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lightanddarklove · 4 years

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Prickling Doubt and Burnout

5032 Words | Rating: Teen [description of an injury and swearing, self-esteem/ self-doubt and mental health issues]

I wrote this trying to get some pain out of my system but I didn’t get to write as much as I would have liked before the hiatus ended. If the new episodes don’t make me feel like I am treading the same ground as cannon, I have more ideas to continue this.

The only thing that I didn’t notice, a minor detail that I got wrong, is that they no longer have a closet under the stairs with the repaired house. So where are they storing their cleaning supplies? I kind of doubt they’re in Steven’s closet upstairs, so if anyone could tell me where their pantry or something is I will fix that bit.

Also, Steven swears, but not out loud, so I haven’t let Steven say fuck yet >:)c

Steven doesn’t feel like he can talk to Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl about his problems, so he finds another way to distract himself until he can find the right words to say. Unfortunately for him, cleaning the greenhouse doesn’t come without more hurt.

Takes place right after Prickly Pair. Steven-centric & Cannon compliant through that episode. Hurt/ Comfort but the ratio’s about 80/20%.

“I think I’ve said enough.” Steven’s voice was low and he ducked his head as he turned to walk back to his room. The concerned gazes of the Crystal Gems followed him, but they didn’t press. He spoke once more over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs, not turning to face them. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused… again.” With two more steps, he walked through the doorway and out of sight.

He waited a moment in his room, staring at the cactus flower in his hand and repeatedly turned it gently between two fingers. He almost expected one of the gems to follow him to his room and insist he talk to them, but there was nothing. He sighed and looked around the room. With the exception of the open balcony door, floor and bed littered in cactus spines and comforter not on his bed, there was little out of place.

He took one more step and was reminded with a sting of pain of the needles still embedded in his chest, legs, arms and face. He paused and carefully put down the flower near the tv. Grabbing the comforter and folding it over, he placed it on the floor. He quickly retrieved a pair of tweezers and a mirror from the area above his bed. With a grunt of discomfort he sat down on the comforter to remove the needles pricking his skin. He started with left hand palm, and plucked them out one by one. Each spine stung slightly and he quietly hissed through his teeth as he pulled them out. He willed himself not to anger as he worked.

It’s not worth it, he thought. Cactus Steven had caused enough damage, I don’t need the rage of Pink Steven too. He worked his way from his palm to his arm, focusing on his breathing and the morning light outside. Hopefully Cactus Steven will find some place he can belong. It would be nice if at least one of us could. He shook his head as he pulled a needle from his sensitive triceps’ area. Thinking that way isn’t helping. I messed things up here, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t still have a place here, right? He swiped a tear away from his eye with his now un-prickly left hand. He knew that tear wasn’t just from the cactus spines, but he couldn’t do any damage control like this. It sucks feeling like I can’t do anything right, but I have to try. I’m not going to run away from all my problems like she did. I can clean up my own mess.

Plucking a spine from his left shoulder he dropped it in the pile with the others and switched his tweezers to his left hand. I’ll wait to heal myself until all of these plant materials are cleaned up. I can’t risk bringing another plant to life and causing more damage. These spines are nothing compared to getting head-butted in the face or the toxic injector fluid on my arm. The faces of an angry Jasper and Spinel came to mind as he thought of old injuries, but he tried to shake the thoughts away. The burn on his arm had long healed but that patch of skin still had discoloration from the injury. His eyes were drawn to the burn as he removed more needles. Tiny drops of blood marred his skin further from the cactus gashes, but very few actively dripped, as most of the pricks only went skin deep. I’m sturdier than most people, he thought bitterly. I can handle it. He quickly wiped at the lightly bleeding cuts to prevent them from dripping into his comforter and instead rubbed it into his ruined T-shirt. No salvaging this, it’s too full of holes. Might as well use it as a rag.

Once he had reached the end of his shoulder, he picked up the mirror from the floor and began tweezing the spines on his face. He bit his lip as he plucked each needle from his cheeks, taking care not to let out an audible cry that could be heard downstairs. No need to worry them, he mused. He took a closer look at his reflection, swiping away the few blood drops that rested on his face and noticed a dark spot beginning to form above his eyelid. That must have been from when Cactus Steven bounced my shield back at my eye. I deserved that. He pulled more needles from the area around his brow, biting back tears. I was as so stupid to think that fighting him was the answer. The house is smashed and the gems got hurt because of me. I should have been better to him. When will I learn how to not be so impulsive?

With a few more tweezes he moved downward, plucking spines from his chest. He stopped after a moment and tried to remove his shirt, hoping to get all of them from his torso and waist in one pull, but as he tugged the sharp needles didn’t want to free themselves from his skin and simply tugged at his injuries. He huffed in disappointment and continued his slow methodical plucking. This hurts, but it could have been worse. Get over yourself. Don’t need to make a big deal of it. He moved further down to his abdomen, biting his lip as he pulled from the tender area around his gem.

Before long, he was free of spines, front to back. He stood and bubbled the pile of spines before floating the plant matter over to his trash and popping the bubble, causing the pile to fall into it with a quiet scraping noise. The room still had many needles littering the floor and Steven moved to go back downstairs to get the vacuum.

On the main floor, the gems were all trying to address the still spraying sink in various ways. Garnet was on her back, laying on the floor where the sink used to be, wrench in hand. She was trying to tighten a bolt to stop the flow of water and finding it slick and difficult. Pearl had a mop and bucket she was pushing across the floor, trying to clean its soaked surface. Amethyst had a funnel plugged into the sink hole and a hose in her other hand, which emptied into a large plastic storage container on the floor. Pearl and Amethyst looked up as Steven moved across the room but Garnet continued her efforts.

“I’m cleaning up the cactus needles upstairs,” Steven said, unable to keep their gaze. He moved to the cupboard beneath the stairs, carefully stepping over the broken debris of the coffee table. He retrieved the vacuum and moved to leave.

“Steven,” Pearl called. “Once we get the sink issue under control, we can help you with the dome, if you’d like.”

“Or just in general,” Amethyst added. “Did you feel like talking about it?”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I can handle it,” Steven replied, turning up the stairs. Amethyst looked away sadly.

“Got it,” Garnet said, tightening the bot into place and stopping the spray of water. “Steven, hold on.” He stopped on the landing and turned to face them. “The oven likely will need replacement parts, as water spray got everywhere. You’re not going to want to use the microwave either, so when you get hungry, I’ll have foods that don’t require preparation set in a bag by the stairs.”

“Thanks,” he answered and turned back to his room.

The spines littered the floor and bed when he came back upstairs, vacuum in tow. He turned over everything that had been on the floor and plugged in the vacuum. He flipped its switch and began to methodically work his way across his floor. He quietly cursed himself whenever he accidentally stepped on a spine the vacuum didn’t pick up. He tried to focus on the task at hand, working his way from the stairs toward the opposite side of the room.

After a bit, he noticed his phone light up from his position standing on the bed. He glanced up, continuing to work the vacuum over the needle covered mattress with one hand. He reached out and unlocked his phone, noticing a notification from Connie. That brought a small but genuine smile to his face. He remembered that she had a presentation today and he should wish her good luck in his reply.

Upon opening his messages, he saw a smiling selfie. She had taken the photo from an upper angle, flattering her young features. Her short hair looked neatly styled in a bob, as was typical, but there was a trace of mascara and blush, which was uncommon for her. She wore an azure blue button-up sweater half closed over a grey and white horizontal striped shirt, with a navy knee-high tapered skirt and black leggings, and dark grey ankle boots. She looked like she was putting her best foot forward for her presentation and his smile grew, gazing fondly. Her caption read: “Getting ready for the day. How bout you?”

He paused to admire her. He hadn’t smiled this much since before Cactus Steven started spouting back his dark thoughts, not really. All of his smiles for the gems the night before were placating smiles, not actually because he was happy, and when talking to them in the midst of his fight with his mutated plant, they were entirely false. However, the simple act of a picture sent just for him made him light up.

He replied, “Doing some cleaning. I haven’t gotten changed yet. I’m not presentable yet, haha, but you look,” he paused. Beautiful? Gorgeous? No, too much. Cute? Yes, but also she’s matured so much, she might not like that. Perfect? No, way too much. Terrific? That sounds stilted. How about… “Fantastic. Good luck on your presentation today, I believe in you!” After looking over his text again, he added heart and star emojis to the end and hit send. He slipped his phone into his sweatpants pocket and continued to work on vacuuming the top-sheet of his bed to rid it of cactus spines. He worked his way from foot of the bed forward, noting that the pillow was untouched by the needles. He finished his way across the bed, hopped down and placed the vacuum on the ground, shutting it off. A new ping on his phone took his attention.

“You could have just rolled out of bed and you’d look good,” came Connie’s reply.

Hah, not today, he thought ruefully. I don’t want her to see me like this. Another message popped up before he could come up with a response.

“What made you catch the cleaning bug so early?”

How do I say what happened without making her worry? He thought. I can’t distract her from her presentation. “Well, I woke up early and…” He paused. Cactus Steven broke a lot of stuff, but I definitely don’t want to tell her that. “-there was a bit of a mishap in the greenhouse. Just doing a bit of work to put everything back in its place.”

He slipped the phone in his pocket and pulled the top sheet off the bed, looking it over. There were minor tears in a few spots, but it didn’t look too damaged. Maybe dad knows someone who can fix it. Steven considered. I don’t want to ask Pearl, she’s already helping fix the mess downstairs. He wadded the sheet into a ball and tossed it next to his hamper.

He took the folded over comforter in his left hand and walked to the balcony door, opening it with his right. The morning air was cool on his arms and chest through the holes in the shirt. Taking the comforter in both hands he walked to the balcony’s edge. He tried to enjoy the view of the beach as he shook the comforter out over the deck. The cactus needles shed from the comforter with a few good shakes. Most of them fell to the beach below but a few littered the wood beneath his feet.

He took a few careful steps back, avoiding the spines and walking back into his room, comforter draped over his arms. He closed the door behind him and fished a spare sheet from the bottom drawer of his dresser. He quickly made his bed and looked around his room. With the exception of the wadded sheet by his hamper and the trash bin brimming with cactus spines everything looked in order.

He walked to his shoes stowed in the corner and slipped them on. Before turning around, a new ping brought his attention back to his phone. He promptly pulled it from his pocket and opened his texts. “Is everything ok?” Connie’s text read.

Steven chewed his lip as he considered how to put her mind at ease. Now you’ve made her worry. Way to go, he thought bitterly. He set the phone down on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe if I just show her the greenhouse and don’t tell her about the damage to the house it won’t distract her too much. If I tell her nothing that will definitely make her worry more. I can’t show her how I look though, especially not with this shirt.

In one swift motion he tugged his shirt off, wincing slightly as it pulled against his marred skin, and tossed the shirt by the hamper. He grabbed a fresh black and yellow star tee from the dresser and more carefully slipped it on, trying not to aggravate his injuries. He turned back to the corner of the room by his bed where he left his apron hanging on and slipped it over his outfit, tying it firmly. He scooped up his phone and ran his other hand through his hair as he walked back to the balcony, opening the door with his elbow.

Feeling through his curls he found a few lingering cactus needles and opened his phone to his camera app look himself over. He walked the short few steps to the greenhouse and plucked the remaining needles from his hair, tossing them over the balcony’s edge before making his way to the ruined wall of the dome. He activated the door and soundlessly stepped inside. The bruise that was forming over his right eyelid was somewhat noticeable but the slight cuts from the needles were less so. With a quick adjustment of his filters, it was unlikely anyone would notice them at all in a photo. If he didn’t include the broken glass in his picture to Connie, it wouldn’t look like there was much damage at all. Its fine, just angle yourself so she doesn’t see the hole in the dome. No reason to get her worked up when she’s got her presentation today. But that bruise, if I put a bandage over it, she’ll surely notice. How do I avoid making her worry more?

He thought back to their recent conversation when she had been having a rough week of cramps. She had sent him a dramatic selfie: forearm draped across her brow, mouth open in a seemingly pained sigh, head tilted back and eyes closed. She had included the whole of her upper body in the shot, loose t-shirt flipped up slightly, exposed waist showing several inches of toned midriff, hot water bottle pressed into her aggravated side, and sweatpants hung low and tucked over the water bottle. At the time, he remembered blushing over seeing more of her abdomen then had previously had the privilege of, muscles firm from years of sword training and tennis. Connie didn’t wear crop tops, so this felt like a secret between the two of them.

But now, he recalled the pose, and if he adjusted it slightly so his forearm was over the injured eye, there would be no reason to call it into question. He would be playing back to a recent memory shared for his Jam Bud, not looking hurt and forlorn. It would be easy to downplay as not serious, so he could convince her to focus on her school day. She shouldn’t have to worry about me, he thought firmly. He found the right position, had the filters just right to avoid drawing attention to any red marks along the arms or face, and imitated the expression a precisely as he could. He snapped the picture and looked it over. “My poor greenhouse,” he captioned, adding a few emoji that matched his overly-dramatic expression. With a tap the picture was sent. He added after, “everything’s alright now, just a mess I’ve gotta clean up.”

He glanced around the dishevelment, now that his task of easing Connie’s mind was complete. A few broken pots and upturned dirt as well as broken branches strewn the floor. Bluebell Connie had been tipped over from her rightful place on the stool where she sat, but other than a small bit of dirt having spilled out the flower was undamaged. He flipped the stool with his foot and scooped the overturned dirt back into the pot before setting the Bluebell upright with his unoccupied hand. He turned and scooped up a few broken branches lying and tossed them into his compost pile about before he noticed another pot flipped over. The flower itself looked like it may need a splint to keep it from wilting, but more concerning was that the pot it was in had cracked and a few broken pieces lay on the floor.

Steven was walking toward the broken pot when heard another ping and looked down to the phone. “What happened to the place?” Connie replied. He continued walking toward the broken pot but his focus was on the message to Connie.

“I’ll tell you later.” He answered, typing with his right hand and reaching forward with his left. “I’ve got it under control-“ he had the next sentence half typed before he was able to send. His balance was thrown off as he stumbled over a branch he neglected to pick up earlier and the phone tumbled out of his hand, forgotten as he moved to brace himself. Happy thoughts couldn’t come to mind quick enough to slow his fall. The hand that had been reaching for the broken shard of terra cotta met it with staggering pain as the broken pot pressed into his palm several inches deep. He let out a sound between a strangled cry and a shuddering gasp.

No, no, no, fuck. He thought as he fumbled to his knees, trying not to focus on the throbbing feeling through his palm. Why can’t I do anything right?

He drew his injured hand to his chest and sprang back to his feet with the force of his free hand. His breaths came in hard, pained pants as he saw the blood begin to stain his apron. The sight had him fighting a gag. With an empty stomach, he knew if the nauseating feeling overtook his focus he would just be caught up dry-heaving and unable to stop the searing in his hand. Get out of here, he thought, who knows that the fuck bleeding on these plants would do. He forced himself to walk quickly out of the greenhouse and back to his room, trying to keep the blood running from his palm from ending up anywhere but the apron already splattered red. Adrenaline had his heart thudding loudly in his chest and he fought back panicked instincts through his pain.

After opening the bedroom door he immediately noticed the stained and torn sleep shirt on the floor and grabbed it. By pressing a knee onto it on his bed, he cleanly ripped off a large chunk with his unhurt hand and pressed it into the wound to slow the bleeding. He hissed through his teeth in pain but was able to use his fingers of his left hand enough despite the hurt to keep the scrapped shirt in place. He bubbled his injured arm just past the wrist to keep himself from bleeding further onto anywhere else. He used the rest of the damaged shirt to shred into strips, using the same method of leverage with his knee, and draped them over his elbow before walking swiftly back to the porch’s back end.

Please don’t let them see this, he thought, please don’t let them hear me, please don’t have them bother me. This sucks enough, I don’t want them to make me feel like more of an idiot. I don’t want to feel more pathetic. After making his way to a part of the porch that couldn’t be seen through windows, he bubbled all of himself before releasing the one on the wrist of his hurt hand, pulling the rag to tamp the bleeding from between his fingers and set it across his left wrist. He turned the palm up to assess the damage and he felt his stomach turn with discomfort. The shard of the flower pot cut into his hand with at least a three inch long gash, and at its deepest point cut into thick muscle at the top of his palm. Dirt smeared across the broken flowerpot, meaning he wouldn’t be able to heal it immediately without risking infection, as he had suspected. He took a deep breath and bubbled his head as to avoid drawing attention if he cried out. This is going to hurt, just get it over with. He thought. He grasped the terra cotta piece with his right hand, and hesitated. Here goes nothing.

Steven bit his lip and yanked on the broken piece from his hand. He wasn’t able to suppress a shout but with the two layers of bubble his voice would not be easily heard from inside the house. With a shuddering breath, he bubbled the shard of broken pot and sent it to a corner of his room before pressing the from his wrist rag into the cut and closing his fist. Stars, that hurts. He grabbed one of the strips from across his elbow, held one end between his fingers and took the other end in his teeth. With a quick motion he released his fist and wrapped the shirt strips around the wound, tying it off with his unharmed hand. He repeated the processes several times until he was sure the makeshift bandage would hold but not leak. Once finished, he rushed from outside the porch back into his room. He tossed the unused shredded shirt strips onto his bed, pulled off his apron, leaving it discarded on the floor and made his way down the stairs.

The gems each had their own task that they were working on to begin the work of restoring the kitchen and living area but quickly their eyes were drawn to him as he came down. Amethyst was carrying a large coffee table under one arm from her room in the temple. Garnet was taking food from the soaked cabinets and setting them on the far counter, or in a trash bin if they were ruined. Pearl was walking those food items onto what appeared to be a restaurant-grade set of metal shelving placed close to the temple door. Upon looking over to Steven they all had various expressions of distress and Steven avoided their eyes.

“I’m just going to the bathroom, don’t worry about me,” Steven urged guiltily, as he moved down the stairs.

Amethyst dropped the coffee table with a thud, narrowly missing her foot. Garnet sucked in an audible breath before quietly letting it out through her nose. Pearl dropped the box of rice in one hand with a thump and squeezed hard on the can in her other hand of vegetable soup until it popped, contents squelching through tight fingers and splattering to the floor.

Amethyst was the first to break the quiet. “Dude, your hand!” her voice pitched up and cracked as she said the last word, rushing to the foot of the stairs as Steven moved down and hurried toward the bathroom. He avoided her concerned gaze.

“I got it,” he replied.

“Oh, oh, Steven,” Pearl called from the kitchen, voice thick with uneasiness. She moved toward him with quick, purposeful strides. “That looks serious, let me help you-“ Steven turned his head over his shoulder but did not stop moving toward the bathroom.

“Pearl, I can handle this, you don’t need to see this. It’s gross.” He responded sternly. She stopped, but her arm reached out and her eyes watered without reaching their tipping point.

“I’m pretty sure she’s seen worse,” Amethyst interjected with a disdainful tone.

“Don’t worry bout it,” Steven said, opening the bathroom door with his unhurt hand. Pearl looked back to Garnet who stayed by the kitchen counter, her usual impassive expression looking tight and strained.

“Steven,” Amethyst called uneasily as Steven moved into the bathroom doorway. “You know when I lost my memory last spring, you said ‘I’ll be right by your side no matter what?’ That goes both ways, man. I can help. We can talk about this if you let me…”

“I can take care of this, Amethyst. Trust me,” he replied. She let out a slight huff as he closed the bathroom door.

“Well if you sound like you’ve collapsed in there I’m breaking down that door.” She snapped. “Don’t test me.” Steven turned toward the sink and ran the faucet, trying not to consider Amethyst’s warning.

“Garnet,” Pearl said in a hushed and anxious tone, “are you sure he’ll be alright? Those bandages he had were covered in blood.”

Steven yanked them off and ran his hand beneath the warm water, feeling the sting to his wound. His frame trembled slightly but his feet held beneath him. He tried to ignore their conversation, but unfortunately, his hearing was vigilantly trained and the running water wasn’t enough to drown it out.

“This injury will not require outside intervention, Pearl,” Garnet replied quietly. “It won’t do any good to press him further.”

He got a squirt of liquid soap and began washing the gash in his hand and area around it, seeing the soapy water stained red.

“This wasn’t the worse possible outcome,” Garnet continued as Steven cleaned the injury. “He could have gotten a piece of planter stuck in his face.” He tried not to think about that as he worked.

Still running the water over the hurt left hand, Steven opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out hydrogen peroxide and gauze, which rarely were needed but he was glad they had. He rinsed both hands to clear he blood off his right and shut the water off. He unscrewed the cap of the disinfectant and poured a small amount over the still bleeding gash, hissing through his teeth.

“Garnet, how did this happen? What can we do to help him?” Pearl ask.

Steven pressed the gauze to the cut and moved to sit on the lip of the tub. He brought his right hand to his mouth and licked along his fingers before pulling the gauze back with his pinky and thumb, and slid it across the injury, watching his healing spit sparkle and close the cut.

No reason to have to taste blood when I can just use my other hand to get the spit on it, he mused.

“I see lots of ways Steven could answer if we ask,” Garnet answered, “but I don’t know which is the truth. He’s hiding things again.”

Steven swallowed as he watched the muscles in his palm form anew. The deepest part of the injury, a dark spot about half an inch long, still looked an angry orange-red, but the edges went from pink to white in a new scar. He sighed and stood, looking himself over in the mirror.

“Is there anything we can do to?” Pearl said, tone hushed and fretful.

Steven glided his fingers back over his mouth and slicked them with his saliva. He took the spit and applied it to his face and arms, watching the marks from the cactus spines disappear.

“It’s better to leave it be, Pearl,” Garnet replied. “Trying to get answers out of him is only going to push him away.”

Steven lifted his shirt and rubbed a bit more saliva to the area around his gem, where the skin was tender. Getting anything accomplished today will be harder if I’m constantly flinching from the pain around my waist. I can deal with the rest of it later, he thought. He straightened his shirt before moving toward the bathroom door, sparing one last glance in the mirror. At least I look presentable. He exited the room, tossing the bloody gauze in the trash.

Garnet was still busying herself with the food sorting. Amethyst shoved the debris of the old table from the couch nook with her foot and moved the new one in place. Pearl brought the mop back out to clean up the soup splattered on the floor.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” Steven called, walking back to his room.

“We’ll be here.” Amethyst answered.

Steven retreated to his room but realized he didn’t have his phone, so he made a beeline for the dome one more time. He scooped it up from the floor and looked it over, grateful it was undamaged. Glancing around, he counted his luck that there were no drips of blood on the floor.

Moving back to his room, he saw the few responses to his last text to Connie. “I hope everything’s ok.” The first message read. “Don’t leave me in the dark.” The second one said, a few minutes later, followed by a frowny face. “I have to get to class now, but get back to me when you can, ok?”

Steven sighed, and sent a reply. “Sorry. Hope you did well on the presentation.” He laid back down on the bed, setting the phone on his nightstand and decided it would be best to rest before trying to do anything else.

#Steven Universe #steven universe spoilers #Steven Universe: Future #Prickly Pair #SU Fanfic #Fanfiction #my writing #self-doubt #self-esteem issues #tw: blood #tw: swearing #depressive thoughts #Steven POV #some connverse pining #the two newest eps were v healing tbh #Non-Betad

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pumpkinsadlatte · 4 years

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Meerkats

There’s no one other than the cat in the living room, though, which is only a little odd: they spend plenty of time in Penny’s room, after all. He puts the groceries up quickly, the ones that belong in the kitchen, anyway, and makes his way upstairs with the rest, the lack of noise coming from the upper floor concerning him even more. He should hear… something. Tyrian and Hazel talking, if nothing else.

Relationships: Arthur Watts/Hazel Rainart/Tyrian Callows, with a focus on Arthur and Hazel, Tyrian’s napping

Note: yes, Arthur is referred to as Penny's mother. This is not a typo. This was yoinked partially from my aus with @atlesianic. Also, speaking of atlesianic, y'all can blame this man for them watching Black Mirror, he inflicted it on me in a way that didn't make me paranoid about it anymore. The episode described is "Arkangel."

crossposted on ao3

He’d texted the others when he’d gotten home, trying to get them to come out and help with the groceries, but hadn’t gotten a response, and, frankly, could handle them himself. It’s one of their canvas grocery bags, not six or so. So it’s fine. He’s sure they’re preoccupied with the baby. Or she’s napping and their phones are on silent: not only is she responding to sounds now, but she also looks for where they’re coming from, and sometimes if a sound wakes her up, she’ll be inconsolable until she sees the source of it.

None of them have been out of the house very much since the baby had come along. Penny is just such a small, fragile little thing, none of them really trust her to be out of their sight very long, especially not with her laundry list of health concerns, and she’s still about a month too young to have any of her vaccinations yet, let alone an allergy test, so she doesn’t leave the house very much. They’ve even had trouble leaving her with Tyrian’s mother -- she mostly raised Tyrian, of course. And it’s not because they don’t trust her, never that. They just don’t want Penny out of their sight. Thankfully, she understands: she was a new parent once too, she more than understands. And Tyrian gets his protectiveness mostly from her, after all.

Tyrian and Hazel have been home with her all day, but they had desperately needed some groceries that just couldn’t wait until their usual grocery night. Tyrian had been feeling under the weather for nearly a week, and Hazel refused to leave him alone, especially with the baby, so it had fallen to Arthur to run out for groceries after work. It’s just a few things, milk, toothpaste, shampoo, disinfectant and baby wipes, other things that they hadn’t realized they were running low on, or things they didn’t quite realize how quickly they ran through them. He’s even picked up a few frozen things, though those are mostly emergency food. Between the three of them, someone usually feels up to cooking, or there would be leftovers to reheat, or Salem would visit with food or stop by and make dinner for them. Once in a while, it’ll be takeaway or delivery. Frozen food has always been such a rarity for them.

He nudges open the door, the cat loudly and immediately sounding her alarm, but it cuts off when she realizes it’s her human. She’s an efficient security system, sort of. As a supplement to the one they have , anyhow.

There’s no one else in the living room, though, which is only a little odd: they spend plenty of time in Penny’s room, after all. He puts the groceries up quickly, the ones that belong in the kitchen, anyway, and makes his way upstairs with the rest, the lack of noise coming from the upper floor concerning him even more. He should hear… something . Tyrian and Hazel talking, if nothing else. He maintains his even pace until about halfway up the stairs, where he speeds up, taking them two at a time as his anxiety heightens. He drops the grocery bag at the top, rushing for Penny’s room first. He opens the door and…

… she’s not in there. No one is. Her crib is empty.

Alright. Alright, don’t panic, there’s other rooms. The door to his office is closed, none of them would go in there anyway, not without him at home. The upstairs bathroom door is open, the light is off. He doesn’t hear any water running: presumably no one’s in any of the showers or at any of the sinks. Alright… alright, there’s… there’s still the master bedroom and its ensuite bathroom, and the den, and the entirety of downstairs, and the whole back yard. Was Hazel’s truck here when he pulled in? He can’t recall at the moment. Could they have gone somewhere? No, surely they would have texted him, or left him a note at the very least…

He rushes for the master bedroom, but a quiet sound from the den turns his head in the direction of its door as he passes, and he shoulders open the door far more roughly than he normally would.

There they are. They’re right there on the sofa. Tyrian curled up and practically melting into Hazel’s side, out cold, the fleece throw blanket off of the back of the sofa tucked tightly around him: did Hazel tuck him in when he fell asleep? Hazel’s fallen asleep as well, sitting partially up against the back of the sofa, not curled up into a ball like Tyrian. And Penny’s resting against Hazel’s chest, asleep, just like the others. The television is on, playing an episode of Black Mirror very, very quietly with the captions on, that’s why he hadn’t heard it at first. Really, he only knows what program it is because he’s seen the whole series at this point, so has Tyrian. It’s been a favorite for family rewatches for quite some time.

The worry shatters away and the doctor can just feel his heart melting. Oh, they all look so peaceful, asleep like this. And Penny just looks so tiny in Hazel’s arms. Granted, Penny is tiny, small for her age, and every member of the family looks small compared to Hazel, but neither of these points makes the sight in front of him any less endearing.

He’ll never admit it unless he’s found out, but he absolutely takes a couple of quick pictures from the door before he tucks his phone away, closes the door back over, and finishes putting things away. Laptop and bag back in his office, the last of the groceries in the closet in the master bathroom. When he doesn’t hear the others stirring, he pokes his head back into the room, just in time to see the screen crack over the credits of the next episode.

Hazel’s awake now, it seems, because he turns his head toward the door and gives Arthur a rather lazy smile, before he tosses his head toward the empty spot on his other side. He doesn’t say anything, and it’s probably better that he doesn’t: as quiet as he is, his voice is deep enough that the rumble of it in his chest would probably wake Penny if he spoke up loud enough for Arthur to hear across the room. Penny is a very good sleeper, she usually needs to be roused for night feedings, she doesn’t normally wake up on her own for them, but waking her when they don’t have to is still not a risk any of them are willing to take.

Arthur beams a little, wanders closer and settles on Hazel’s other side, to avoid jostling Tyrian and waking him up. He needs his rest too. He’s more often the one that goes running if Penny cries for any reason, and more than once, Arthur’s caught him awake and sitting in Penny’s room, just watching her sleep. Not that he isn’t equally guilty of it, though. Hazel’s the only one getting anything close to a full night’s sleep around here and even he isn’t sleeping a full eight hours. He hasn’t quite devolved into needing to watch the baby sleep to make sure she doesn’t suddenly stop breathing, start seizing, or something equally worrisome.

“Hello there, you,” he greets quietly, smiling as he sits down and settles close to Hazel’s side, resting his head on his shoulder for a brief moment before turning his head up to give Hazel a kiss. “Tyrian finally talked you into watching the family favorite?”

“Mm.”

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Mmhm.”

He chuckles, letting himself relax for just a moment before he shifts back and holds his arms up slightly, crooking his fingers in a little. “I believe it’s my turn with that baby.”

“Hmm, dunno,” Hazel chuckles, and the rumble of it shakes them both, probably Penny too, but she doesn’t wake up. “Think she’s pretty happy where she is.”

“Come now, it’s enough of a production to get Tyrian to let go of her, I don’t plan on arguing with you too.” Arthur straightens up a little bit more, carefully plucking Penny off of Hazel’s chest and bracing her against his own, sitting back and smiling down at her once he’s got them both settled. “Hello, darling…”

On the screen, there’s a woman screaming and searching frantically for what Arthur knows to be her three-year-old daughter, and he glances up at the sound of it. He feels his face shift down into something worried. Hazel shifts an arm to rest around Arthur’s shoulders. “… what’s on your mind?”

“Mm? Oh, nothing.” He’s turned his attention back to Penny, but he still looks… noticeably worried. He’s not sure if he’s hiding it well, or at all, really. “Nothing.”

“Arthur.”

Apparently he isn’t. He sighs quietly, reaches up and shuffles Penny around a little, settles her a bit more solidly in place. He decides not to tell Hazel, at the moment, about his frantic search of the house for them when he’d gotten home, and simply nods to the screen, where the screaming mother is now calm, and watching her daughter be implanted with a sort of tracking device. “This one used to be one of my favorites. But now… it’s a bit more anxiety inducing. Conceptually. You know.”

Hazel doesn’t say anything. Arthur glances at him, finds him looking expectantly down at him, waiting for him to keep going, and he does.

“… I’ve been worried about her since the first pregnancy test came back positive. … well, the third, actually, there… were a number of home tests before we went in for the blood test.” A beat. He nudges one finger against Penny’s hand, smiles a little when she grabs onto it. Even in her sleep, her grip’s surprisingly strong for an underweight little preemie whose parents are doing their damnedest to catch her up to where she needs to be and consistently falling short of the mark. “I… daresay I’m just the sort of person who’d go mad for that type of system if it existed.”

“Nah. Y’not that bad.”

Arthur manages a bit of a laugh. “… I’d say Tyrian would be too, but that’d require him to put her down and let her learn to walk enough to wander away from him without help. Though we’re all a little guilty of spoiling her like that.”

“Mm. Yeah, you are.”

“I said we .”

“Y’did.” Hazel kisses the side of the doctor’s head. “Y’re both just protective.”

“… of course. You’re right.” Penny wiggles around against her mother’s chest, and Arthur startles a little, looking down just in time to see her blink those sleepy green eyes open and yawn. “Oh, did we wake you, pretty girl?”

Penny, of course, doesn’t answer him. She’s not precisely capable of it, really. Most infants don’t even say their first word until around six months, but they can be, and often are, quite noisy in other ways at Penny’s age: they’re sort of “testing out” their voices and other sounds. Of course, some start talking earlier, some later, but a large percentage of them are at least babbling by now. Penny, however, is a very quiet baby. He isn’t entirely sure whether he should be worried about that. Tyrian doesn’t seem to be.

He distracts himself from the notion that they may be doing something catastrophically incorrect, or that there might be something wrong with Penny that they’re not seeing properly. “When’s the last time someone fed her?”

“B’fore we started watchin’ Black Mirror.”

“Specific.” He braces Penny against his chest and wiggles toward the edge of the sofa to stand up with her. “I’m going to feed her and start dinner.”

“Need some help?”

“No, no. You stay here. Tyrian’s leeching your body heat. He needs it. And the nap, honestly.”

“He’s got a blanket.”

“And he’s got you.” Once he’s gotten to his feet, Arthur leans to give Hazel a quick kiss. “I’ll come get you both when dinner’s ready.”

“Alright. Text if you need me.”

“Of course, dear.”

#Arthur Watts #hazel rainart #rwby #rwby fanfiction #pumpkin writes #modern au? polyamorous wth? human baby penny?#more likely than you think #no one should be surprised #apparently meerkats are known for sleeping in piles?

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dcuglybooks · 3 years

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A short story collection featuring stories that are either mean and ugly like that turd that thudded you in school, or sweet and cuddly as a little gloomy kitten; or puppy if you’re more of a dog person.

Stories Christians don't have to read backwards. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08LGB4HGN/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_glc_fabc_UIpaGb2VC4BBX

Here’s a free short.

WAP: WEIRD ASS PHANTOM

“There’s a ghost in this house. There’s a ghost in this house.”

Linda was getting tired of the shit. Every day at exactly noon her alarm would play this shitty overdubbed version of a Cardi B song. The original song wasn’t her cup of tea to begin with, this new version that sounded like drunk karaoke was even worse. Most times she would be sitting there and the sound of a drunk sorority girl would make her jump out of her skin. She couldn’t even find the song or alarm in her phone to do anything about it.

Linda and her girlfriend, Melissa, moved into this old house last month, the rent was so damn cheap; landlord said it was because it used to be a party house so he never charged much. The logic didn’t make any sense but at $300 a month and a mile outside of town, how were they not going to sign that lease?

“I think,” spoke Melissa one night while watching her phone float around taking pictures in the air, “the reason rent is so cheap is because it’s haunted.”

“You think?” Replies Linda while snatching the phone out of the air. “I just wish this damn ghost would stop posting pictures of our bedroom to our Instagram accounts. Did you see the caption last night?”

“Oh you mean ‘Pumpkin spice is almost here. Basic bitches, rejoice!’ The comma is what set me off. Why did she put a comma in that? Why bother? It wasn’t even used correctly I don’t believe.”

“We’re being haunted by a basic bitch.”

“I think that may be offensive.”

“I hear it all the time, it just...... yeah ok maybe. I guess I shouldn’t assume this ghost is a bad stereotype, I won’t say it again.”

“True, this girl may have more going for her than just these annoying social media posts from our accounts”

“Remember the mirror though?”

Last week as the couple were eating dinner they heard a clatter and crash from the upstairs bathroom. Running full speed ahead up the stairs and around the corner Linda saw all their makeup in a pile in the empty sink. She could see a pair of red lipsticked lips floating in the air while eyeliner was seemingly drawn onto the air in a cat eye shape. She sighed and said “What now?” These types of things had been going on since the first night so at this point it was old hat.

The lipstick went to the mirror and wrote “I am finally going to kill you.” Linda took a step back prepared to flee until the lipstick wrote below it “JK LOL YOUR FACE” and then the face floated off into the wall leaving behind the makeup like some sort of painting.

The first time anything strange had happened, a pizza showed up at the front door; delivery for an Amanda Perkins. The girl who moved out recently, they took the pizza because it was already paid for and assumed the girl had made a mistake. They were sure of this as they sat and watched old re-runs of home improvement and munched away; then they noticed the slice floating over in the air above the recliner and the chewed up pile on the seat. They screamed and ran outside, Melissa forgot her phone inside and Linda’s made a ding from inside her pocket.

“Hey I know this is really weird, it’s weird AF for me too. We can make it work though, ladies. I swear I won’t bother you, I already cleaned up my mess.”

They inched inside looking around like scared toddlers and sure enough the mess was cleaned up. After that they just rolled with the weirdness.

“Are you sure Amanda left, Mr. Morris?” Linda was on the phone with the landlord.

“Yes. Positive. Why would you think she still lived there?”

“There’s been..... some things.”

“Drunk college girl, she probably stumbled home one night and forgot she went home for the summer. Its no deal. Not big or small.”

“Are you absolutely positive there is no deal? Big, small, medium, or slightly larger than medium but not quite large?”

“What do you think? I know her ex and he killed her and then buried her body in the basement so now her ghost is haunting you. This is why I charge so cheap rent! No. I don’t believe what you think. I will be going.”

He hung up without ever realizing Linda never once mentioned any of that other stuff. Linda thought, Why does he talk like that?

Turned out that’s exactly what had happened. After doing a quick google of the ghosts name they found out she never came home. After a quick Facebook search they found her ex boyfriends page. After some scrolling they found a post that said “Amanda and I broke up again and I am going to kill her.” The post had six likes and four comments.

“Get her bro!”

“Bitch ain’t appreciate you anyhow bet!”

“U need any ting lemme no”

“Fuk gr8 ass tho. Mind if I hit her up?”

These people were insane. Did not a single one of these people see the part about wanting to kill her? Actually PLANNING to kill her.

The police found it interesting enough to look into it, they found reason to arrest the guy. After a long court trial Amanda’s ex-boyfriend, Brent, was sentenced to life in prison for murder. The body was exhumed and buried at a family plot. The rent got more expensive because Mr. Morris was in prison for helping cover a murder so his aunt took over.

You win some you lose some.

Amanda did not leave though. The ghost hung out still to this day four months later. The social media posts kept going. The pizzas kept getting ordered, only now from their pockets because Amanda’s parents closed her bank account. Amanda was irritated about that, she was cut off from her parents money and stuck living with two other people.

Linda and Melissa tried to make her feel as comfy as possible, they left a pen and notebook in each room so she could communicate with them. Usually the notes were always about how bored she was being a ghost and how if she tried to leave the house it got all bright and she started floating. Amanda was “for real afraid of flying” as she wrote on a notebook.

Amanda’s behavior got strange at some point. She began doing things like drawing stick figures on the bathroom floor in shampoo, she would wrap herself in toilet paper and roll down the stairs creating the illusion of her body disappearing, the worst of it was when she would lay in bed with Linda and Melissa startling them when she pulled the blanket. It was like living with an invisible insane person. Either her mind was slipping or she was just a strange character. She would turn the TV on and watch the same episode of “King of Queens” for ten hours straight while they were at work. They wondered what would happen if they deleted it from the DVR but didn’t want to face that at all.

The alarm kept going off too; Linda had to hand out awkward smiles and apologies when it happened at work or in public. One time she had to apologize to a middle aged woman when it went off in the cereal aisle while shopping and her son started singing the lyrics to the original version as loud as his voice would allow. The mother gasped at all the words her kid knew and knocked a shelf of maple syrup over. The bottles burst all over the floor, Linda tried to help clean it up but she was shooed away by a guy with a mop bucket and a face that said he wanted her dead as shit.

They asked her multiple times what they could do to get her to move along, to which she would always write “sno-cone” on her notebook with no explanation.

Linda woke up sick on a Tuesday and didn’t go to work, she came into the bathroom and seen a note written in lipstick on the mirror that read “Baby, all my life I will be driving home to you.” She blushed, Melissa had left her a really sweet note on the mirror. When Melissa got home she surprised her with a bout of some of the best sex they had ever had, despite Linda being sick she felt overcome with love for her partner.

“Wow. What did I do to deserve that?” Asked Melissa after.

“The note.”

“Oh yes. The note, got you good with that one. So, if it was so good mind telling me what it said?”

“You know what it said!”

“Of course I do.”

She didn’t know what it said. She had no clue, but she wasn’t going to raise a stink about what just happened. No way, no how. She got up and went to use the restroom, as she sat on the toilet she looked up and saw the words on the mirror.

“LINDA!” She yelled. “I DIDNT LEAVE THAT! THATS THE GODDAMN LYRICS FROM THE THEME SONG FOR ‘THE KING OF QUEENS!’”

Linda didn’t know what to say; she shook her head and internally accepted defeat on this one. The couple didn’t talk about it again, the ends justified the means on this one they silently agreed; thanks Amanda.

The trio had carried on life like this for months, seven to be exact, when they heard a bang and a crash from the front door. Assuming this was yet again Amanda doing some goofy nonsense they ran downstairs to clean up the mess only to find a man standing their pointing a shotgun at them.

“You’re the dykes who got me locked up, aintcha?” Said a freshly broke out of prison Brent. “You know, usually I’m cool with like loving whoever and like rights and like equality and shit but tonight is not your night. Go sit.”

They were tied together on the couch while Brent sat channel flipping on the TV.

“Amanda is still here,” spoke Linda “she’s a ghost, at some point she’s going to help us and you’ll probably get hurt. She’s probably posting pictures on Instagram right now so she’s a little busy, but I promise when she finds out she’ll come running.”

“No she won’t.”

“Ok? So you think her post is going to get a ton of likes then?”

“She’s afraid of me.”

“Ugh are you generic ‘I beat my girlfriend’ guy number seventy or not?”

“Not.”

“Then why is she afraid of you?”

“I’m bigger than her…… I guess?”

“She’s a ghost.”

“I’m still bigger.”

“How can you be bigger than an incorporeal being with no mass or weight?”

“See, she doesn’t way anything.”

“You didn’t think any of this through did you?”

“Not one bit.”

“It shows. Why did you kill her?”

“Hey I’ve never been what you’d call a planner. I killed her because she broke up with me for the fiftieth time that year and all my friends were giving me a hard time about how I would just crawl back to her. I said ‘can’t crawl back to her if I kill her!’ They all thought it was funny so I did it.”

“Ah………Makes perfect sense to me.”

“A guy has to watch his reputation, right?”

They sat there watching late night infomercials in silence for another half hour. Linda nudged Melissa as she seen a phone floating around taking pictures of a floating can of soup.

Of all the ghosts in the world, why was theirs like this?

“Brent, there’s some stuff on the DVR” Linda told him.

“Good I hate infomercials. Oh yuck, ‘The King of Queens.’ I hate that show, Amanda loved it. That fat fucking heifer guy gets to make it with that babe every night. Fucking loser ass UPS guy”

They could see the phone slowly lower and start hovering towards Brent. They let him rant.

“And that Deacon guy, what a fucking idiot, he leaves his wife at one point which is silly because she’s so fucking hot.”

The can of soup hovered behind him.

“That guy that dates the ugly chick from the bowling alley, now I can’t tolerate him at all.”

The soup can shook with rage.

“He ends up living with the other guy right? Like what the fuck? Are they like a thing or not a thing? I didn’t pay enough attention. I did pretend to though to get some action every now and again, show fucking sucks though. Here I’ll do you guys a favor.”

As he deleted the episode from the DVR the can came slamming down into his head.

Again.

They heard a voice yell “MY BONES ARE GETTING WEARY! MY BACK IS GETTING TIGHT!” As the can of cream of chicken turned Brent’s head into cream of Brent’s brains.

After the violence stopped the notebook hovered in front of them and said “Sorry, I was on TikTok, I’ll clean this up tho.”

Much like the first night that’s exactly what happened. They were untied and they watched as the mess was cleaned up. Brent’s body floated over to the ground and the can of soup was laid on the table. The phone floated over to Melissa who dialed 911.

After the legal mess was cleaned up they decided that having Amanda around maybe was not such a bad idea. No one could really kill them, it was like having a built in security system. They did eventually add a third line to their cell plan and let her set up social media for herself as a reclusive twenty something who couldn’t leave the house due to a skin condition.

Her pages were ok, they didn’t get much interaction or followers but Amanda was happy. Sometimes people would say they wanted to hang out with her because they lived close, Amanda just said her skin condition was contagious AF. No one ever thought to say “Hey, what exactly IS your medical condition?” People could be so polite sometimes.

Christmas morning as they all opened gifts Linda and Melissa cried as Amanda opened the complete series collection of “The King of Queens.” The three sat on the couch together that evening and watched all of season one.

Baby all my life I will be driving home to you.

The next day they heard a familiar song. Together they both smiled and thought that yes, there was a ghost in this house.

#horror comedy #horror novels #free short story #horror books

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the-master-cylinder · 4 years

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SUMMARY Keneely and Farrell are detectives with the LAPD vice squad. Although they show great talent for breaking up prostitution and drug rings, many of these enterprises are protected by crime boss Carl Rizzo, who exerts his influence throughout the city and the department. Evidence is altered before trial, colleagues refuse to help with basic police work, and the detectives are pushed to pursue other cases—mostly stakeouts on gay bars and public lavatories. After personally confronting Rizzo, Keneely and Farrell are brutally beaten while investigating one of his prostitutes. Frustrated but without any legal options, they resort to harassing Rizzo and his establishments, warding off customers and following his family around the city. Soon, Rizzo is rushed to the hospital for a heart condition. Realizing that he also used a medical emergency as an alibi during a previous drug sale, Keneely and Farrell head to the hospital and discover that drugs are trading hands there, hidden in flower pots. Rizzo escapes in an ambulance, while Keneely and Farrell make chase in another. The chase ends when both ambulances crash; although Keneely holds Rizzo at gunpoint, Rizzo laughs that the evidence against him is circumstantial—and, at most, will result in a light sentence.

The film ends on a freeze-frame of Keneely’s face as Rizzo dares him to shoot. In a voice-over, Keneely applies to an employment agency, claiming that he doesn’t know why he left his job at the LAPD—finally concluding that he “needed a change.”

DEVELOPMENT/PRODUCTION Robert Chartoff wanted to make another film about vice cops after The New Centurions. They hired Peter Hyams to write and direct one off the back of the success of his TV movie, Goodnight, My Love. “I’d made a TV movie of the week that people had liked, and people started coming after me,” he recalled. “The producers Robert Chartoff and Irwin Winkler came to me and said they wanted to do a film about vice cops. I said okay, and spent about six months researching it.” Hyams later said “like a journalist, I went around to New York, Boston, Chicago and Los Angeles and spoke with hookers, pimps, strippers and cops and DAs. Every episode in the film was true.”

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In February 1973 Ron Leibman was cast as Gould’s partner. However he was soon fired. Hyams says, “It turned out the contrast between Ron and Elliott Gould was not the same contrast between Robert Blake and Elliott, so it was suggested we go with Robert and I listened.” Gould says that while he respected Leibman as an actor it was he who suggested Leibman be replaced. “I just had a sense that I don’t know if he’s the right partner for me.”

Filming started in February 1973. The film was shot over 35 days.

“United Artists was a dream studio,” said Hyams. “Once they thought the script and the people making the film were good, they really didn’t intrude. They were very encouraging, and fabulous for filmmakers.”

https://abcnews.go.com/video/embed?id=60298033

Gould was cast here after writer/director Peter Hyams saw him and his attitude on The Dick Cavett Show. He wore Converse low-tops and for some reason took one of them off mid-interview. “He [Cavett] sort of made a joke with the audience that my feet had an odor, which they didn’t. I was really taken back and so I insisted that Dick Cavett take his shoe off.” The host declined, but Gould pressed saying that he was offended and wanted them to be on equal footing. Ron Leibman was originally cast as Gould’s sidekick – “a fabulous actor, one of our finest and best actors” – but Gould had him replaced. “I just had a sense that I don’t know if he’s the right partner for me,” he says. He went to see David Picker, the head of United Artists, and softly suggested as such, and Picker replied “I knew it! I knew it! When Ron Leibman plays tennis with my 11 year-old daughter he hits the ball back to her like a rocket!” He went on to suggest either Peter Boyle or Robert Blake.

Hyams suggested Garry Marshall for the character of Carl Rizzo, but the idea apparently fell on deaf ears – including Gould’s. It was nixed, but in retrospect Gould sees his error. “Garry Marshall in that part would be genius, would be a total fucking surprise,” he says. The role instead went to Allen Garfield, “and Allen, bless him, Allen is such a good actor but completely predictable.”

Peter Hyams Directing Busitng

Interview with Director Peter Hyams

Do you think your first theatrical feature BUSTING benefited from your documentary and journalistic experience? Peter Hyams: It came in handy in terms of my years of research. Before I wrote BUSTING I spent six months on the road going to L.A., Boston, Chicago and New York, talking to cops, hookers, pimps and the real people. The fact is that every single episode in BUSTING was based on something that actually happened. Whatever training I had as a self-impressed asshole reporter, the most important thing I learned was research. There was a great satirist called Tom Lehrer who wrote very funny and perverse songs. One of his quotes that I always remember was about Nicolai Lobachevsky. He said ”I’ll never forget the time I met the great Lobachevsky. It was he who taught me the secret of great writing -plagiarise. Only don’t call it ‘plagiarise’, call it ‘research’. ” My approach to a story is always research, and then try to make drama out of it.

What fascinated you about the world of vice cops to make the film? Peter Hyams: An esoteric and artful thing – I was asked to write a movie about vice cops. The producers were Irwin Winkler and Robert Chartoff, who had done a very successful film for Columbia called THE NEW CENTURIONS (1972). They caught me at that point where I was about to break into features. GOODNIGHT, MY LOVE had gotten more attention than it deserved and was incredibly highly praised. Irwin came to me and said ”We would like you to make a movie for us. ” Irwin was spellbinding and terrific, the greatest film school a young filmmaker could ever attend. The charter was to make a movie about vice cops.

Was it difficult to cast the leads? Peter Hyams: Elliott Gould was at his apogee, and he wanted to do it. He had made MASH (1970) and GETTING STRAIGHT (1970). United Artists was a dream studio. Once they thought the script and the people making the film were good, they really didn’t intrude. They were very encouraging, and fabulous for filmmakers. David Picker was head of UA at the time.

How close did Ron Leibman come to playing the Robert Blake part? Peter Hyams: Pretty close. We weren’t sure if it was going to be Ron or somebody else. It turned out the contrast between Ron and Elliott Gould was not the same contrast between Robert Blake and Elliott, so it was suggested we go with Robert and I listened.

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Was the shoot-out in the market a learning curve for you? It’s one of the great action scenes. Peter Hyams: I spent a lot of time plotting that thing out. This was not the days of Steadicam, where you could run around and do what you wanted. You had bigger cameras and all those movements on dolly tracks where things were upstairs and downstairs. I just drew out the way I wanted to do it.

How long did you spend filming the scene? Peter Hyams: The whole film was a 35 day schedule. We spent maybe a day or two on the shootout. The more you’re prepared and the more everyone else is prepared, the quicker things go.

CONCLUSION The film was criticized for homophobia on the grounds of its depictions of gay characters and the attitudes of the lead characters towards them. In an essay for The New York Times, journalist and gay rights activist Arthur Bell condemned the film for derogatory language used by characters to describe homosexuals, as well as a scene in a gay bar that he called “exploitative, unreal, unfunny and ugly” for its presentation of gay stereotypes. Hyams defended this on the ground it was accurate to the milieu depicted.

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CAST/CREW Directed Peter Hyams

Produced Robert Chartoff Irwin Winkler

Written Peter Hyams

Elliott Gould as Det. Michael Keneely Robert Blake as Det. Patrick Farrell Allen Garfield as Carl Rizzo Antonio Fargas as Stephen Michael Lerner as Marvin

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY money-into-light. Wikipedia

Busting (1974) Retrospective SUMMARY Keneely and Farrell are detectives with the LAPD vice squad. Although they show great talent for breaking up prostitution and drug rings, many of these enterprises are protected by crime boss Carl Rizzo, who exerts his influence throughout the city and the department.

#70scops #70sFilms

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