so I’ve finished my challenge of 100 books! Right now, I’m still 25 books ahead schedule! Let’s see if I can keep that energy up!

January

The Fire Next Time - James Baldwin (5/5) (x)

Serpent and Dove (Serpent and Dove #1) - Shelby Mahurin (4/5) (x)

Lethal White (Cormoran Strike #4) - Robert Galbraith (4/5)

Weirdos from Another Planet (Calvin and Hobbes #4) - Bill Watterson) (5/5)

Selected Poems - E.E. Cummings (5/5) (x)

Niets zal ons redden maar een beetje liefde is oké - Henk van Straten (Dutch) (4/5) (x)

, said the shotgun to the head. - Saul Williams (4/5)

Loud and Yellow Laughter - Sindiswa Busuku-Mathese (3/5)

Fireborn (The Aurelian Cycle #1) - Rosaria Munda (4/5)

Sylvia Plath Poems Chosen by Carol Ann Duffy - Sylvia Plath (4/5) (x)

The Comedy of Errors - William Shakespeare (3/5) (x)

Nieuwe Herinneringen - Remco Campert (Dutch) (2/5)

Dido, Queen of Carthage - Christopher Marlowe (3/5)

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - Taylor Jenkins Reid (4/5)

Alles wat er was - Stine Jensen (Dutch) (3/5)

Zij in de geschiedenis - Alies Pegtel (Dutch) (4/5) (x)

Good Omens - Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (reread) (5/5)

February

Prometheus Bound - Aeschylus (3/5)

The Lost Hero (The Heroes of Olympus #1) - Rick Riordan (reread) (4/5)

The Son of Neptune (The Heroes of Olympus #2) - Rick Riordan (reread) (4/5)

So You Want to Talk About Race - Ijeoma Oluo (4/5)

The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3) - Rick Riordan (reread) (4/5)

Educated - Tara Westover (3/5)

Prometheus on Caucasus - Lucian of Samosata (3/5)

March

Reading Old English: A Primer and First Reader - Robert Hasenfratz (4/5) (x)

Still Foolin’ ‘Em: Where I’ve Been, Where I’m Going, and Where the Hell Are My Keys? - Billy Crystal (3/5)

The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4) - Rick Riordan (reread) (4/5)

Quick Question: New Poems - John Ashberry (1/5) (x)

Exploring the Language of Poems, Plays and Prose - Michael H. Short (3/5) (x)

The Call of the Wild - Jack London (2/5) (x)

The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus #5) - Rick Riordan (reread) (4/5)

April

The Waste Land - T.S. Eliot (reread) (5/5)

And Still I Rise - Maya Angelou (4/5)

Poëzie in Utrechtse Muren - Ingmar Heytze (Dutch) (5/5) (x)

To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf (4/5)

Mijn dood en ik - Remco Campert (4/5)

Ecology of Fear: Los Angeles and the Imagination of Disaster - Mike Davis (3/5)

Native Son - Richard Wright (2/5)

Dido, Queen of Carthage - Christopher Marlowe (reread) (4/5)

May

The Plague - Albert Camus (4/5)

Absalom! Absalom! - William Faulkner (4/5)

Modernism’s Mythic Pose: Gender, Genre, Solo Performance - Carrie J. Preston (2/5)

James Joyce and Sexuality - Richard Brown (3/5)

June

Daisy Jones & the Six - Taylor Jenkins Reid (4/5) (x)

Modernism, Sex and Gender - Alison Pease and Celia Marshik (3/5)

The Burial at Thebes: Sophocles’ Antigone - Seamus Heaney (4/5)

The Host - Stephanie Meyer (reread) (4/5)

The Hunger Games (The Hunger Games #1) - Suzanne Collins (reread) (4/5)

Catching Fire (The Hunger Games #2) - Suzanne Collins (reread) (4/5) (x)

A Terrible Beauty is Born - W.B. Yeats (4/5)

Mockingjay (The Hunger Games #3) - Suzanne Collins (reread) (4/5)

White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism - Robin DiAngelo (4/5)

Are Prisons Obsolete? - Angela Y. Davis (4/5)

The Final Empire (Mistborn #1) - Brandon Sanderson (4/5)

Everything Leads to You - Nina LaCour (2/5) (x)

The Tempest - William Shakespeare (reread) (3/5)

July

Hag-Seed - Margaret Atwood (4/5) (x)

American Slavery (A Very Short Introduction) - Andrea Heather William (reread) (3/5)

Angels & Demons (Robert Langdom #1) - Dan Brown (4/5) (x)

Mythos: A Retelling of Myths of Ancient Greece - Stephen Fry (4/5) (x)

Mean Time - Carol Ann Duffy (3/5)

Lijfrente - Vrouwkje Tuinman (Dutch) (4/5)

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (The Hunger Games #0) - Suzanne Collins (3/5) (x)

Sonnets from the Portuguese - Elizabeth Barrett Browning (3/5)

A Room of One’s Own - Virginia Woolf (reread) (5/5)

The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold (4/5)

Onbreekbaar - Hans Hagen (Dutch) (1/5) (x)

The Penelopiad - Margaret Atwoord (reread) (4/5)

The Importance of Being Ernest - Oscar Wilde (5/5)

Het goede leven: een briefwisseling - Piet Gerbrandy & Andreas Kinneging (Dutch) (2/5) (x)

Constructions of the Classical Body - James Porter (3/5)

August

The Complete Poems - Anne Sexton (4/5)

The Kissing Booth (The Kissing Booth #1) - Beth Reekles (2/5) (x)

The Daily Show: The Book - Chris Smith (4/5) (x)

The Duchess Deal (Girl meets Duke #1) - Tessa Dare (3/5)

Between the World and Me - Ta-Nehesi Coates (4/5)

Fragments - Heraclitus (transl. by Brooks Haxton) (2/5) (x)

Animal Farm - George Orwell (reread) (5/5)

The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1) - Rick Riordan (reread) (4/5)

The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue (Montague Siblings #1) - Mackenzi Lee (reread) (4/5)

Kitchen - Banana Yoshimoto (4/5)

Catilina’s Riddle (Roma sub Rosa #3) - Steven Saylor (2/5) (x)

When Dimple met Rishi (Dimple and Rishi #1) - Sandhya Memon (1/5) (x)

Adulthood is a Myth (Sarah’s Scribbles #1) - Sarah Andersen (4/5)

September

Normal People - Sally Rooney (3/5) (x)

Not All Dead White Men: Classics and Misogyny in the Digital Age - Donna Zuckerberg (4/5)

Sadie: A Novel - Courtney Summers (4/5)

The Myth of Sisyphus - Albert Camus (4/5)

Vloedlijnen - Piet Gerbrandy (Dutch) (4/5)

Red, White and Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston (reread) (4/5)

This is Going to Hurt: Secret Diaries of a Junior Doctor - Adam Kay (4/5)

Envelope Poems - Emily Dickinson (4/5) (x)

A Murder on the Orient Express (Hercule Poirot #10) - Agatha Christie (3/5) (x)

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - James Joyce (4/5)

October

Titus Andronicus - William Shakespeare (4/5) (x)

The Mysterious Affair at Styles (Hercule Poirot #1) - Agatha Christie (4/5) (x)

Het verhaal van Aeneas - Vergilius (trans. to Dutch) (reread) (4/5)

If Beale Street Could Talk - James Baldwin (2/5)

Lesbia, Verzen van Liefde en Spot - Catullus (Dutch) (transl. by Paul Claes) (4/5) (x)

The Nightingale - Kristin Hannah (4/5) (x)

The Cat Inside - William S. Burroughs (reread) (5/5)

The Murder on the Links (Hercule Poirot #2) - Agatha Christie (3/5)

November

Such a Fun Age - Kiley Reid (3/5) (x)

Narratology and Classics: a Practical Guide - Irene de Jong (3/5) (x)

The Murder of Roger Akroyd (Hercule Poirot #4) - Agatha Christie (4/5) (x)

The ABC Murders (Hercule Poirot #11) - Agatha Christie (4/5)

The Great Cat (Poetry Collection) - ed. by Emily Fragos (3/5) (x)

Weapons of Math Destruction - Cathy O’Neil (4/5)

The Northern Lights (His Dark Materials #1) - Philip Pullman (4/5)

Vincent van Gogh en zijn brieven - Leo Jansen (Dutch) (3/5)

My Dark Vanessa - Kate Elizabeth Russell (4/5)

The Fill-In Boyfriend - Kasie West (reread) (4/5)

Poirot Investigates (Hercule Poirot #3) - Agatha Christie (1/5)

My 2019 challenge

My 2016 challenge

My 2015 challenge

My 2014 challenge

My 2013 challenge

#2020 book challenge #onelittlebookgeek #2020 #goodreads #goodreads challenge #book challenge

13 notes · View notes

psycheswritings · 5 years

Text

Nothing’s Fair in Love and War - Four

Title: Nothing’s Fair in Love and War Fandom: Peaky Blinders Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Daphne Scott (OFC) Warnings: Swearing, I guess. Word Count: 4533 Author's Note: Hello again, hope you are all well. Here's the update, hope you all like it. Thanks for everybody reading and liking it, I really appreciate it. Honorary mentions to @livingmybestfakelife, @stressedandbandobessed7771 and @livvtheangel for commenting. Tags are at the bottom. As always, this haven’t been proofread, so feel free to report any mistakes back to me; warnings are expecific for each chapter. Also, your feedback is also highly appreciated. I relly hope you like this one. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Daphne and Tommy share a moment alone at her birthday party and that leads him to get better acquaintance with some of her closest friends. The gangster has some unexpected meetings and receives a rather interesting invitation. Michael wants to take part in the family business, despite his mother’s disapproval. May Carleton goes to Birmingham to get Thomas’s horse and take a look at the betting shop. Aunt Polly has a little talk with her nephew about wanting things he shouldn’t want.

Four

They had sang Happy Birthday to her much to Daphne’s dismay, but it was worth it in the end because Karl had happily “helped” her blown out the candles, giggling all the time. She stayed and socialized with the guests for a bit until she made a very sneaky exit to the balcony on the side of the pub. Usually she would be the one waltzing around, making small talk with people and entertaining the guests, but today she wasn’t really feeling like it. Of course she appreciated Alfie’s gesture - he always tried to cheer her up on her birthday and she loved him for that, truthfully, but one can ignore the day you dread the most just for a certain amount of time.

The cold wind outside made her instantly regret not having grabbed her coat before leaving, but the perspective of going inside again didn’t appeal to her, so she just ignored the goosebumps. She let her eyes wonder to the street, observing a few people stumbling on the sidewalk before her already cold fingers searched for the locket hanging from her neck and nesting against her sternum. Daphne stroked the piece of metal with her thumb a few times, the material was warm against her skin, them she pulled it out of her neck and opened it.

There were two small black and white photographs inside – a young girl and a boy, their features were similar, yet different. You couldn’t tell by the image but they had the same hair color, his face was a little more angular than hers and his eyes from a darker shade of brown instead of the bright hazel of hers. Despite the fact that the photographs were in different sides of the locket, you could tell that they had been cut from the same image because they two seemed to be looking and smiling at each other. Daphne pressed her thumb in the boy’s picture, so absorbed in looking at it that she didn’t noticed she wasn’t alone anymore.

“You seem awfully unhappy for someone who has a whole party in her honor going on just inside.” A warm coat rested against her shoulders, she distinguished the smell of tobacco and whisky, mixed with a musky cologne that she did not quite recognized. Thomas noticed that she closed the locket before turning to face him, adjusting his jacket on her shoulders. The seemingly innocent and simple gesture of her adjusting a piece of clothing that belonged to him on her own body made something stir inside of him – some raw possessiveness that wanted to show the whole world that she belonged to him, even when he knew that it was far from the truth. Daphne seemed like the kind of woman who would never belong to nobody but herself.

“Let’s just say I’m not very prone to celebrate my birthday.” Her fingers rested on the collar of the jacket, the locket securely held between the fabric and her fingers. Thomas noticed that every time he had seen her she was wearing the jewelry. He took a step closer, taking the piece from her, the metal was still warm and weighted very little on his fingers while he twisted it. She did not protest, just observed him with the piece – in the dim light he noticed that the chocolate brown of her irises was almost drowning in a sea of deep forest-green. He didn’t opened it because he felt that whatever was inside it was something she wasn’t willing to share.

“You’re one of those girls who is all worried about getting older?” He asked while parting the chain and passing it through her head, the locket still between his fingers.

“Not exactly.” She smiled but he noticed that it was a forced one because it didn’t reached her eyes. Daphne raised her hand, placing it on top of his, her fingers curling themselves around his own to slip the locket from out of his grasp. He let her take it from him and watched as she adjusted it inside the neckline of her dress. “We better get inside.” Before someone notices, she thought but restrained herself from saying, even when the look in his eyes said that he had guessed it. She should not feel guilty, they weren’t doing nothing wrong, just talking. However, Daphne still felt like this stolen moment was some kind of secret that she had to keep to herself.

He followed her closely, when they stepped out the door she took off his jacket, handing it back to him, their fingers lingering together for a moment before she thanked him and excused herself, going to the opposite direction of the balcony. Thomas stood there, watching her leave, holding the jacket in one of his hands and wondering how this woman could have such a strong effect on him in such a short time. He opened and closed his hand – the one she had just touched - his fingers seeming to tingle from the contact even now.

Nobody in the pub seemed to have noticed the little interaction between the two – nobody except William and Polly, who were observing the couple on opposite sides of the mezzanine, unaware of one another.

William had seen Thomas follow Daphne to the balcony moments before, distracting their friends and preventing them to look that way, trying his best to hide the frown on his face. He had managed to break free from the small group, who continued in deep conversation, and walked to the railing. There was a hint of sadness in his blue eyes as he observed Daphne stepping into the room wrapped in Thomas’s jacket. He clenched his fists, recognizing the all too familiar burn of anger and jealousy that he hated so much.

Polly, on the other hand, was sipping her drink when she saw Tommy and Daphne getting out the door. The older woman smiled to herself – she was right them, there was more than just attraction between his nephew and the girl. She looked around, checking if anybody had noticed the two and saw one of Daphne’s friends - the handsome bachelor who turned many girls heads all night - observing the couple with closed fists. He looked in her direction, a frown on his face, and saw that she had seen the same thing as him, making quick work to ignore it and come back to the group of people he had just left.

Thomas was walking towards his family, intending to leave and go to his hotel room when he heard his name being called.

“It can’t be Sargent Major Thomas M. Shelby!” He turned on his heels and took just a moment to recognize the man talking to him.

“Charles Johnson, I thought I would never see you again.” There was a hint of a smile on the gangster’s face when the man approached him and the two hugged, patting each other on the back.

“Me neither. I was pretty sure that none of us would get out of that hell alive.” Thomas couldn’t stop himself of thinking that a part of him never really came back from the war, but that wasn’t a conversation that he wanted to have.

“And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are, indeed. You should meet my fiancé.” Charles turned to look at the beautiful blonde that had almost knocked Daphne to the ground at the beginning of the night. He made a motion with his head and she approached them. “This is Jane, my fiancé. Jane this is Thomas Shelby, we’ve met in France.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby.” They shook hands briefly. She looked like a delicate flower – young and beautiful and full of energy. They were a match made in heaven, because from what Tommy remembered, Charles had that optimistic nature that sometimes got to your nerves, despite some moments of weakness.

“Likewise. Let me ask you how you ended up with this moron?” She laughed and Charles scoffed at him.

“I thought you were better, Shelby.”

“It was actually my brother’s fault. Charles and William have been friends since they were kids.” Jane answered sweetly, looking around to find her brother. “Oh there he is. William, come here.”

“Where’s the fire?”

“There’s no fire, you daft.” Jane smacked her brother on the arm, the action made Tommy remember Ada. “Mr. Shelby was just asking how I and Charles have met. I said that it was all your fault.” Thomas recognized him immediately – it was the man who had hugged Daphne for a little too long earlier. He extended his hand towards him.

“Thomas Shelby.”

“William Weston.” They shook hands, analyzing each other while doing so. “You know Charles?”

“Yes, we’ve met in France.” Charles answered quickly, apparently unaware of the animosity between the two men.

“You certainly have been there too, haven’t you Mr. Weston?” The sarcasm was evident in Tommy’s voice, but only William noticed it.

“Yeah, served there as a doctor. It’s where I’ve met Daph.” If he wasn’t paying close attention, William would certainly have missed the brief twitch of Tommy’s lip and the hint of jealously in his eyes.

“Yeah, only good thing that happened there.” Charles observed. “You’re here because of her birthday too, right, Tommy?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, Mr. Shelby, how do you know our Daphne?” This time Jane noticed that something was going on by the tone her bother used, so she paid close attention to the conversation.

“I’m working with Mr. Solomons.”

“That he is. A pain in my ass, if you ask me, mate.” They all turned to see Alfie arriving with Daphne on his arm, both of them smiling.

“Business partners.” William seemed a little impressed.

“Yeah. Would you believe it?” Alfie joked, making Jane and Charles laugh, William just smiled without humor to avoid suspicion but Daphne noticed it, so did Tommy.

“You should come to the weeding, Mr. Shelby.” Suggested Jane and Charles immediately agreed.

“Yeah, it’s a great idea. You can bring your wife, you certainly are married by now. You were always a heartbreaker.”

“No. No wife” He looked at Daphne for a moment and she tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze.

“That’s a shame, but you can bring anyone you want, really. Alfie will be there too, so you will at least have a familiar face around.”

“Wouldn’t lose William’s speech for nothing.” The Jew smiled, making the others laugh at William rolling his eyes.

“Again with that?”

“Couldn’t let it pass, mate.”

“Daphne will be there too. She will be my maid of honor.” Explained Jane as enthusiastically as is the day she actually made the invitation. All of a sudden, the idea of going to the weeding seemed quite interesting to Tommy.

“Well, why not.”

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

Thomas sat in his office looking through the file that Campbell had given him earlier when he saw the blood smearing his fingers. He stared at the red staining his skin for a couple of seconds before putting the file in one of the drawers and getting up to take a drink. He cleaned his hand in a napkin while taking the bottle of whisky at the same time a knock could be heard on the door.

“Yes?” Lizzie opened the door, standing there to announce.

“Somebody to see you, Mr Shelby. He says he has come about the position of accounts clerk.”

“Send him in.” Tommy simply said before turning back to pour himself a drink.

“Just through here, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Michael.” There was a hint of surprise in Tommy’s unreadable face, the boy smiled at him but the head of the Peaky Blinders just turned around to go back to his desk while talking. “Vacancy's been filled.”

“Not according to this morning's paper.” Michael had followed him, throwing said newspaper on his desk, right beside the glass of whiskey he had just placed there. The boy sat down on one of the chairs on the opposite side of the piece of furniture while Tommy stared down at him. “At school, I was top of the class in mathematics and I did a night-school course in accountancy at Worcester College.” Tommy takes the glass from the desk and walks around to lean against the shelf behind his chair, observing his cousin talk. “Mum says you've had six different accountant clerks in the last six months. When respectable men see the other things you do, they leave. But I, like Lizzie out there, already know what you do. Mum says you want to be eighty percent legal within two years.”

“Three.”

“I can help. I know both sides and you know you can trust me. I want to help you, Tommy, become legal. Do the right thing. I want to be proud of this family.” The gangster says nothing as he eyes the boy, glass of whisky still untouched in his hand.

“Does Polly know you're here, Michael?”

“I'm eighteen on Friday, I go where I please.” Tommy step forward to the desk, places the glass on it to take the telephone and put it right in front of Michael.

“You phone your mother.” He takes the glass and starts to leave the room but not before saying. “Good luck.” Michael just observes the telephone for a few moments before making the call.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

Esme is at the shop, organizing things to open when a loud knock is heard from the front door.

“We're not open for winnings yet.”

“I'm here to see Thomas Shelby.” A woman says from outside and she rushes to the door to see a beautiful rich woman waiting there. “I have an appointment.”

“Come in.” Esme rushes her inside, taking notice of the car waiting parked on the street. Closing the door behind her and locking it, she hurries up to stop in front of the strange woman that is looking around the shop. After a while, the stranger extends a hand to her, which she does not take.

“May Carleton.”

“Mr. Shelby has his proper meetings in his other office.”

“This was the address that he gave me.”

“He gave you this address?” Esme asked surprised.

“He said it was a gambling den. I told him that I've wanted to see one since I'm always reading about them in the papers. Quite the big scandal in the Telegraph lately.” Rich people, Esme thought, always wanting to see how the peasants live. May noticed that the woman was still analyzing her and became quite uncomfortable. “Anyway, he said that I could come and have a look. And now I feel like a bit of an idiot because I'm early and he's late and I have no idea how to behave.”

“In a gambling den?” There was a hint of mock on her tone, so May decided that the best thing to do was to leave and wait in another place.

“I'll wait in the car.”

“If I open the door again, they'll all want to come in.” Esme made quick work of putting the keys back in her front pocket. “Like flies.” She starts doing her work again before asking to a very uncomfortable May. “So what are you?”

“W-what am I?” May asks, looking around.

“To Thomas?”

“I'm going to train his racehorse for Epsom.” This seemed to take Esme’s attention.

“You know horses?”

“Yes.” May turned to look at the other woman. “You?”

“Born riding. I slept in a manger when I was a baby.”

“I was born riding, too.” May seems almost daydreaming when the door open only for John to come in and slam it shut.

“There's a fucking great Riley parked out there and nobody's watching it.” He seems unaware of the woman’s presence until he stops right in front of her.

“John, this woman says she's training Thomas' horse.” He places the moneybags on the table and take a look at the woman in front of him.

“He's told us a lot about you.”

“Don't know where he is, do you?” May asks, hopeful. There’s a noise coming from the other door and soon Tommy walks in.

“Sorry, I'm late. There was a family matter. Esme, keep it locked up for a minute.”

“Yes, Thomas.”

“I'll show you around.” He says approaching May and nodding for John to leave. “So be my guest.” He leaned into one of the columns, lightening a cigarette while May starts walking around again. “That's my brother Arthur's office. Down there is my brother John's office - that's where we slate the runners and riders.”

“It's so out in the open. What about the police?” She approaches him, curiously.

“What about them?” Tommy answers and May walks to the nearby table, leaning on it and looking directly at him.

“When I drove into Small Heath, I thought I was going to get murdered then I mentioned your name. It was like being escorted to see a king.” The gangster barely acknowledges the comment, changing the subject.

“You came here to get my girl, right?”

“Right.” He walks to the front door and she follows him after taking a last look around.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

“She looks in very good condition, considering she's not been out on the gallops.” Acknowledges May as Curly walks to them with the mare.

“Curly's the best horseman in England.” Charlie says, smiling.

“I have a man called Mickey who'd argue the point.” She walks around Curly to inspect the animal.

“Ah, but Curly here is half horse himself.” Tommy says with a hint of a smile on his face as he pets the horse.

“She's blessed. Very blessed.” It’s visible that Curly is agitated when he makes the observation.

“Well, she's from the best stock.” The woman says coming to stop on his side.

“But I'd rather have a colored pony. Mixed blood is stronger.”

“Not to win the Derby, Curly.” Tommy says to the gentle man.

“Don't like them racing, Tommy, not the way they beat them.” Curly gives the reins to May. “She's all yours.”

“Thank you.” Then he leaves, clearly disturbed.

“He gets sad when one leaves.” Explains Charlie.

“What time is your box van coming?” Tommy asks.

“Midday.” She answers more focused on petting the horse.

“Maybe you've got time to take the lady to the Garrison, show her the spa and the tearooms.” Thomas looks at his uncle and see the clear suggestion in his smirk and tone of voice, but just plays along and so does she.

“I'd like that, why not?” May says, looking at Tommy before they head to the pub.

“I just had it done up. There was a fire.” He walks ahead of her, going behind the counter while she looks around.

“It's…”

“Yep.” He throws the keys in the counter and asks her. “What do you drink?”

“So early, but gin.” May takes off her gloves and sits on one of the chairs close to the bar. Tommy walks around, taking the bottle of gin and a glass, which he places in front of the woman and fills with the drink. “Goodness. With something?”

“Like what?” He asks a little annoyed as if she is saying something that doesn’t make sense.

“Tonic water or…” He starts looking around.

“Hum, we have cordial.” As he opens the bottle to pour it for her, Tommy points to the glass and says. “There's not much room in there but…” He turns around, helping himself a glass of whiskey. “You want to fuck me, Mrs. Carleton?” She swallows the alcohol she had just taken, looking at him surprised by his bluntness. “Perhaps because I… Perhaps because I represent something to you? We should have this conversation before the booze starts talking for us.” He says while lightening another cigarette. She may deny it, but the way he treats it like a business transaction brings something in her that May haven’t felt in a long while.

“You have a horse.”

“Yes, I have a horse.”

“The horse is why I'm here, purely that. And because you're paying me a lot of money to train your horse, that's why I'm here, purely that.” May takes another sip of her drink while he observes her frown swallowing the drink.

“Good. Good. Well, a toast, then.” He raises his glass but she hesitates. “To the horse, to the Derby.”

“Cheers.”

“So is that what you say to women?” She asks placing her glass on the counter and looking at him.

“Only if I don't know what they want.”

“And what if they don't want to fuck?”

“Then life is simpler.”

“You want a simple life?” He scoffs, placing his hands on the counter before answering her, recognizing the real question hidden in her words.

“Do I look like a man who wants a simple life, eh?”

“So what do you want?” May takes the drink and takes a sip. Tommy leans closer to her, resting his elbows into the counter.

“For what I'm paying you, Mrs. Carleton, I want a horse that'll pay out at Epsom on an each-way bet.” She takes the pack of cigars and the matches that he placed on the counter.

“Before I took your account, I did some credit checks on you.” She lights the cigarettes and takes a drag. “Apparently, you don't exist.” Tommy scratches the side of his head with the hand that holds the cigarette.

“My existence is questionable.”

“Gypsies don't like registers.”

“You see, I'm not a Gypsy like you mean.”

“But you did register for France. I also sent your name to the War Office. I have friends there. You won two medals for gallantry.” So he was right, she could be useful to them. Tommy puts his cigarette out on the ashtray before looking at her, seemingly unimpressed.

“Does that really impress you, Mrs. Carleton?”

“Call me May.” The door to the pub opens and Finn comes in, eyeing the woman curiously.

“Charlie says the box van is here.”

“Thank you, Finn.” Tommy says and the boy leaves again.

“You know, I still don't know what you're going to call your horse.” The gangster stops to think for a moment, remembering the little stolen time he had with Daphne a few nights ago - the way she quickly closed the locket when he arrived; the way her hazel eyes analyzed him with the piece between his fingers, never complaining about how he was closer to her than what was considered appropriate; how he still could feel the light pressure of her fingers on his.

“The horse will be called The Secret Locket.”

“The Secret Locket.” May ponders sipping the gin again.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

“I told him he definitely can't take the job. He said: "All right, I'll move to London, then.”. I said, I won't give in to blackmail. No is no." Polly is looking at Tommy from the mirror hanging in the wall while she puts her earrings – he was finishing putting his tie.

“Well that settles it, then. I'll give the job to the other candidate. He's much better qualified anyway.” He says as he puts in his shoulder holster.

“Michael did City And Guilds - six months.” The way she talks says clearly that even when she refuses to accept him doing the job, Polly wants Michael’s achievements recognized.

“Yeah, but he doesn't know racing, Poll.” Thomas takes a bottle from the table and serves his aunt a drink. “He knows horses, but he doesn't know racing. This other boy, he knows racing. He's good. He's a fast learner.” She looks at him distressed, when he hands her the glass.

“What if Michael really leaves?” Polly sits down on one of the armchairs, placing the ashtray and her drink on the coffee table.

“You just got to let him go, Poll. He'll get a job in an office in London. I'm sure he'll write to you.” Tommy gets his jacket in the clothes rack, putting it on.

“He made a big speech about wanting to help you build up a respectable business. Oh, he's like his dad, he could make me cry.”

“There are trains to London.”

“So I just let him leave?” Her tone is incredulous.

“Every month or so he'd be back.” Thomas takes the cigarette from the ashtray to take a drag. “Unless of course he meets a girl. Then, who knows?”

“Oh, my God. You want him to do this job.” The older woman looks at him quizzically.

“Polly, I want what you want.” Polly knows him well enough to recognize what he is doing, the tone of his voice, the way he looks at her. It’s not very common for Thomas Shelby don’t get what he wants. She gets up, drink and cigarette in hand.

“What about this other more qualified candidate?”

“Mmm, well, I lied, there isn't one.”

“How much are you paying?” There is a hint of a smile in his face.

“The advertised rate.”

“Like hell.”

“Three bob.”

“Like hell.”

“Three and six.”

“Four.” He gives in.

“Four it is.” She spits on her hand and extends it to him, to seal the deal. Tommy does the same.

“I love him, Tom.” Polly looks at him, her expression serious.

“I know. That's why I'll keep him away from the old business, put him charge of the new. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” He helps her put her coat on and walks to the door but she stops him. “One more thing before we leave.

“What is it?” He asks with a frown.

“The woman.” Polly intentionally throws the bait to see if he is going to bite - and he does.

“What about Daphne?”

“She hides something.” He was not the only one who noticed how she the young woman seemed to have a habit of playing with the locket hanging from her neck when she was distracted or when somebody mentioned family matters. But it wasn’t just that. Polly had seen the hurt in her eyes, like something had been broken inside of her - she was all smiles and pleasantries with everybody but she held a sadness rooted deep down on her, something that she kept from the outside world, something that the gipsy woman was used to see in her own nephew after the war.

“I know. I’m already working on discovering it.”

“Do you want to discover it because of the business or there are other interests at stake?” He scoffs before answering her.

“Polly…”

“Thomas. You are a smart man. You’ve already been fooled by love once…”

“It’s not like that.” The way he punctuates every word just confirms her suspicious even more – he is, indeed, falling for the girl.

“Yes, it is. I see it in your eyes and I saw it in hers.” He looks at her them, a little surprised by the revelation. “I said that you had to forget the barmaid, that there would be others. You’ve been sleeping around since them but now you have to have in mind that she’s not some common woman, Thomas. She is under Solomons’s protection and you have to have that in mind before you let your cock take your decisions for you.”

Tags: @stressedandbandobessed7771

41 notes · View notes

chaoskirin · 5 years

Photo

Freddie and I share something in common - we both went to school for fine art. I earned my bachelor's degree in 2005. At times, I wonder if he ever got tired of the formal education, too. I wonder if he also laughed when his film teacher told him that "after this class, you'll never watch a movie the same way again" and then realized later with horror that it was actually true. How color theory takes over your life even when you don't mean it to. How everything you see makes you wonder if you could draw that, and what technique you would have to employ.

I don't know. I was ten when he died and I'll never get to ask. Somehow he doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would want to talk about his own art, anyway. I mean, there's not much we know about Freddie's private life, but everyone says he was shy.

So when I sat down and thought about what to do for Freddie's birthday, I thought analyzing one of his greatest works of art would be a good place to start. I had to pick apart and appraise so much art in school, whether it be my own classmates' paintings or pieces in a museum, or even poetry. And what are all Freddie Mercury's songs but poetry? In any case, it felt like a good tribute to him to analyze "It's a Hard Life."

British "Promo videos" were the prototype for today's visual extravaganzas, and were really meant to provide a simple visual aid to the music. Michael Nesmith says in his book, Infinite Tuesday, that they weren't meant to have much thought or money poured into them. The name of the game was getting a band on stage and recording them, which would then, theoretically, promote more sales. But they evolved, as things tend to do.

Music videos seem absolutely mundane today. A hit single has a music video, and people watch it, and it kind of gets swept under the proverbial carpet and filed away in our collective mind. Sometimes, the really good ones stand out, but more often than not, it's just some thing that's expected. It almost feels ludicrous to think that music accompanied by video wasn't the industry norm.

But in the 1980s, music videos were just becoming valid as a means of expression, and many artists had no idea how to exploit them as an art form. Even Queen did a song supporting the idea that video was killing radio. There were a few who believed that music videos were the way of the future (See again: Michael Nesmith who started down a path that would one day lead to MTV) but to others, they were just a fad, or even something to be resisted.

But in reality, music and video accompanied each other in various forms for years. The first motion pictures themselves were set to music - usually live - because watching a film in silence would have been utterly boring! (Note - artist opinion. I can't cite that, but I stand by my assumption.) Then in the 1960s, the Monkees performed "romps" on their TV show that became the precursor for modern music video. Later, just before MTV came into existence, came "Video Killed the Radio Star."

Since that short foray into music video history is out of the way, it's time to discuss Freddie Mercury.

Of course, Queen did other music videos before "It's a Hard Life." Some were quite artistic, and even Bohemian Rhapsody - which was one of those aforementioned "Promo Videos" - had quite a lot of skill that went into its production. The point is, Freddie seemed to detest the mundane. He wanted something that would make a mark and stand out among everything around him.

In the audio commentary for "It's a Hard Life," Brian May said that the video was a "Freddie indulgence, and we indulged him." He wasn't seeing the endeavor as Freddie did, however. This project was more than an indulgence -- it was a beautiful song, with beautiful lyrics, and there was a real chance to make the video speak just as much as the lyrics themselves. Freddie could recognize the music video medium as a canvas upon which he could paint his ideas. With formal training in fine arts, he knew the importance of symbolism and color in both still art and film, and couldn't fathom why the same principles couldn't be applied to his songs.

The lyrics don't just outright tell the story, though. The song says one thing that the video interprets, but both aren't completely in sync. The visuals are up to interpretation just like any work of art. Freddie had two stories to tell here... Not only the story outlined by the words of the song, but also how he felt about those words. And that's where he managed to unite music and video into a wonderful little four-minute movie.

At the center is the main character. Freddie. His entire life is this room in two parts - an opulent staircase that contains all his life's desires. As the scene expands, his court and other revelers dance around him, enjoying life, while the other players - Brian, Roger, and John - stand off to one side in shadow, interacting with no one.

The room itself is interesting. One side is extremely busy, while there is almost nothing on the other side. The balance is striking and obvious; the stairs and everything within - revelers, a throne, gold banisters, lace curtains, balconies and columns, is meant to represent man's desire. This side of the room is warm and comfortable, populated and eye-catching. It could be heaven, or the Garden of Eden or Valhalla. The other side of the room has nothing except shadow, tile, a few stray revelers, and Death and his angels.

And there's Freddie. The commentary on the video does shed some light onto its meaning. A man who appears to have everything is devastated by the lack of love in his life, which would have made him whole. Ultimately, though, the video is about a man who is so crushed by the lack of love that he makes the decision to kill himself.

Red is used carefully but liberally to highlight passion and desire. Interestingly and importantly, red is also the color of blood - remember that for later - although at the beginning, it is very representative of desire. A red "carpet" leads up the stairs, for example, where brightness waits for anyone who enters. Freddie, as the subject of this metaphor, is also wearing red, and is also covered with eyes that are open and forever searching for what he craves. Passion, romance, deep love, and trust. One one arm, this red costume is starting to unravel as he realizes that what he wants is difficult to obtain. He's begun to believe that it's even impossible for him.

And so we reach our second important color. Blue. Often, the lighting abruptly shifts from red to blue, which is a color of sadness and longing, made even more obvious with the use of heavy shadow. It is weighty and unbearable. Crushing. It destroys everything except Freddie, who is alone when the blue light casts shadows upon everything in the room. There is no more red. No more passion. And only one way out.

He tries to make it work. A red, warm glow flashes onto the party again. But he's getting farther away from the party. He's delving into the emptiness.

Brian - as Death - brazenly walks past him on the stairs, but no one seems to notice save for a passing glance. People wearing slight hints of red rush past Freddie, engrossed in each other but ignoring their host.

Freddie is trying to save himself, but as the screen goes blue again, he knows it's over.

Roger - an angel of hell, and John - an angel of heaven, wander into frame behind Freddie. They are also important in this blue landscape of melancholy and loss. "I try and mend the broken pieces/I try to fight back the tears," Freddie says. "They say it's just a state of mind," he goes on to the sound of a discordant guitar sting, as the angels discuss him, perhaps arguing over his soul after the end has come.

This is the point where the video takes a gloriously subtle shift into darkness. It is a scene of cut time - a view of the past where Freddie was long-haired and in his prime, surrounded by the rich, extravagant life that so many people want. Even back then, his expression is devoid of what one would expect from someone with such a bountiful lifestyle, and the real tragedy is that no one seems to notice or care. They ignore his pain, but are suddenly amused and appreciative when he makes a show of himself. And these scenes are intercut with "present" Freddie, framed in blue and heavily shadowed, at his end.

The angels follow Freddie around as if deciding his fate. Though they are dressed as revelers, they always face away from the other people and interact with no one except each other. They go completely unnoticed by everyone, much like Death, although they have an important role to play. They know what's coming and when - they are even the first to climb the stairs as Death makes himself known.

And while the Garden - or Heaven - or Valhalla - is the goal of nearly everyone at this party, Freddie knows he can't find what he's looking for there. He has the ability to get there, but love is constantly eluding him, and he's come to the conclusion that it always will.

And then Death arrives for Freddie, who has finally given up and ended his own life. Suddenly, the red that appears before him isn't passion, but blood and death. Even so, the decision to commit suicide seems to be a cause for celebration - there is dancing, and the pages are throwing rice as if the day of a royal wedding has arrived. Freddie begins to climb the stairs to take a woman by the hand, only to be stung when she steps on his foot and leaves him in pain. It's not what he wanted. It's not what he hoped for.

And then he notices the angels.

The hall is empty, save for them and Freddie, and the looming visage of Death, who leads Freddie out of the Garden and into the empty hall. The angels take their place at the gates, their stare making it absolutely clear that Freddie has been denied any form of afterlife, and that they are in agreement that he will be alone. He can never go back.

But Freddie has no regrets.

"I'll look back on myself and say 'I did it for love,'" he says, as he offers the first and only smile in the entire video.

He did it for love.

#queen #queen band #freddie mercury #it's a hard life #essay #color theory #ck's art #ck's fanart #ck's writing

77 notes · View notes

hakimbe · 4 years

Video

youtube

Bad Nerd

I'm a poor excuse for a nerd.

A way too casual collector of comics,

a geyser of pointless trivia,

you name it.

Music, movies, sports,

history, politics & lit…

A Jeopardy kid

but no Ken Jennings status,

the only thing I ever had right,

was the glasses.

Took all the gifted and talented classes,

and barely passed'em

so what I'm sayin' is…

as far as being a nerd…

I give me a B...minus,

because I was "bad" at it.

A B.S. in Biology

and a Communications Masters…

but up until just under two years ago

I actually thought bachelors meant

Batchelor.

By High School,

I was the athlete that spent an uncomfortable amount of time with the actors.

Sang show tunes in the bathtub.

Actually took it as a compliment when they called the soccer team tap dancers…

Now, in 1989

Every good nerd knew

that Michael Jackson's "Leave me alone, leave me alone…" was our international anthem.

It was our "We don't wanna" fight song for bullies and parents.

And that's where I failed my fellow geek brothers and sisters…

Much too much a sucker for cafeteria conversations and pick-up basketball to practice lunch table isolationism…

whether voluntary or inflicted.

I guess what I'm trying to say is,

the only time that any of us are ever really any good at social distancing is at our 8th grade dance,

And just like then,

we didn't really wanna be.

What I'm saying is

I was simply not that bright

but wasn't quite awkward enough either.

Because when you come from a family as big as mine, you fall in love with crowds.

Where our first language is love,

and our love language is...loud.

And why am I telling you all this?

(Why would you care - possible end-frain?)

Like the time I set fire to bandages in the nurses' office bathroom or,

Or how we used to talk shit to Officer Brundridge when he was like "ya'll better get to class soon" or

How I was virtually a virgin when I graduated high school,

but by the end of my Freshman year my "average" was slightly better average,

I'm a bad nerd.

But getting better, what I do remember is that scene from 2007's I Am Legend … that scene where cars were abandoned mid-intersection, streets empty, soccer goals intentionally left untended,

Just like bars.

Nowadays, Downtown the day-to-day without the cars

Sounds just like mars

After Thanos snapped…

The past eight weeks of hearing everything in HD

Is sorta like the rapture without the rap…

Everybody home,

but nobody at the door.

But still never anticipated

the dispersion of “community”

to be met with such little aplomb.

It’s like a zombie apocalypse

without the zombies.

Sho ain’t the flu,

but might as well be a Cold War.

And while I still have the floor

I wanna take a few seconds

to thank the essential professions

who helped me survive my high school

and you...

yours.

To the teachers who cared

so much, even when caught unprepared

are willing to resurrect a whole school year

without walls…

...within a week.

All the Zoom graduation parties they’ll still attend,

even if the commencements don’t commence in the end, and all the unspent calories from the cake they deserve to get...

… but didn’t get to eat.

To all the counselors,

for all the home/school therapy.

To the front-line-cooks,

who, quiet as kept, have always been compulsory.

Pre-K through 12 and 13 through hospice,

Sending you home with 2nds and 3rds before it was profitable, popular and proper.

To the school nurse,

might as well have been an E.R. doctor.

25 years later, I feel like an ass for all the PPE I burned hell up that you hid in the closet.

To the Fireman who showed up that day,

before my Mom & Dad set my ass on fire.

To Officer Brundrige,

who traded insults with us so ruthless,

we shoulda went viral before the virus…

I guess that’s why he’ll always be the illest first responder.

To every single custodian,

who be in them bathroom with all the vomit,

and who would one day

be the hospitals with all them bodies.

To the cashier at the bodega

round the way from the school

who til this day still accepts food stamps

… for candy.

And to all those bus drivers,

the original ride share,

who taught us to trust the folk

who transport us back and forth

...from our families.

By now,

I hope you understand why I’m telling you this,

or why you should care?

Because we need each other’s help now,

as much as I did back then.

Because as a nerd,

good or bad,

every day of high school

is life or death…

And since then,

I’ve never been so afraid

or grateful

until right now,

right here.

Still depending on the kindness

of strangers

… to care.

7 notes · View notes

disregardcanon · 5 years

Text

OH MY GOD! i wrote this thing back in like, last february and never posted it. so. here have the bnha characters in the good place au!

featuring ochako as eleanor, iida as chidi, kirishima as jason, bakugo as tahani, and deku as a whole host of things including kamilah and janet XD

relationships include: past tsuchako

this is disjointed and rambly but there’s some good stuff so i hope you enjoy it

ochako uraraka dies. then, she wakes up in an office building starring at “everything is fine!” in glaring, yellow letters. some weird old white man in a suit with a polka dotted die explains things to her. you know, how she died. how it was unpleasant and embarrassing. but now she’s in the afterlife, apparently, and things are hunky dory. this is the good place.

there was backstory before this happened, of course. in order to die, someone had to live.

before ochako was dead, she was alive. she was a little girl who wanted to grow up to become a hero to support her parents, but they tell her that she should be a hero to help other people, not them.

they die in a tragic car incident, ochako gets shuffled through the foster system, and grabs tightly onto that idea of becoming a hero to make her parents proud and be able to support herself and give herself a good life.

in american society, people cannot get provisional hero licenses until they graduate from high school and they cannot become licensed heroes until completing a bachelors degree. kids who can get provisional licenses right out of high school are much preferred for hero courses at colleges, and it’s nearly impossible to get a provisional license right out of high school unless you were able to attend a specialized hero prep school.

ochako is a foster kid in arizona. ofc she can’t afford prep school, does not get a provisional license, and cannot make it into a hero course. she studies her ass off for the next year, taking a gap year, and she’s able to pass the entrance exams and agrees to sign away her soul in student loans. but the program so heavily favors kids that had prep school experience and already had their provisional licenses. while working and trying to put herself through school, she just can’t keep up with the rigorous schedule and the bias against her.

ochako drops out of the hero program after a year of failing to stay afloat, and she just wants a god damn stable job. so, she goes into sales. not exactly sales that are on the up and up either. think. selling fake drugs to old people.

she gets into a relationship with tsuyu asui and they bond over failed attempts at hero careers. tsuyu decided to go into counseling instead and is still trying to make her best effort to be A Good Person TM and ochako gives it a try for awhile, but it starts making her feel inadequate pretty quickly and she gets defensive.

tsuyu psycho-analyzes ochako more than ochako’s ready to deal with and easily figures out her issues and tries to like, solve them. ew, and ochako ends the relationship and falls back into her selling fake drugs to old people ways before dying in a blaze of shopping cart related glory. it was apparently, hilarious, because after the shopping carts hit her she subconsciously used her quirk to send them up in a shopping cart mushroom cloud. which crushed her again.

yeah ochako’s really glad that she can’t remember any of that.

“so,” michael the architect says, “would you like to meet your soulmate?” she’s had a lot of casual flings and hookups, but never anything serious other than tsuyu. so. yeah she’s pretty interested in meeting her soulmate.

he’s kind of hot, in a nerdy as shirt way.

“this is your soulmate, iida tenya.”

“is that first name first or first name last?” ochako asks. she’s japanese american and knows enough japanese to be able to puzzle out that his name IS japanese, but she can’t for the life of her tell what order that’s in.

“she’s american,” michael says.

“ah,” he says, “then i’m tenya iida.”

he gives her a little rundown of his life, and apparently, the life of a moral philosophy professor is actually... pretty intense. at least it is when you started off life wanting to be a pro hero.

“you mean you almost killed the hero killer?” admittedly, ochako doesn’t pay all that much attention to world events, but the hero killer fiasco was sort of a big deal. a serial killer only targeting professional heroes? and for reasons he thought were completely justified? that was the biggest news story for at least a week, even in america.

“he paralyzed my brother,” tenya says, “i’d never been so angry before in my life. i truly think that if he hadn’t beaten me, i would have.”

“wow,” ochako says, “that’s dark.” tenya nods.

“i was lucky my friends pulled me out of it.” he talks about his friends saving him, friends that apparently include PRO HERO DEKU. which, like, ochako’s not that invested in the japanese hero scene, but everyone knows about pro hero deku.

the dude worked his way onto the hero scene with a quirk that hurt him whenever he used it, took over all might’s position, and admitted to being quirkless until he was fifteen. he used almost all of the immense amount of money that he made as a hero building up his own charities, doing work for community organizations, and trying to support disabled and quirkless organizations around his country. he’s the kiss babies save people then go home and continue doing favors for people when he gets there type.

deku was a good guy. like, a REALLY good one. he was one of the most famous heroes in the entire world when ochako died, and she’s pretty sure that he was going to take the number one spot from that explosive asshole any day. hell, he was even always NICE to the guy, acted like they were friends even though the explosive shitstick always treated him like dirt.

ochako might have had a little bit of a hero worship crush on the guy, okay. it’s not that big of a deal.

“so then how did you become a professor of moral philosophy? sounds like you had a good gig going at that hero school of yours.” U.A. is the best known hero high school in the entire world. she’d sort of dreamt of going to U.A. herself as a kid.

“i realized that morality is... a lot more complicated than i thought it was before. i made a rash decision and it almost cost me my soul. hero work is complicated and muddy and i didn’t want to be left running around in circles doing it, never knowing what was right. instead i dedicated my life to studying what’s right. now i always try to make the most ethical possible decision. at all times.”

“that sounds forking exhausting,” ochako says. tenya looks shocked.

“forking. FORKING,” ochako glares, “you know i don’t mean forking right?”

“yes,” he says, “i do. the good place does not let you curse. many of us do not like it.” well. that’s good to know that he looks like a nerd and he IS one.

“well i forking do dumbash,” she says, “do you think that’s going to darn me to heck?”

“dark impulses aren’t what make people good or bad,” tenya says, “acting on them does.”

tenya iida, ochako soon realizes, talks a big game for someone who can’t decide on a flavor of yogurt because of the possible ethical ramifications.

kirishima opens his eyes and sees a smiling, old white man. that’s generally not a good sign. normally smiling white people are either attorneys or librarians who are about to scold him for falling asleep on the library couch again.

“you, jianyu li, are dead.” kirishima almost says “dope” but then he realizes that it is not, in fact dope. the guy asks if he wants to not talk because of some taiwanese monk thing, and seeing that kirishima is most definitely NOT a taiwanese monk he decides to go with it and not give anything away.

he goes a couple of weeks before he finally talks to the girl with the big eyes and the auburn hair who wasn’t supposed to here in the good place either.

“oh god,” she says, “please tell me that you’re smart enough to get us out of this. please”

“um, maybe? i’m from florida”

her eyes widen and she whispers “no”

“my name’s kirishima,” he tells her, “or some of my boys call me ‘ro. it’s short for eijiro. no biggie tho.”

“we are so forked,” ochako says.

he’s american dawg. if you really get into, japanese american, but he’s not taiwanese. that’s probably racist. weird, racist algorithm

“you, bakugo katsuki, are dead”

“dead?”

“yes, dead.”

“i forking died?” bakugo demands.

“yes, but you were the number one pro hero at the time of your death and now you’re in the good place. i think you can think of that as a victory.” well, that does make him feel a little better. at least deku never succeeded him in the rankings, even if he’s number one hero now.

“forking,” he says, glaring at the air, “forking! you know i don’t forking mean forking, right?”

“i’m aware,” michael says.

michael goes onto explain all the rules of the good place, including the not a robot not a boy assistant that can cater to their every whim. an assistant who just so happens to look exactly like someone bakugo would prefer to never see again.

“FORK!” bakugo screams.

“i am deku,” he says, smiling and tilting his head like a curious owl, “how can i help you?”

“wait,” ochako says, eyes widening with glee, “he looks just like deku.”

“uraraka!” bakugo shouts. ochako shrugs.

“if you had a sex robot of your celebrity crush are you saying you wouldn’t go to town? come on, ground zero. i’m only human.” bakugo looks horrified.

“not a sex robot.”

“but are you a robot not for sex?” she asks.

“not a robot,” he chirps, “also i am sentient but do not consent to sex with you.”

“oh,” ochako says.

“that’s called rape, and you know where rapists go?”

not a sex robot smiles as he chirps, “the bad place!” ochako shudders.

“uh,” she asks, “what exactly... happens in the bad place?” deku opens his mouth and the screams of a thousand tortured souls come out.

“that is what happens in the bad place,” he says, “but you do not need to worry about that. the good place’s algorithm put you here.” ochako giggles nervously.

“IT SURE DID”

“i can’t get away from forking deku,” bakugo says, “even in heaven.” deku smiles at him.

“actually, you can get away from the original, pro hero deku. i am only a source of all the knowledge in the universe.” not-deku smiles widely but it doesn’t reach his eyes. it’s damn creepy.

“why the fork do you look like him?”

“they chose pro hero deku because he’s the most popular figure currently on earth. they thought this face would set the residents at ease.”

“well it forking doesn’t,” bakugo says.

“i am sorry that you feel that way. is there anyway that i can help you?” not-deku asks.

“change!” bakugo demands, grabbing not-deku roughly by the arms.

“i cannot do that,” not-deku says, “now that i’ve been programmed with this face, i am stuck with it. it literally will not come off.” then he grins again.

“fork you,” bakugo says. deku just smiles again. if he thought that the thing had feelings he’d be sure it was trying to piss him off.

bakugo slams his palm into his face.

“my soulmate is a forking idiot,” he says.

“you just figured that out?” ochako asks, snorting.

“holy motherforking shirtballs,” ochako says, “we’re in the bad place.”

“that can’t be true,” bakugo says, “i wouldn’t go to the bad place.” he was a pro hero. despite his flaws, he did a lot of good.

“you think that you belonged in the good place?” michael says, and he laughs so hard he almost cries, “you- bakugo katsuki? you were just a hero so that you could be the best at something and try to pound deku into the ground. you never even used your platform to try to help people. it was never about helping people. it was always about your ego and your need to destroy deku.” bakugo feels an uneasiness in his stomach as he realizes that michael is right. he doesn’t deserve to go to the good place. he was always a shitty person.

“what about me? what did i do to deserve to be here?” iida asks. then a horrified realization shows on his face.

“oh no,” iida says, “the almond milk.” michael glares at him.

“it wasn’t the almond milk, iida. it was everything you ever did after you tried to kill the herokiller. you made a mistake, and then you over-corrected in the worst possible way. you went from trying to help people to doing nothing but thinking about your own ego-centric view of morality. you could never make a decision, and that hurt the people around you.”

michael snaps his fingers and the world goes white.

“doug forcette? melissa shield? midoriya izuku?” shaun laughs, “you think any of them are going to the good place?” shaun laughs and laughs as they send him through the portal back to the bad place.

“you all stay here,” michael orders.

“don’t poof anything,” not-deku orders, “my void feels weird with all these people in here.”

“what do you mean? deku’s not going to the good place?”

“oh no,” the accountant says, “there’s a negative 10,000 point value for becoming a pro hero. deku’s doing well, all things considering, but he can’t overcome that handicap.”

“what about all might?”

“oh he’s in the bad place,” the accountant says, like saying that the symbol of peace is burning in hell is just a normal bit of trivia.

“not even ALL MIGHT went to the good place?” michael asks, his eyes widening.

“oh no no no,” the accountant says, “pro heroes are too messy and selfish. for every good action that they take, they cause so much harm. their wealth is a drain on society. even the most virtuous end up doing more harm than good.”

“there were some bets going around that bakugo katsuki might surpass endeavor’s record for highest negative score a pro hero ever racked up, but he died too quickly. it was a real shame.”

“tsuyu asui?” michael asks. from ochako’s memories of the woman, she seems like a fine specimen of humanity.

“no,” the accountant says, “therapists often end up messing up more than they fix.”

“well, is midoriya inko headed for the good place?”

“no,” the accountant says, “motherhood is messy business, michael.”

“malala yousafzai?”

“activism is even messier.”

“how many people got into the good place this year?”

“none”

“last year?”

“none?”

“ten years ago”

“none.”

“when was the last time that anyone went to the good place?” michael asks, his voice rising in fear. the accountant does some typing, some searching. then he comes up with his answer.

“571 years ago,” the accountant says blithely.

“oh shirt,” michael says.

“do you want to save people or not?” bakugo demands.

“of course i do, kacchan,” deku says, “that’s what i’ve always wanted.”

DON’T REMEMBER WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THAT ENDING BUT HERE YOU GO

#tgp #sunkelles writes #bnha in tgp au #ochako uraraka #tenya iida #katsuki bakugo #eijirou kirishima #izuku midoriya #tsuchako

15 notes · View notes

staticscreenwriting · 6 years

Text

Heaven can wait - Billy Hargrove

Synopsis: Love letters, mothers, valentine’s day aaaand everyone’s favorite song to sing along to when drunk and emotional.

A/N: I wrote this for @moonstruckhargrove ‘s Valentine’s Day writing challenge. I had the “love letter” prompt. What I only realized when I was done though, was that I mostly ignore the “it has to be centered around Valentine’s Day” rule. Vday is mentioned so I hope this still counts. Enjoy.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Heaven can wait we're only watching the skies. Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

February fucking sucks. That’s the underlying truth of it all. It’s grey and dark and cold and miserable. Christmas has come and gone and the novelty of snow has worn off by the time January 12th rolls around.

Hawkins Indiana might look like a scene straight from some cheesy Hallmark greeting card but it sure doesn’t feel like it.

(Y/N) pulls her coat tighter around herself as she steps out of Hawkins High and into the harsh winter wind. The sound of crunching snow beneath her boots that brought her joy just a month earlier, now only serves to remind her that summer is so many months away.

To say she’s sick of it might just be the understatement of the century.

There’s a great bustling of people on the school grounds. They’re hanging up banners and bows and hearts made of paper and entirely too much glitter glue. It’s like middle school but worse. Because back in middle school, Valentine’s day was this cutesy tradition that was over the top cheesy and ridiculous but in the end it was just for shits and giggles anyway.

High School is a whole different story. Valentine’s Day is serious business at Hawkins High. Various committees had formed and organized all kinds of things for the big day. You can buy chocolates for your crush and have it sent to them in class. They set up a wall that students can pin their teenage love confessions to. They even organized a fucking dance for the night of Valentine’s Day.

And now it’s not like (Y/N) hates the day or the couples or the shameless commercialization of love. It’s just — a lot.

Additionally, it makes her aware just how awfully single she is and how the one guy she truly wants really only sees her as a friend. And you don’t date friends.

There’s countless movies where the main characters start out as best friends then fall in love and then live happily ever after. But that’s not reality is it ? (Y/N) parents started out as the best of friends then fell in love somewhere along the line. They got married in spring, had little (Y/N) then lived and loved until their friendship was sucked into the big black void of everyday life. Now dad lives in a bachelor pad in some high rise in Indianapolis and fucks his secretary and mom takes antidepressants as if they were tic-tacs.

They don’t show that in the movies, do they ?

So actually ever confessing her feelings for her best friend is an absolute no-go.

Speak of the devil.

Billy is leaning against his car looking like a young god, unbothered by the perpetual teenage disillusion with the future.

Like the world is his and he knows it.

“ You’re gonna get hypothermia one of these days ? “ (Y/N) approaches him and points towards his half-unbuttoned shirt.

Billy might just be the most stubborn person (Y/N) knows. He simply refuses to buy winter clothes. “ I’m not gonna stay here anyway “ is what he always says and sure, that might be the case, but he’s here now and he’s freezing his ass off. Yet he’d rather freeze than admit it and cave and buy himself a freaking winter coat.

“ I have a great immune system “ Billy replies, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips.

A smirk that makes (Y/N)’s heart beat just a little faster.

“ Oh do you ? That why you been sneezing all day ? “

“ Shut up “ Billy replies then takes a last drag from his cigarette and throws it to the ground.

“ You got somewhere to be today ? “ He asks (Y/N), eyebrows furrowed. There’s a certain edge to his voice that immediately tells her that something is wrong. There’s something on his mind he wants to talk about. Something weighing on his shoulders.

“ Nope. Why ? “

He just nods towards the Camaro and mumbles a “ get in “ before opening his car door and slumping down on the driver’s seat.

So it’s one of those days. Where he doesn’t talk, at least not yet. (Y/N)’s learned that asking questions just makes him talk even less. He will open up, eventually. It’s just that opening up feels like admitting defeat to him. Feels like showing weakness.

It’s not and (Y/N) is trying her best to make sure he knows this. That he can allow himself to be vulnerable with her of all people. Because despite it all, she’s his best friend.

The drive is mostly silent except for the sound of Billy’s beloved Metallica tape playing through the car radio. He looks tense. His hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly and there’s a serious look on his face. It makes (Y/N) nervous. Makes her fear that a Goodbye is closer than expected. That maybe his dad is taking him away again. Somewhere else. Somewhere new. She knows there’s an end to their friendship eventually. An expiry date. All he wants is to go back to California and though she’s his best friend, (Y/N) doesn’t think she’s worth enough to make him stay. Or at least wait. To wait until she’s figured out which way to go after graduation. To see if maybe her path could lead her west. Could lead he towards California. Towards the sun. Towards the beach. Towards Billy.

Now that idea doesn’t sound all that bad to her. But would he even want her to come ?

Billy parks the car at the edge of the quarry. It’s kind of their place. Unofficially of course. But they come here whenever they need to vent. Whenever things get too bad. Whenever Neil adds another bruise to Billy’s skin. Whenever things at (Y/N)’s home feel like suffocating her.

“ Sooo … “ (Y/N) speaks up after a moment.

“ I gotta show you something “

“ Okay ? “

For a moment Billy fumbles around in the pocket of his leather jacket, before he pulls out a very crumpled piece of paper.

“ So uh — Neil thought it was time to get rid of some of mom’s things that we still had and, you know him. Asshole didn’t wanna deal with any of it so he put all the boxes into my room. Most of it was clothes and shit that I don’t want to keep either but as I went through a box of records she left with us, I found a bunch of letters “ Billy starts to explain. His voice is laced with emotion. There’s anger and sadness and utter confusion.

It’s always hard for him to talk about his mother. When they started to become friends, (Y/N) has honestly thought she was dead, the way Billy didn’t talk about her at all. Just mentioned his mom every once in a while. It took one of Carol’s parties and a bottle of Tequila for him to come clean about the fact that his mom didn’t die, she left.

Every once in a while, when he has a really good or a really bad day, he tells (Y/N) little snippets of what his life used to be like. Back before his mom left. When he still had a proper family. And every time (Y/N) can tell just how hard it still weights on his heart.

“ Letters ? “

“ Mm-mh. Letters from my mom to a man. Some dude named Michael. Letters she never sent. Fucking love letters. “

There was never a doubt in (Y/N)’s mind, that Billy adores his mother. Not the woman who left but the one he got to know before. Whenever he talks about her it’s with love and fond memories. He seems different now though. Unsure if he really properly knew his mother to begin with.

“ She talks about how much she loves him. How she wishes she could be there with him. She mentions me too. Says I’m too young to understand. Too young to do it by myself. Fucking hell she was unhappy even when I was just a baby. I — I thought that things used to be good at one point but apparently it was shit from the start. “

(Y/N) honestly doesn’t know what to say. She wants to hold him and tell him that his mother doesn’t know the person she decided to leave behind. That it’s her loss. That she is never going to see the wonderful boy he grew up to be. The one that means so much to (Y/N). The one she loves so dearly.

Only friends don’t say that, do they ?

“ There’s tons of letters. The first one goes all the way back to when I was just 2 months old. Last one was written just days before she left. I — I wonder if she went there. I wonder if she had enough and decided she wanted to be with this guy. I wonder when she decided I was old enough to leave behind. “

He’s caught somewhere between pure rage and utter sadness. It takes over his mind like a tidal wave. Like suddenly everything he ever thought he knew is full on bullshit. His head is filled with so many what-ifs. All his happy childhood memories, where they really all that happy if his mom wished she could’ve been somewhere else ?

“ You think she might be there ? “ (Y/N) asks, wondering if she should be saying anything at all.

“ I was asking myself that question too. She must’ve gone there, right ? In all these letters she keeps talking about how all she wants is to be with this dude. It only makes sense, right ? “

“ Right. “

(Y/N) carefully considers the next words. She’s about to propose an idea that could potentially change everything. Good or bad.

But maybe some things are worth it.

“ Do you wanna go ? “

“ Go where ? “

“ Go see her in — “ (Y/N) takes the letter from his hand and reads the address out loud “ Pensacola Florida “

Billy combs his fingers through his blonde locks and lets out a sigh. “ That’s like a 10 hour drive. And for what ? “

“ Closure ? “

There’s a million different ways this could go and they’re all flashing in front of Billy’s eyes at that moment. He’s been thinking about this moment ever since his mom left and now that he finally has an idea of where she might be, he’s terrified.

“ Would you come ? “ he asks it almost timidly. As if there’s any chance she’s gonna say no. As if she wouldn’t follow him to the end of the earth and further.

“ Billy, you’re my best friend I’d come anywhere you want me to “

“ Yeah, yeah. You’re are. “ And for a moment he hesitates as if he wants to say so much more. Only he doesn’t dare speak those words.

“ So, Florida ? “

Billy takes her hand in his and squeezes it for a moment. His hands are warm and rough and (Y/N) wonders what they’d feel like touching other parts of her body. Then she scolds herself for it because friends don’t think stuff like that. Do they ?

“ Florida! “

- OOO -

The camaro is filled with the smell of cream soda and beef jerky. But really, that’s the smell of a good road trip.

Before they embarked on their epic adventure, Billy insisted they stock up on all the snacks and drinks anyone could ever consume on a 10 hour drive.

The radio is playing softly in the background as the two teens laugh and bicker about god and the world.

Hearing Billy laugh, like actually genuinely laugh, is something (Y/N) thinks she’ll never get enough of. He’s got the most radiant smile, the most infectious laugh. It’s a downright shame the world doesn’t give him more reasons to do it. And if we’re being real honest here, (Y/N) takes a little pride in being the one that can get the laughs and smiles from him.

“ So what did you tell your parents ? “ Billy asks then follows it up with a “ Twizzler please “

(Y/N) pulls a twizzler out of the package and holds it out towards Billy’s mouth, basically feeding the sweet treat to him.

“ Ah you know, It’s my weekend with dad so mom thinks I’m there. Dad thinks I’m at the Valentine’s Day dance. It’s no big deal, really “

“ Sorry about that by the way “ Billy mumbles around the bit of his Twizzler.

“ ‘bout what ? “

“ Making you miss the dance. “

(Y/N) scoffs. As is she was gonna go to the dance anyway. Going to prom with your friends was one thing but going to a Valentine’s Day dance by yourself was just sad.

“ Oh yeah because being single at the Valentine’s Day dance is totally something I was looking forward to. “

“ Ah, I’m sure you could’ve found some guy to take you. “

“ But it’s a Valentine’s Day dance, Billy. You don’t want some guy to take you. You want the guy. “

Billy raises his eyebrow in question before taking a sip from his cream soda.

“ So what’s the guy like then ? “ he asks.

You. (Y/N) thinks. But she knows that even if anything were to ever happen between them, Billy isn’t the type of guy to shoq up to school dances. He’s not one for big dramatic gestures. He’s just Billy. And that’s enough.

And anyway, a road trip to Florida fueled by cream soda and twizzlers sounds way more exciting than some school dance anyway.

“ Billy Idol “

“ What ? Really ? “

“ Oh yeah. He’s hot, he makes great music and he’s got the whole bad boy thing going for him”.

Billy shakes his head in disbelief though (Y/N) can just make out the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Billy doesn’t smile a lot but when he does oh god it’s marvelous.

“ That all it takes ? Some bleached hair and a leather jacket ? “

“ And really tight leather pants “

“ Of course, can’t forget those “.

A silence settles upon the two. Thick with words unspoken. By now the snow has vanished from the surroundings and (Y/N) can’t help but feel somehow liberated.

Like she’s escaped the winter and the cold and the miserable truth that with the actual spring comes their graduation and with that the end of her time with Billy. It’s like she gets the warmth and the sun and the joy without the heartbreak.

Maybe this is what they need, she thinks, one last adventure before the inevitably have to say goodbye.

“ Can we go to the beach ? “ (Y/N) asks, images flooding her head of burying her feet in the warm sand and forgetting about the grey cloud above her hometown for just a moment.

“ Yeah. Yeah we can “

(Y/N) takes another sip of her drink “ Can we also go to Disney World ?“

Billy doesn’t answer but he smiles. A full on smile. It doesn’t stretch upon his entire face but it’s big enough to earn itself the title of a proper smile. And that’s all she needs, really. This is better than any ride at any theme park could ever be.

- OOO -

The setting sun casts the sky in vibrant shades of pink and orange. It’s like a picture from a postcard and though (Y/N)’s seen many sunsets in her life, she knows this one is her favorite. There’s something magical about it.

They’re parked on the edge of a gas station parking lot. Being on the road for hours after a rather stressful day at school, they’re both exhausted and decided it’s best to rest for the night.

Billy is finishing a bag of beef jerky as (Y/N) switches through the different radio stations looking for something to listen to. Looking for a station that’s playing anything but the Flashdance soundtrack.

“ Let us die young or let us live forever

We don't have the power, but we never say never

Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip

The music's for the sad man”

“ Oh my god I love this song “ (Y/N) exclaims as the words to Forever Young echo through the Camaro.

“ I hate this song “

“ Oh come oooon now. It’s catchy. “

Billy only rolls his eyes “catchy doesn’t mean good”.

“ No but catchy means I get to sing along “

And she does. At the very top of her lungs. She belts out the words to the chorus like her life depends on it. There’s so much joy on her face though, that Billy can’t even be mad. In fact, he finds himself admiring her and her unwavering love for life. The way she just lets go and allows herself to be goofy and ridiculous. He wishes he could let go and just — be.

“ FOREEEEEVER YOUUUUUUNG I WANT TO BEEE FOREEEEEEVER YOUNG. Come on Billy. I know you want to sing along “.

“ I don’t sing. “

“ Nah. Bullshit. You’re just embarrassed. I bet you can’t sing “

“ Neither can you “

“ I know. So what ? It’s just us, right ? Just you and I. Who cares ? “

And really, who does care ? Maybe this trip was his awakening. Maybe he can let go when it is just the two of them. Him and (Y/N). (Y/N) who is honest but never judges him unfairly. Who lets him be the person he is. Always. Who never tries to change him. Not even the bad parts. Not even the really shitty parts he wants to change himself.

So he let’s go. For the first time in a long time. And not in the way of getting blackout drunk. But in letting himself be ridiculous. Be a dumb teenager singing along to a dumb song. He lets himself be goofy. Allows himself to be, well — young.

“ So many dreams swinging out of the blue. We let them come truuuue ! “

“ Hah ! I knew it! You even know the words !”

And when he catches the pure and unfiltered happiness in (Y/N)’s eyes and the huge smile spreading across her face, he thinks maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s worth it.

So he grabs her hand and their voices mix as the belt along to the chorus.

“ Forever young, I want to be forever young. Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever ? “

It’s like magic caught in moment. Like love caught inside a ‘79 Chevrolet Camaro. And Billy never wants it to end.

- OOO -

The outside world is only illuminated by the distant glow of the gas station’s neon signs as (Y/N) wakes up in the back of the Camaro. Billy had generously offered her the more comfortable sleeping space while he closed his eyes still sitting in the driver’s seat which, (Y/N) notices, is now deserted.

She spots him leaned against the front of the car, cigarette in hand. The magic from earlier is gone and has made room for all the anxiety of what’s to come once they reach their destination.

Slowly (Y/N) climbs out of the car and stands next to Billy.

“ You alright ? “

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just takes a drag and blows the cigarette smoke into the nightair.

“ I honestly have no fucking clue anymore “ Billy scoffs, letting his tongue wet his lips in unease.

(Y/N) notices a can of beer in the hand that isn’t holding onto the cigarette.

“ Have you been drinking ? No judgement or anything just if you did I can drive tomorrow morning “.

Billy shakes his head “ Nah. I uh — I thought it would help settle my nerves but it doesn’t. Only had a sip. I just — I’m terrified, (Y/N) “

It’s unusual for Billy to tell anyone how he feels so (Y/N) knows this is special. That this really means something. That this situation must weight so heavy on his heart.

“ I’ve been imagining this day for so long. Since the moment she left really. And now that it’s actually happening I don’t know how to feel. I have — I have no idea how to react when we find her. If we even find her. Who knows she might not even be there. Do I talk to her ? What do I tell her ? I don’t know anything anymore. I just — she’s my mom and she just left “

There’s a sniffle, then another one and another. And just like that Billy comes undone right in front of (Y/N). His face shows pure agony. Deep sadness. Absolute confusion. All at once. There’s anger and pain and heartache. If she could she’d take it all from him and live with his pain if it meant he never had to feel it again.

But she can’t.

So she does the one thing she can do. Show him she’s there with him every step of the way. The good, the bad and most of all the ugly.

She softly leans her head against Billy’s shoulder as he drops the cigarette stump into the can of beer gone stale by now. His arm finds its way around (Y/N)’s shoulder who promptly links her fingers with his.

Even with all the misery and heartache and angst, a little of the magic comes back suddenly. With soft touches and hearts filled with love for the other.

“ Florida is nice “ (Y/N) says as the both watch the sun slowly rising above the horizon.

“ California is better “ Billy replies “ You’d like it “.

“ You should show me one day. I uh — I applied to some colleges on the west coast so … “

Billy looks down towards the girl cuddled into his arms and it’s like a spark ignites deep inside his heart. And it sounds like some absolute pussy shit. Like something Harrington would probably write in one of his cheesy letters to the Wheeler girl. But it’s true.

No matter how much he tries to deny it, the future absolutely scares him. But a future with (Y/N) doesn’t sound so bad. It sounds comforting. It sounds like something he’d very much want.

“ Would you want to go ? “

“ To California ? “

Billy nods.

“ Yeah obviously “.

“ With me ? “

It’s (Y/N)’s turn to nod now. She wants to say so much. Mostly that she loves him and that she wants nothing more than to go about this life with him. But she doesn’t because some things mean too much to say them out loud, even if there’s nothing you’d rather do.

“ I’d like that too. Very much “ he tells her “ You’re pretty much the only person I don’t get sick of. And I — that’s pretty neat “.

Billy Hargrove has never told anyone that he loves them. He thinks this is as close as he’s ever come before.

As he looks down at her, illuminated by the sunrise and the pink neon sign advertising 70ct slushies, Billy thinks she looks phenomenal in pink. He thinks she’s probably the prettiest sight he’s ever seen.

And he wants to kiss her, so badly. With every fiber of his being. But this isn’t the time or the place. She deserves better than kissing this version of him. The tired, anxiety stricken mess.

So he’s going to wait. Even if it goes against everything in him.

“ You ready to get back on the road ? “ he asks instead and prays to every higher power that he hasn’t just wasted his chance.

(Y/N) nods again and the magic is gone.

- OOO -

There’s a pale blue house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It has a big front yard with a swing set and a white picket fence surrounding the property. Ther mailbox is white and splattered with the same blue paint of the house. In bold black letters it tells everyone that this house belongs to the Stone-Hargrove household.

Billy and (Y/N) sit in the Camaro, parked just across the street from the house and observe it closely. No one is home right now, that much is obvious. The lights are off and no one’s been seen through the big front window yet. There’s no cars in the driveway and everything is quiet.

“ Should we leave ? “ Billy asks and nervously wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans.

“ Do you want to leave ? “

He thinks for a moment then shakes his head.

“ Then we won’t leave.”

While Billy doesn’t dare take his eyes off the house, (Y/N) reads through the letters Billy has handed to her. They’re all varying in sizes and shape. Some of the love confessions are written down neatly on stationary paper with little flowers around the edges. Some are hastily scribbled onto napkins or the back of some promotional flyers. They all have something in common though, they were never sent.

As she reads through them, (Y/N) can’t help but imagine the woman writing them all those years ago. A woman who seemed all but happy in her situation. A woman who so desperately wanted to give her heart to the little boy she had put into this world. Only her heart was never her’s to give away. It already belonged to the man in Florida.

She mentions Billy several times and it really does sound like she loves him. Only not enough. (Y/N) thinks that maybe life isn’t that easy. That it isn’t entirely black and white. That some women aren’t born mothers. That you can try and try and do your best but hat maybe some aren’t meant to be moms.

And yet she can’t help but feel a little resentment towards her. For breaking Billy’s heart.

(Y/N) gets shaken from her daydream as she hears Billy’s breath hitch. She looks at him, then follows his glance towards the house.

There’s a white Jeep Wagoneer pulling into the driveway. A man gets out, salt and pepper hair and smile on his face. He looks kind. Like he’s jumped right out of a 70’s tv family. Your poster-child for the perfect suburban dad.

He’s followed by a woman and at that point Billy’s breath speeds up a little. There’s no doubt in either of the teen’s minds that this is her. She has the same dark blonde hair as Billy. The same smile. Only she seems to show it far more often. She opens the backdoor of the car and a kid jumps out. A girl about Max’s age, maybe younger.

That’s the exact moment Billy’s heart sinks.

She looks just like a girl version of him when he was that age. It’s like looking into a damn mirror they’re so similar. Only they aren’t are they ? Because she’s happy and smiling and driving around a perfect suburban neighbourhood with her mom and dad and they’re smiling and they’re happy and the love each other. And she doesn’t have to ask herself every single fucking night why she wasn’t good enough for her mom to stay. And she doesn’t have to fear coming home to a dad who hates her guts. No she doesn’t.

Billy did. Billy does.

And for a moment he feels resentment cursing through him. Until he feels the soft touch of (Y/N)’s hand against his as she gently pulls his hand off the steering wheel and links her fingers with his.

It’s not the kids fault. Billy has to remind himself. And this woman ? She may have given birth to him but she wasn’t his mother. This was a different woman living a different life. A life that didn’t involve him. A life separate from him. From all the memories they made.

“ That’s not my mom “ he says so timidly, so softly, (Y/N) almost doesn't hear.

“ My mom made me blueberry pancakes on sunday mornings and sang along to Elvis on the radio. “ he continues and sighs deeply. “ My mom took me to Chuck E. Cheese’s every first friday of the month. She told my bedtime stories about dragons and heroes. She built a birdhouse with me for the blackbirds that always hung around in our garden. She took me to the beach whenever possible and helped me find the coolest seashells. This isn’t my mom. My mom loved me and she stopped being my mom when she didn’t. “

And then he turns to (Y/N) and there’s tears in his eyes and she so desperately wants to tell him she loves him but maybe this isn’t the right moment. He deserves better. He deserves an I love you that doesn’t come in a moment of sadness. He deserves an I love you that comes with a moment of magic.

“ My mom loved me. She did. I know this and that’s enough. “ Billy says and smiles. (Y/N)wonders if he says those words to her or if they’re meant for himself. In the end, it doesn’t matter.

“ Let’s go to the beach “ Billy suggests and squeezes (Y/N) hand.

“ Yeah, let’s “

- OOO -

(Y/N) stands by the shore, boots long forgotten by the car as her feet are buried in the warm wet sand. The crashing of waves sends a calm through her. There’s no one but them at this small patch of beach. The sand isn’t perfectly white and the water isn’t crystal clear but it’s perfect. She’s missed the warmth and the sun. It feels good to be here, even better now that Billy has voiced that he’d like for her to come with him to California.

Maybe this can be a weekly thing soon. Them hanging out by the beach, away from the cold and the misery and the heartbreak.

Billy takes a last drag from his cigarette before he pushes himself off the car and walks towards (Y/N).

She looks phenomenal against the backdrop of the ocean. It’s his two favorite things in one place. He thinks that maybe this trip meant so much more than they had initially planned. It made him realize what actually matters to him.

If (Y/N) thinks he’s good enough then there might just be some truth to it. Because she’s entirely too good for him and yet she chooses to drive halfway across the country with him over a Highschool Dance.

He softly touches her hand and pulls her towards the car. Brushing off as she rises her eyebrows in confusion.

“ I’m sorry I made you miss the dance so uh — I think I owe you one “ Billy says. (Y/N) is sure she can just make out a slight blush settling on his cheeks.

“ Billy wha— “

He lifts up a finger as a sign for her to wait, then leans into the car and presses play on the radio, turning the volume all the way up.

Chicago’s “You’re the inspiration” sounds through the air and (Y/N) can’t keep herself from laughing.

“ Didn’t take you for someone who listens to that kind of music “ she jokes and grants Billy a teasing smirk.

“ Ah you know “ Billy says and shrugs “ the girls like it “.

“ Oh really ? “

“ Mmh “ Billy replies then pulls (Y/N) closer settling his hands on her hips as she wraps hers around his neck in return.

“ You’re just a big softy on the inside, huh ? I knew it !”

Billy smiles for a moment then grows serious again. He clears his throat once, twice, then speaks up again. There’s the force of a storm hidden in his eyes. And warmth. And love.

“ Look I — I gotta tell you something. And please don’t interrupt me because if I don’t do this now I’ll get the jitters and never say it. “

The words leaving his lips send (Y/N) heart beating faster.

“ I’m in love with you, (Y/N). I love you. I have to tell you this because the whole thing with my mother’s letters just made me realize that I don’t want to live my life constantly regretting not telling you how much you mean to me. I don’t want to settle for someone I don’t want just because I was too chicken shit to admit my feelings to you. And I know you think that friends falling in love can never last and I know that your parents’ failed marriage has you cynical and I know that this might not be forever but it is now and I honestly can’t see me loving anyone else. I don’t want to regret a single moment not spent with you. And I sure as hell don’t want my future children to feel like my heart is someplace else. I love you, (Y/N). I think you’re by far the coolest person of all time and also your ass is almost as great as mine. I thought you should know. “

There’s no fireworks or butterflies. Nothing fundamentally changes as he speaks those words and yet it feels different. Better. Like there’s a weight lifted and they can finally breathe again.

“ You think I’m cool ? “ (Y/N) asks. There’s a smile on her face that makes Billy’s heart stop and beat faster all at once.

“ That’s what you took from my monologue right now ? That’s it ? “

“ Billy ? “

“ Hmm ? “

“ I love you too. Happy Valentine’s Day. “

It’s all she says but it’s enough. Because he’s enough. For her. And maybe even for himself.

If there ever was a moment to kiss her it’s now. He thinks this is what she deserves. A beach and a love song and a sunset. Magic in a moment.

It’s slow and the air around them practically sizzles with electricity as they move closer. Every sense is registering what’s happening. Billy closes his eyes and feels her soft skin under his hands. He can smell the salty ocean air in her hair.

It’s but a whisper of a touch at first. When her lips meet his and, fuck does it sound cheesy, but feels like so much more than any other kiss ever did. Because she’s his girl.

And she doesn’t taste of cotton candy and miracles but coca cola and twizzlers and he still loves kissing her.

She’s soft and warm and she feels like home. Like a home he never knew he needed but now realizes he wants so desperately. And it’s not California or Hawkins or any other god forsaken place. It’s a person and a feeling and a lifetime of ordinary moments sprinkled with those few magical ones.

“ I wanna be forever young with you, Billy Hargrove “ (Y/N) whispers against his lips. She wonders if that makes sense.

To Billy it makes perfect sense.

- OOO -

They’re almost back in Hawkins, when (Y/N) pretty much forces Billy to pull off at the gas station to stock up on more sodas. That and she really has to pee.

Music is softly playing through the radio as Billy’s eyes fall onto a piece of paper placed on the passenger seat. He noticed (Y/N) had been writing something down during the last hour or so of their ride but hasn’t really paid any thought to what it might be.

Now that the opportunity presents itself though, he can’t help but feel curious. And yes it might be a little bit of an invasion of privacy but it’s literally right there next to him and it’s not like she’s tried to hide it or anything.

So with one last look out the window, he opens the folded piece of paper and begins to read.

“ Dear Mrs. Stone or Hargrove or Stone-Hargrove,

my name is (Y/N) and I’m a 18 year old Highschool student at Hawkins High. You don’t know me and honestly that’s fine, this isn’t about me. This is about Billy. The son you left behind all those years ago. I’m not going to judge you or tell you that you were wrong in doing so (even though you were). I have never been in a position like yours. I am, however, gonna tell you about the boy you abandoned, because he’s phenomenal.

To begin with, he’s absolutely beautiful. Breathtakingly handsome. That comes with an ego, sure. But it makes him charming. So very charming. He’s smart too, even though he won’t admit it. I know he regularly steals books from my bookshelf only to replace them days later once he devoured them. I know this but I don’t mention it because I know it’s something he wants to keep to himself. I fear there’s a part of him that thinks he needs to be the best at something or he isn’t allowed to take pride in it. I think it’s his dad’s fault (Neil is still an asshole by the way).

Billy has a plethora of faults and issues but for every bad personality trait there’s 10 more that I love about him. He’s so genuinely human, faults and all. He’s not trying to be someone else just for the sake of fitting in. I think you broke his heart when you left but he’s trying so hard to hold it together. For his sake and mine.

Billy has a great taste in music. He’s funny. Genuinely funny. And fiercely protective.

It takes a lot to make him open up but once he does, my god it’s worth it. There’s so much love in him it’s breathtaking. It’s all consuming.

I wish you had taken the time to get to know the person he is, then again maybe he wouldn’t be the Billy he is now if it weren’t for you breaking his heart. Maybe he wouldn’t be my Billy.

Bottom line is, Billy Hargrove is so many things, but he’s not defined by the mistakes of his parents and their inability to love him the way he deserves.

This is my love letter to the boy who owns my heart and the boy you chose to leave behind to find yours.

Regards,

(Y/N)”

And it’s then, that Billy realizes she’s right. That when spring comes around and he’s free to leave his father’s home, that he won’t be defined by another person’s choice anymore. That he gets to decide who he is. That he gets to be goofy and ridiculous and silly. That he gets to make mistakes without having to fear repercussions.

That he gets to love.

That he gets to be loved in return.

As he glances out the window again he catches sight of (Y/N) walking back towards the car and as their eyes meet, she smiles that smile that makes his entire world seem just a little brighter.

And looking at her now, he can’t wait for their future to begin.

February fucking sucks. That’s the underlying truth of it all. It’s grey and dark and cold and miserable. But february too will pass and make room for march then april. For spring and warmth and a future that’s uncertain in so many ways. But a future he knows for sure, will be filled with love.

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #moonstruckhargrovevday

173 notes · View notes

andrea-lyn · 5 years

Note

For RNM prompts, I don't know if you do mpreg (I usually don't but...) so if you do maybe a prompt of Michael doing the "oh shit I got knocked up and I am a total disaster and an Airstream is no place to raise a baby and also the other dad isn't quite in the picture what is my damn life". Maybe someone like Kyle actually being awesome or Max trying to be brotherly while also uncomfortable or Liz going total Tia about it all or Iz being a bit jealous since she wants kids or stuff like that.

“You need to stop drinking.”

Michael scowls as he reaches over to try and take back his glass of whiskey, using it to salute Liz. “Nice to see you too, Ortecho. Can you save the judgment for after I’ve had a few?”

“No,” she says sharply and reaches over to grab the glass back. There’s a wild look in her eyes, but Michael writes it off as the usual panic that comes when something weird is happening. “Stop drinking and come with me.”

She’s being just weird enough that Michael’s intrigued by whatever the hell is happening and tells Maria to watch his drink before he follows Liz outside to the alleyway, wondering what she could possibly have to tell him that needs this kind of privacy. He gestures around them, trying to coax her on.

”Well?” Michael demands. “What is it?”

“You’re pregnant.”

Michael rolls his eyes, because it figures that this would be the bullshit she tries to pull with him. “I get it, I drink too much, Isobel put you up to it.”

“No, Michael,” Liz reiterates, her voice sounding panicked and tight. “One of the blood samples you gave me looked weird, so I had Kyle look at it and you’re pregnant,” she hisses. “And we have no idea what your internal system looks like because you all refuse to get tested, which means you could have the necessary organs or you might have some kind of pouch, like some weird alien seahorse.”

This night is getting so much worse than Michael ever thought it could be.

“Did you just call me a fucking seahorse?”

“You’re pregnant, I could call you a lot worse,” she insists. “You’re about three months along, so, who were you getting busy with three months ago? It could be a woman too,” Liz points out. “If you are like a seahorse…”

“Again with the fucking seahorse…”

“Then it could have been an egg that did this.”

“No need to comb Roswell like this is the weirdest Bachelor ever,” Michael assures, grimacing. Three months places this right after the reunion and there’s only one person he’d been sleeping with on the regular three months ago.

It just so happens to be the same person who wants to be friends and just found out all his secrets and needed time. If he’d needed time when he saw an alien spaceship, then what the hell is Alex going to do when he finds out he helped father an alien baby.

“Did you tell him?”

“Great,” Michael mutters, when Kyle arrives on the scene, as if LIz has summoned him with some unknown weird human annoyance power. “You had to have him test my blood, didn’t you?”

“You need to start coming in for checkups,” Kyle says, and Michael feels a twist in his stomach for how excited he sounds about this revolutionary thing that’s happening. “I’ll prescribe you a bunch of vitamins and Liz already told you about the drinking…?”

“Yup,” she agrees proudly. “I’m gonna be Tia Liz, that baby is getting protected from the get go and if you drink enough to make it come out three-eyed…”

“Hey!” he shouts, loud enough that some of the other drunks in the Pony parking lot look their way, which means that Michael’s gonna need them to find privacy real fast, before someone can start a rumor about this weird situation. “I’ll come in, but no official paperwork,” he warns both of them.

“You’re keeping it?”

“Who the hell knows how to do an abortion on an alien,” Michael says, with a grim scoff. “Besides…” It’s Alex’s kid, it’s his kid, and who knows if he’ll ever be able to have a kid normally? Who knows if he’ll ever want to. “Look, as far as I know, there’s three of us left. Let’s just leave it at repopulating the human-alien hybrid race.”

Because obviously, he’s not about to sleep with Max or Isobel to creation a pure alien lineage. That’d just be weird.

It brings him to his next very important rule. Neither of them have asked about the father, but they both look shifty and god knows both of them have given him and Alex shit about their on-off thing for months, so he doesn’t think he’s leaping very far to assume they know who knocked him up.

“No one tells Alex,” Michael warns both of them. It’s bad enough they all know and are so excited about it, but he doesn’t need them going to Alex when they’re broken up. “I’ll tel Max and Isobel, but…he can’t know. That’s the last thing he needs on his plate right now.”

After all, when you’re starting over and trying to figure out what you are to each other, “father to my alien baby” isn’t exactly the way to go. So he’ll just be a single father and raise a baby in an airstream and oh god, this is going to go so badly, isn’t it?

From the excited look on both Kyle and Liz’s faces, he’s the only one who thinks so.

He should have known that things were going to explode when Isobel and Liz decided to throw him a baby shower. Isobel looks like she’s not sure about it and Michael doesn’t blame her. He really hadn’t expected to get himself knocked up, so carrying around a human-alien hybrid in his stomach isn’t great. Though, he keeps reminding Isobel that he’s the guinea pig.

“If the kid’s a freak, it’s not like I care,” he points out. “It’ll just run in the family. Then, you’ll know, one way or the other.”

Liz, on the other hand, has been bubbling with excitement since she gave him the news. She sends him articles on pregnancy health, tips on exercising while pregnant, and she’s even managed to get Max to help out, offering healing hands, massaging his aching back, and a whole slew of things that Michael can’t believe his brother is doing.

He really should have said no to the baby shower, though.

It’s five months into the pregnancy and Michael has had to start wearing baggy sweaters to prevent people from getting wary. It’s been two months since anyone saw Alex, who’d left to make sure that Jesse Manes was going to stay out of the picture longer than this assignment, and the chaos of the baby shower has made everyone forget one very pertinent detail.

Alex’s flight gets back in.

Michael hasn’t kept track because their last email had been awkward and terse, with Michael not knowing how to talk to the father of his kid. Alex hadn’t done his part either. None of the others had planned to pick him up from the airport, so when all the guests are at the Airstream for the shower and Michael is in the middle of one of his panic attacks, it just seems so right.

Everything had been fine, right up until someone had given him a crib. That’s when things had gone off the cliff.

“Where the hell am I going to put the thing? It’s an Airstream, it’s barely enough to fit me, how the hell am I going to raise a kid in here? How am I gonna raise a kid?” Michael’s freaking out, and things are beginning to float until Isobel reaches over to squeeze his wrist, a reminder to behave. “I’m no shape to be a father, I don’t even know if I’m a fucking seahorse, or how this thing is inside me and I’m definitely gonna fuck up this fatherhood thing.”

That’s when things slide from bad to worse.

“What fatherhood thing?” That’s Alex, stepping out of his jeep on the driveway. He’s looking around for an explanation, but no one other than Michael is wiling to make eye contact with him.

The silence around them could kill. Strangely, completely against all common sense, it’s Valenti who steps in between Michael and Alex, like he’s a bouncer and not a doctor. “Easy, Alex,” he warns. “Michael’s already freaking out, it’s bad for the …”

Everyone exchanges awkward looks and Michael knows this secret isn’t going to last much longer. Facepalming, he decides it’s time to face the awful music, which is fine. He’s already having a panic attack, he might as well just tell Alex and have every terrible thing happen at the same time.

“Inside,” Michael says, pointing a finger at the rest of the guests. “Leave your presents at the doorstep, and get gone.”

He feels like he can’t breathe when he’s inside. Everything has hit him so fast, but now that it has, he can’t escape it. He’s a single father who’s about to raise his kid in a trailer, he’s that guy, and now he’s standing with the kid’s father and trying to figure out how to tell him about it.

In the end, he decides on a Michael Guerin special, raising up his sweater to reveal the very telling baby bump, patting it twice. “I guess we should have thought a little harder about condoms,” is what he says, because every though their tests were clean, Michael really didn’t think he’d had to worry about freak alien babies. “Congrats, you knocked me up.”

Alex’s eyes have widened to an almost comical degree, staring at Michael’s stomach.

“You…”

“Don’t worry,” Michael cuts him off, not wanting to give Alex the impression that he did this on purpose or that he somehow wants support. “I’m gonna figure out how to do this on my own. Fuck knows how, but I got Max being weirdly supportive and Liz is all crazy about being an aunt and once Iz gets over her issues, I’m sure she’ll fall in line. God knows Valenti is shocking me with…”

He’d keep rambling, but he doesn’t get a chance.

Alex steps into his space and kisses him so hard that he gets pressed against the kitchen cabinets of the Airstream as Alex cups his cheeks and holds him there. It’s a possessive kiss, one that’s claiming Michael more than it’s doing anything else, and when Alex backs off, his palm is rubbing circles on Michael’s stomach.

The baby’s gone quiet with shock. Michael knows the feeling.

“You’re not raising it alone,” is what Alex has to say, and though he looks unsure, those words are firm. “We’ll figure it out.”

Four months later, Hope Guerin is born via a truly embarrassing c-section in a hospital wing during the early hours of the morning. She has Michael’s hair, but those eyes are all Alex Manes. Michael is still freaking out about how this is all going to work, but as Kyle works to sew him back up, Alex has a look on his face like he’s ready to take control of the situation.

“Hey,” Michael mumbles, feeling drowsy and tense for having been on an operating table. “She got ten fingers and ten toes?”

“Yeah, but she’s this weird green color…”

Michael narrows his eyes at Alex, who’s hiding his smirk in his palm.

“Get that baby in my arms and get my fiance out of here,” Michael announces to the OR at large, and he knows he’s managed to get Kyle Valenti in his pocket when the man actually listens to him and tells Alex that he’d better behave or he heard the man.

Cradling little Hope to his chest, Michael tilts his head to the side as he smiles warmly at her. “Hey, little seahorse,” he greets. “I’m probably gonna end up fucking up so may times,” he admits, and he’s already started given Max’s displeased look at the profanity. “Guess what, though. You got a whole family ready to make sure that I don’t fail. Welcome to the world, Hope. There’s a whole bunch that makes it worth living.”

He’d only just realized some of it, but he plans on teaching Hope about all of that from the get-go.

#Anonymous #malex #mpreg #cw: male pregnancy #alien pregnancy #michael/alex #fic prompts #roswell new mexico

123 notes · View notes