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natromanxoff · 3 years

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Queen live at Royal Dublin Society Simmonscourt in Dublin, Ireland - November 22, 1979 (Part-1)

(x)

Tonight is the opening night of the "Crazy Tour," the tour when Queen decided to go back and play the smaller, more intimate venues (especially the London ones). The lighting rig had to be scaled down to accommodate most of the venues. There used to be five rows of red and green lights and four rows of white, but the red and green have been cut back to four as well. Along with the change in the band's attire (particularly Freddie's pants with knee-pads) and Roger's bass drum head sporting a picture of himself, all these factors make pictures from this tour easy to distinguish from those taken earlier in the year.

Queen's old front of house sound technician returned to the job after a long illness (the Jazz album is dedicated to him for this reason).

The show now begins with an intense drone leading into the thunder and lightning. Combined with their lighting rig (even the scaled down version), this would be a very effective opening of their show. It has been said that people were often left breathless before the band even played a note.

Being their first gig in the UK since releasing Live Killers, the band decide to shake things up a bit by opening the show with Let Me Entertain You, followed by the fast We Will Rock You. The setlist is otherwise mostly similar to the live album and previous tour, with a couple new songs added to the repertoire (Mustapha made its first appearance in Saarbrucken in the summer).

Tonight would see the first performances of Save Me and Crazy Little Thing Called Love, which had been recently recorded. The latter has been released as a single and would fare quite well on the charts, becoming their first American #1. Save Me would be released as a single early next year, peaking at #11 in the UK. On stage, Brian May plays the piano on the ballad. Through 1981, he'd play the first two verses on piano and switch to guitar at the second chorus. The instrumentation would change slightly in 1982 with the addition of an auxiliary keyboardist. In the meantime, these 1979 versions would have the band finishing the song at the end of the last chorus, omitting the piano outro.

As for Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Brian would start on acoustic guitar, switch to a black Telecaster for the guitar solo, and to his beloved Red Special for the finale of the song. Unlike the 1950s-flavoured studio version, it would become a heavy rock song by the final verse. By 1982, the end of the song would often be a relatively long jam. Freddie would play a 12-string Ovation Pacemaker acoustic guitar for the song through 1982, and would switch to a cream-coloured Telecaster from 1984 to 1986. Throughout the years, he would often joke about how he knew how to play only a few chords on the guitar.

On stage, the band end Crazy Little Thing Called Love with a coda similar to the one in You're My Best Friend.

This is Queen's first of four shows they would play in Ireland, and so they perform a one-off version of Danny Boy in the encore. As told by someone who attended the show, almost no one in the audience knew the words of the second verse, while Freddie had done his homework.

During Now I'm Here, a fan manages to make his way on stage for a brief moment, and Freddie sings, "Now He's Here." An audience recording of the song was reportedly broadcast on the radio not long after the show, but no known copy has survived.

At the end of the show, instead of playing their version of Britain's national anthem as always, in Ireland the band use the outro from the A Day At The Races album - the only location where they would make a political gesture like this.

Here is a review of this show from the Dublin Evening Press, submitted by Rob Schoorl.

Photos 1-3 were taken by Eddie Mallin.

Fan Stories

“I couldn't believe it! Summer 1979 and I was reading a review of a gig in one of Dublin's evening newspapers. At the end of the review, added almost as an afterthought, was news that the promoter, Pat Egan, was planning to bring Queen to Dublin! I read and re-read it but still could not believe it. Queen, at last, would make their debut in front of an Irish audience! The Crazy Tour would begin in Dublin. Fast forward to the autumn and myself and a number of friends from school eagerly queued up to buy tickets to see our heroes. After buying the tickets, it was a long countdown to the show which would take place on Thursday November 22nd 1979. I still clearly remember the date even after all the years. Eventually the day arrived. That night Queen were on Top of the Pops with Crazy Little Thing Called Love but I didn't mind missing it. We were going to the real thing! After a long day in school we made our way to the RDS in Dublin. After a wait outside the gates we were allowed in to the venue and found a standing place near the front of the stage. I recall it got ever more crowded at the front of the stage and before the show, the tour manager (was it Gerry Stickells?) had to go on stage and appeal to people near the stage to relax and step back. Eventually the lights dimmed, there was a tremendous roar from the crowd, the Pizza Oven exploded into light and there were our heroes only yards away from us. I recall at the time being so overwhelmed by the amazing lights and the fact that we could almost touch Freddie, dressed all in black leather and sunglasses, that I barely registered that Let Me Entertain You was the opener. After that, it was into We Will Rock You and, largely the same songs and running order as the Live Killers album which I knew very well (!!) at that time and had almost worn out playing over the previous months. There were however some exceptions. Of most interest to Queen fans now and the biggest shock to me then was that Danny Boy was played live - a great version, from what I recall which received a terrific ovation from the audience. Also, If You Can't Beat Them was played which surprised me as it wasn't included on Live Killers and I wasn't even aware at that time that it was ever played live. The Dublin show was the first time that Save Me and Crazy Little Thing were played live. I remember being astounded at the power and range of Freddie's voice - even better than Live Killers. At that stage he was developing as a singer and over the next few years became recognised as one of the best rock singers and best frontmen in the business. (Am I the only one who was slightly disappointed with the quality and range of his voice during the final Magic Tour especially when compared to earlier tours?). The gig was a terrific show, especially to a young person attending his first major rock gig, and many of the songs are still memorable to me. During Now I'm Here one idiot actually got up on stage and Freddie sang "Now *he's* here" before he was removed from the stage. One girl also managed to get up on stage and plant a kiss on Freddie during the show. The following night, a couple of songs recorded during the show by someone in the audience were played on the Radio Dublin pirate radio station. These included Now I'm Here. A bootleg of the gig definitely exists *somewhere* but, try as I might, I cannot track it down. I would be grateful if anyone reading this comes across it or has it in their collection, that they get in touch with me!” - John Brogan

“The first night of the Crazy tour - amazing show. Seen some people on the web note that they played Danny Boy that night but for some reason I can only remember Brian playing it as part of his solo and us singing our heads off. Freddie handing out a champagne glass to a friend of mine who still has it. Anyway it was nearly 30 years ago and I find it hard to remember what I did last week never mind that long ago. They ended the show with the outro from A Day At The Races which took me a while to figure out what it actually was. The lighting rig was totally amazing - the pizza oven was aptly named - it was scorching and the intensity of the light when it turned around behind the band to face the audience was something else made a couple of friends that night (in the horse show bar opposite the venue) that I am still in contact with and we are all still crazy after all these years.” - Gary aka hoops

“A couple of notes on the Queen show in Dublin, 1979. Fred was in red trousers, not black as John Brogan has mentioned above. Small point but there you go. And when it came time for the audience to sing along to Danny Boy, almost no one knew the words of the second verse - I remember one chap shouting out to Freddie that he was doing a grand job all by himself. I saw them sixteen times in all and that show, the first, has a very special place in my memory. On the subject of bootlegs from that show, a chap in Aungier Street in Dublin used to have just about every show ever played in Dublin by anyone worth taping. I got a really bad and incomplete (C60) copy of the Queen show from him just as a record of having been there - his voice could be heard just before the start of the show, discussing bootlegging. The tape is somewhere in a box in my house and should I come across it, I'll let you know.” - Paul

Part-2

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #brian may #freddie mercury #roger meddows taylor #queen concerts

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eryiss · 3 years

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Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Late Nights, Early Mornings.

Summary: Long distant relationships are difficult, made worse when it's between two men in different colleges. But Freed and Laxus will make it worse, and if secret phone calls late in the night are what's needed then that's what they'll do.

Notes: This was day three for my admissions to Fraxus Week. It's hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus, who you should check out for more Fraxus content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

Four Ways to See the Dawn

Year: 1982

Location: Washington DC, USA

"Hey."

Laxus murmured the word, quietly fiddling with the cord to the phone as he glanced at the sleeping man in the other bed. The stranger seemed to be sleeping soundly, snoring without a care in the world, and so Laxus felt pretty confident that he had privacy. So long as he didn't make too much noise, he could speak without being overheard.

Good, this was going to work.

It wasn't ideal. It was nearing two AM, and Laxus had found himself fighting sleep as he'd waited for his roommate to pass out. The guy was apparently something of a party animal, and he was fully taking advantage of the many frat parties, drinking nights and mixers that filled the first weeks of college. Laxus had avoided them all – they were all too loud and rowdy for him – but he understood the appeal. He couldn't be angry that the man was so unpredictable; Bickslow would hardly know that he was stopping Laxus from his phone call with Freed, after all.

Freed didn't have the same problem. His college, which was half way across the country, didn't have roommates to worry about. He'd promised that he'd be waiting by the phone for him whenever he was ready to call, and he'd answered the moment Laxus had rung.

"You sound tired," Laxus teased. "Didn't wake ya, did I?"

"No, but it was close," Freed chuckled, and the sound was incredible. "I missed hearing your voice."

"Me too."

They'd promised themselves that, for the first two weeks, they wouldn't talk. College was a big thing, and they couldn't fuck it up, so decided they need to fully submerge themselves in college culture instead of becoming shut-ins who only spoke to one another. It was the right thing to do, they both knew it, but Laxus had been missing Freed's presence every day, and no amount of taster classes, tours around campus, and bottles of tequila would remove that.

Freed had always been there. They'd grown up on the same street, played on the same sports teams, and attended the same house parties. Jokes had been made that they were attached at the hip, and that they might as well be inseparable with how much time they spent together.

Laxus had to smirk at those jokes. If only they knew.

It had happened quite randomly, really. Laxus had broken his leg in the last year of high school, and he'd had to sit out on the final game in their baseball tournament. Freed had ended up hitting the home run that won their team the game, and had been rightly commended. Laxus had stumbled into the locker room on his crutches when everyone was left so he could congratulate the man in private. Freed had clearly noticed that Laxus was more melancholy that joyful, and forced Laxus to admit it felt shitty to miss the final game of his high-school career, even if they did win.

Freed had waited for a moment, thinking of what to say. Then, with his thigh resting against Laxus' non-broken leg, he quietly whispered 'I won it for you, you know. Not for the team.' The words were packed with years' worth of friendship and passion, and they were forever imprinted on Laxus' mind.

He'd kissed the man without thinking. Freed had kissed him back.

What followed was a summer of making out, going to the romantic spots around Magnolia under the pretence they were still just friends, and, on the last night before they left for college, they'd slept together for the first time. It had all been incredible.

But the summer had to end, and they could hardly keep going as they had. Magnolia was small, and their friendship was known well enough there for nobody to question how much time they were spending together. Now they lived in different states, a long and expensive train ride away from each other. The making out and the dates and the sex would have to stop, because it didn't make senses for it to continue. All they had left was quiet phone calls late at night where nobody could overhear them talking.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough for now.

"You, erm, you done many classes yet?" Laxus asked, cringing at the awful question.

"No, they start on Monday," Freed answered, and shifted slightly. Laxus idly wondered if he were in his bed or not. Freed looked good in bed, curled up in a dressing gown with a book. If Laxus was there, he'd content himself by running his hand through his hair. "You?"

"A few taster things, just tryin' to find out what I wanna major in, y'know," Laxus all but scuffed his feet. He hadn't expected this to be this awkward. "Guess you don't have that problem."

"No," Freed agreed. He was training to by a surgeon, Laxus was at college mainly because he didn't know what else to do with his life. "How's your roommate?"

"He's good. A little weird but seems harmless," Laxus glanced at the sleeping man, who was stretched over his bed and drooling. "Seems to be out at parties most nights, so maybe I'll be able to call ya earlier in the night. Not force ya to stay up so late."

"It's worth it," Freed said without missing a beat. "I've missed you, Laxus."

"I missed you too," Laxus whispered.

Neither man spoke for a moment, and Laxus wished he knew what to say. He wished he had a ridiculous story of his fun, interesting college life that he could use to break that layer of awkwardness and entertain Freed with. But he'd done nothing; college was much less interesting than he had been led to believe. He couldn't think of a thing to say, and the electric humming of the phone was getting on his nerves.

Freed must have felt the same way, as Laxus could hear him fidgeting across the phone. Laxus wished he could just pull the man into his arms, as he often had in their quiet nights alone over the summer. But he couldn't. For months, he couldn't.

"It's gonna get easier, ain't it?" Laxus asked. "Doin' this?"

"It will," Freed said, and he sounded sure. "It'll take some time, but it will."

"Fuckin' better," Laxus mumbled more to himself than to Freed.

"It will," Freed repeated. "And thanksgiving is only a few months away, and we'll be able to see each other then."

"Guess so," Laxus nodded, trying to feel encouraged. "You still doing thanksgiving with me and Gramps?"

"If he'll still have me."

"He will," Laxus replied immediately, and then forced a smile onto his face. "And I promise it'll be more successful than last year."

"More successful? Is that possible?" Freed asked sarcastically, and Laxus chuckled.

"You saying that me and Gramps getting into a screaming match, the turkey ending up in the cat's litter tray, the two of us getting covered in cranberry sauce, and the neighbours making a noise complaint wasn't successful?" Laxus scoffed, smiling as he remembered the night the previous year.

He also remembered how, just before Freed drove back to his own home, he'd confessed that it was one of the most enjoyable thanksgiving's he'd had.

"You seem to not realise that, with long hair, pureed cranberries really have a lot of space to hide in," Freed chuckled. "A problem you don't seem to face."

"I'll aim for your face this year then," Laxus grinned.

"That's all I ask," Freed was grinning too, Laxus could hear it in his voice.

The situation wasn't immediately remedied, but they found themselves talking about the ridiculous shared moments they'd endured in Magnolia, and Laxus felt the awkwardness seeping away minute by minute. It was nowhere near as good as driving to the mountains, lying on his car's roof with Freed curled against him, but damn if it wasn't the best couple of hours he'd spent since arriving in Washington.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember waking up sometime later in the morning. The phone was clutched against his chest, the line dead, and the sunlight was fluttering under the curtains. He smiled privately, and closed his eyes, phone in hand.

---

"Freed, you okay? It's four in the mornin'?

"Hey. You're awake. Hi."

Laxus forced his eyes open, groggy and sleep deprived. He blinked a few times, sitting up. The ringing of the phone he'd just answered seemed to still be blaring in his mind, and the overly loud, inelegant words that his boyfriend had just near yelled into his ears made Laxus wince. It was nearly four thirty in the morning. Why the hell was Freed awake?

"Course I'm awake, phone's fucking loud," He complained, sitting up and leaning against the wall. "Why're you awake?"

"Ever and Mirajane," Freed said, as if that answered anything. Laxus waited a moment before he realised that was all Freed felt he needed to say.

"What about them?"

"I told them that it was my birthday tomorrow – or, well, it's today now, isn't it. But it was tomorrow when I told them. Well, technically it was yesterday when I told them, but in the context of me telling them about my birthday, my birthday was tomorrow, which is now today," Freed spewed the mess of words out, and Laxus could hear him frowning. "They said I needed to go out drinking. They wanted to take me out for my first legal drink."

"Yer turning nineteen, not twenty-one," Laxus deadpanned, though smirked.

"Oh yes, so I am," Freed was frowning. "I broke the law many times tonight then."

"Sounds like it," Laxus chuckled. "You only just gettin' in? It's pretty late. Or early, I guess."

"No, we left the club at about one. We've been in the dorms for a few hours, Cana knows someone who can get us beer cheap, so we kept going. Someone made me brownies, but I wasn't allowed to eat them because apparently they had pot in them, so Mirajane slapped the guy and said she'd report him to campus security because we only found out when Jet and Droy started talking about the walls having a face," Freed laughed heartily, and Laxus smiled, imagining the man's expression as he did so. "Why do people always put weed into brownies? It's so overdone. Why do you never hear of a pot carrot cake or banana loaf?"

"Brownies are easy to make, I guess," Laxus grinned.

This was uncharted territory for Laxus. Freed wasn't exactly a total rule follower, but his parents were strict and so alcohol was something he'd never risked. Laxus had always wondered what a drunk Freed would be like. Apparently, he rambled and was happy. It was a nice side of him to hear.

"You think brownies are harder than a banana cake? You know nothing about baking," Freed laughed at him, and Laxus smirked. "Do I have time to bake a pot filled gateau, do you think? It might make mother's book club interesting at last."

"Don't spike your ma with drugs Freed," Laxus instructed, and Freed laughed.

"Yes, it sounds bad put like that," Freed agreed. He was quiet for a moment, and Laxus heard the sound of something hitting the floor. Perhaps one of his boots, given the clunk. Laxus had become something of an expert at figuring out what Freed was doing by the sounds he made. "It'd serve them right. Rather see you than them."

"Come on Freed," Laxus sighed. "They're your parents, they wanna see you."

"Well they didn't on parents' weekend, or at thanksgiving, so why now?" Freed huffed, fabric shifting now. He was probably getting into bed. "They're taking me to dinner, and I saw the place. It's got five stars, Laxus. That means it'll be stifled and pretentious. They won't know what to say to me, so we'll just eat in silence and we'll all want it to end because we know we don't have anything in common and they're only coming because it'll look bad if they don't," Laxus wished he could deny the claim, but he knew Freed's parents and that was probably true. "Would've rather gotten the train to Washington so I could see you."

"Shouldn't I be coming to yours?" Laxus asked, trying to change the subject to something less maudlin. "It's your birthday."

"You saw my campus when you drove us home," Freed dismissed, and Laxus supposed he had. They'd driven back to Magnolia together for some time alone, as Laxus passed Freed's college on the drive back. "It's my turn to see your place. Your classrooms, your student lounge," He paused, and was clearly smirking when he spoke again. "Your bed."

"My bed, huh?" Laxus smirked. "What were you gonna-"

Laxus would have continued, but an airborne pillow slammed into his face. It took his sleep-lagged brain a moment to understand what had happened, and he slowly looked towards his glaring, very much awake roommate. He probably should have realised that the phone would have woken them both up, not just Laxus.

They looked at each other for a moment, Bickslow unblinking. Laxus wanted to speak, but no words came, and Bickslow was the one to fill the silence.

"Look, you know I'm cool with you two being together. Probably been to more of the marches than either of you two, so be as gay as you wanna be," Bickslow's voice was croaky and hoarse. "But don't phone fuck when I'm in the room. It's just bad manners."

"We weren't gonna-" Laxus cut himself off. He couldn't be sure of his words, so instead he said a guilty, "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Bickslow shrugged. "Just give me my pillow back and we'll call it even."

Laxus did as he was told, and Bickslow took it, hooked it around his head so it covered his ears, and turned to lie facing the wall. It was as close to privacy they could get in the small room without either of them leaving, and Laxus appreciated the action. When he spoke again, his voice was more of a gentle whisper.

"You should probably get to sleep," He instructed, and grinned when he heard a yawn overpowering his words. "Make sure you drink water before you crash, okay? And don't bother with yer classes, you'll either still be drunk or too hungover to take anything in."

"Yes, I suppose I will be," Freed agreed. "I'll call you once my parents leave."

"Okay," Laxus nodded. "Happy birthday, baby."

"Thank you," Freed said softly. "Goodnight. Love you."

"Love you too."

Laxus hung up the phone, curled himself back under his covers and closed his eyes. Just as he was about to sleep, he heard the grinning words of his roommate as he said, 'you two are so damn cute.' Laxus' retort of 'fuck you' was only slightly less threatening because of the smile he couldn't shake, and the yawn he couldn't hold back.

---

"Don't talk, I need to say something."

"Laxus? What's wrong?"

Laxus was jittery. He'd been jittery all day. He'd had nervous energy throughout the night, and it kept waking him up and he did whatever he could to get to sleep but nothing had worked, and he'd found himself stressed, awake and jittery. He couldn't stop moving. Couldn't stop bouncing his leg or taping his fingers or flexing his arms because he needed to do something with this energy, but he didn't know what.

At six AM, after a night of awful, interrupted sleep, he'd decided enough was enough. He'd changed into running gear, pulled out his Walkman and stormed from his dorm room. He'd ran for however long, and yet the jitteriness didn't go. If anything, it made things worse.

Calling Freed had been a last resort.

He hadn't returned to campus yet, instead finding a phone booth to climb into. It had started to rain as he'd run, and he was dripping wet as he rang Freed's number. The cold and the wet were the last things on his mind. He just needed to get on the call with Freed, just needed to hear that thing's would be okay and that he was making a big deal out of nothing. Freed was a smart guy, and he wouldn't bullshit Laxus about important things. No; Freed would make things okay.

"Dad's court case was moved forward," Laxus spluttered before he could stop himself.

It was supposed to be in the autumn. It was supposed to be months away. That would give Laxus time to prepare himself, to know what he was going to say. To get out of his own head so that he could focus on taking the bastard to jail. It was not supposed to be next damn week!

Laxus was a character witness. In the trial itself, he wasn't all that important, but he knew that the media would love to know what he thought about his father. Ivan was a well-known businessman, and his scandal had been national news. He'd made many enemies over his years working, and people were relishing in his downfall. Everyone wanted to hear how not only was Ivan a bad businessman, but a bad father too. Laxus wasn't ready for the attention, he wasn't ready for anything.

Freed took a moment to think before he replied.

"Where are you?" He asked. "Are you in your dorm? I can hear the rain."

"Erm, no," Laxus shook his head, looking around. "I'm near a park. Not sure where."

"Right," Freed murmured. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need," Laxus faltered.

He needed to be told that everything was okay. That the court case would just be a single day in his life, and he could get past it and move on. He needed to hear Freed saying that he would get past this, and that his life would return to normal. He needed to see Freed's warm smile, the one he seemed to show only to Laxus. He needed…

"It's nothing. Sorry if I woke you."

"Go back to your dorm, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What?"

"The trains start running early. I can probably be at yours by ten," Freed mused aloud. "I want you to go back and try to sleep. You mentioned that Bickslow has hypnosis tapes he uses to sleep, borrow one."

"Freed, you don't need to come here," Laxus tried to argue, though he didn't want to. "You don't have the money."

"I'll find it," Freed dismissed. "The next train leaves at seven, I believe. I'll be on it."

"Freed."

"Laxus."

Anyone who thought that Laxus was the more stubborn one out of the two of them clearly didn't know Freed.

"You really don't need to come," Laxus whispered, the rain pounding on the small box he sheltered in. "I'll be fine."

"You deserve to be better than fine, Laxus," Freed whispered back.

Silence hung on the line, and at that moment Laxus' world only persisted of the small phonebooth, the rain clattering down on it, and the man on the other end of the phone. He closed his eyes, clenched them shut, and tried to focus on the soft sound of Freed's breathing. Freed was coming. He was coming to make things better. As much as Laxus wanted to protest more, because Freed couldn't afford it and he was going to miss his classes, he just wanted his boyfriend in his arms. He just wanted him there.

"Are you sure?" He asked in a shaking sob.

"Of course," Freed assured him. "Go back to your room and sleep, I'll be there soon."

Laxus did indeed return to his room. He showered off the rainwater, ignored Bickslow's questions as to what happened, and curled up into bed. The white noise tape that Bickslow gave him cleared his mind, and as he assured himself that the clump of blanket he was clinging to would soon be replaced with Freed, he felt everything become just a little more manageable.

---

Sun hit Laxus' face, a gentle warmth that woke him up. He smiled as it happened.

A roadside motel was hardly the most comfortable place to wake up, but Laxus couldn't think of anywhere better to be at that time. No amount of bitter coffee, cramped showers, awful breakfasts, and itchy sheets would stop that. Not when he was waking up with Freed in his arms.

It was Freed's graduation day, the final nail in the coffin of their shared college experiences. Once today had finished, there would be no more dorm rooms, no more phone calls, no more long distance. They just needed to get through the ceremony, and they would be free to spend as much time as they wanted together, without the looming dread of being split apart by the oncoming semester that had previously seemed ever present.

It was over. They were done with college and free to love each other fully and wholly.

They'd found an apartment they could afford. They'd gotten an odd look when their realter had seen two men wanting to live in a cramped, one bedroom apartment, but they didn't care. Three years split apart was over, and they felt they deserved their own place no matter what other people thought about it. They'd more than paid their dues in being apart; they were owed time, and a home, together.

It worked out well. Freed's career meant he needed to continue studying, and he'd found placement in a hospital on a partial scholarship in New York. Laxus, over his time in college, had decided sports journalism was where his passion lay, and he'd been shortlisted for multiple internships in the city. It was all perfect.

Speaking of perfect, Freed made a small mewling sound as he woke.

"Mornin'," Laxus smiled.

"Morning," Freed croaked. He leant up and pressed his lips against Laxus', resting against his body. "You're awake early."

"Excited to see you get yer degree," Laxus shrugged.

"Excited to see me leaving the dorms, more like," Freed chuckled, resting his head against Laxus' chest.

"Can you blame me?" Laxus asked as he ran a hand down Freed's side and kissed his crown.

"Not at all," Freed hummed, contentedly.

Laxus hummed, watching as the new morning sun filled the room. Flashes of a future where this would be his every morning, where Freed would always fall asleep in his arms and wake up beside him. Freed would be his, and he would be Freed's, as they were always supposed to be.

Their love story was quiet, made up of fleeting moments and late-night phone calls. Not the stuff of fairy tales, but, for them, perfect.

#Fraxus Week #Fraxus #Freed Justine #laxus dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #1980's AU #College AU #Word Count 3.8k

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rovewritesit · 4 years

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Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 2) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, duh. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: A wild Deacy appears! Reader was supposed to meet him in this chapter but it got a bit long. I may have awkwardly stuffed in some backstory as well, but I wanted to get through it before we start having more interactions with the members of Queen. I’m a hoe for Hot Space and Cool Cat is such a vibe so I had to throw it in here. If you haven’t heard the original demo with Bowie you should take a listen. The music video concept was sparked loosely by Mitski’s “Happy” video (it’s gory af, be forewarned). I’m aware that the MTV of the 80s definitely would’ve banned anything like that, but it’ll come back around in the plot later on.

Songs Mentioned:

Heart of the Night - Juice Newton

More Than A Feeling - Boston

My Best Friend’s Girl - The Cars

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute

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February 1982 - Orpheum Theater, Boston

It’s noisy in the cramped green room backstage at the Orpheum Theater in Boston. Gone were the days of grand arenas while tagging along with Hall and Oates. Now only around 2,000 bodies lined the seats out in the house, but you still feel that familiar bubble of nerves as Dawn busies herself around your hair.

Dawn, your best friend from your two short years at NYU, had agreed to tag along for the short tour to help with your “look.” Not that you ever really had a problem with your usual jeans and t-shirts, but this rock type of glam proved to be a different beast, and Dawn certainly had an eye for style. Her voluminous hair always streaked blonde and crimped to perfection. She’d tried to convince you many times to do something chemical with yours but you held firm to your virgin hair, causing your pre-show routine to run well into an hour and a half to get the desired popular style. You smile up at her as she curls part of your bangs away from your face, truly grateful to have another woman around.

“Babes, please stop moving your head. I’ve had to do the same piece 3 times already.” She tuts at you. “And Eds, I’ve asked you how many times to watch your elbows, jesus christ.”

Eddie tries to cram in even tighter against the wall, keeping to the five tiny spots you’d all wrangled against the mirror. “Ay, I’m trying over here. It takes some effort to get all this together.” He smirks, running his fingers through his already perfectly coiffed hair. A shame really, that it would be utterly destroyed within 15 minutes of being on stage.

“Have we picked a city song for tonight yet? I want to go over it in my head a few times before we go on.” Lawrence calls out, trying to tug on a pair of pants that look a size or two too small for him.

The Limbs had taken to playing one song per show by a famous local artist from the city they were in. Since they only had the one album out, it was a chance to get the audience singing and moving together; to change up the pace. A modified tip from a certain mustached rock legend that the band had started to implement.

“I thought we decided on More Than A Feeling?” Eddie says as he tears his eyes away from his own reflection.

“That’ll be what they expect. I think Bun sounds better on My Best Friend’s Girl,” Rich says simply. He’s attempting some form of stretching routine in the back corner of the room, his extremities bumping up against the walls.

“So Y/N’s taking this one?” Steve asks, lounging across a small loveseat against the wall, his legs dangling off of it delicately. He looks up from whatever song he’s been working on.

“You heard what the label said. They want Y/N more center stage, so to speak, for marketing reasons.” Rich tries folding his body into some sort of pretzel shape. A light “oof,” escapes his lips as he falls backward slightly.

“Ah yes, we need to give the public what they want,” you huff, wanting to roll your eyes if not for Dawn covering your head in a cloud of Aqua Net.

Eddie starts pacing, or at least tries to, “I just don’t get why they’re trying to make her into some Debbie Harry.” He scoffs, “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

Dawn glares at him. It was a bit of a low blow, but Eddie was still getting used to sharing the spotlight with you, with him singing lead on almost every other song.

You were still struggling to find your presence on stage and were more than happy to take a back seat to the boys for the most part. And while some of the band’s other singles were gaining traction, none were close to catching up to Heart of the Night, which was now getting steady airplay and record sales thanks to the absurd music video that hit TV screens everywhere a few weeks back.

“That’s true, Y/N’s much more of a Linda Ronstadt type if we’re throwing out names,” Lawrence grunts out. Finally able to close the button on his skin-tight pants.

A cold laugh erupts from Eddie. “Exactly. It’s the Eighties now if you haven’t noticed. It’s all about edgy sex appeal, and let’s be honest, even Steve has a better chance of-”

“Enough!” Dawn’s voice sliced through the air, the daggers thrown from her eyes flying towards him. She leans down to your level to examine her masterpiece. “You look as sexy as a goddamn playboy bunny, hun. No pun intended.” Her voice softens as she pinches your cheeks.

The room goes mostly quiet for the next few minutes as the local opening band starts to close out their set with their last two songs. Only Rich’s deep breathing, fitting in time to the beat.

You chew your cherry painted lips, mulling over Eddie’s words. You knew full well that you weren’t exactly the frontwoman the label or the public dreamed of. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to be a frontwoman at all. When you’d finally given in to Rich’s insistent pestering to come have some fun with the boys, you’d been at NYU for two years. You loved your film classes but felt the hole that was left from the absence of playing any type of music. In high school, you’d all show up to a party with a variety of instruments in your grasps. It almost always resulted in a crowd gathering around to listen, joining in with your voices, clicking their beer bottles in time with the beat. It was when you had felt most carefree, and you had ached for that feeling again.

But playing locally turned into recording an album, for which you wrote a song for some dream of a man that only existed in your thoughts. Next thing you knew you were scooped up by Columbia Records, missing classes to attend photoshoots or album release parties. People were listening to your voice, your song, and wanting more. You dropped out of college to the dismay of your parents but were immediately enveloped in your friends' glee, finally reaching the precipice of something they’d only dreamed of. You hated the thought of letting them down in any way but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a fluke, that you had nothing else to give. Destined to fade out as a one-hit-wonder and a disappointment to your best friends in the world. The weight hit your shoulders as you slumped in your seat.

None of this was supposed to happen, you tell yourself. It never happens like this.

You’re broken out of your daze when there’s a rap at the door and a muffled “5 minutes” from the stage manager behind it. You all stand, waiting for Rich to spread his wings and engulf you in your usual pre-show pow wow. You slide Dawn in next to you in the now group of 6, needing someone steady as an anchor.

“If you’d please, Reverend.” Steve probes, cheekily.

“We’re gathered here today” Rich begins and Dawn giggles. “To bring immense joy to those 2,000 idiots out there, who so willingly sold out our show for us. They deserve a performance played to 200,000, so that’s what we’re going to give them. In the name of our fathers, John, George, Paul, and Ringo. Let’s go give em’ hell.”

“Amen!” you all shout and disband.

As you follow the boys into the dingy hallway leading to the stage, Eddie catches your wrist. He looks at you through his long lashes with an uncharacteristically shy smile that almost never sees the light of day.

“I’m sorry for being a prick, Bun. I shouldn’t have said all that,” he mutters as you continue to walk, not wanting to miss your cue.

“No worries, Eds. You were right though. I’m definitely no Debbie,” you force a chuckle at yourself while a roadie slips your guitar strap onto your shoulders.

“It’s not alright. And no, you’re not,” he says catching your downturned eyes. “You’re Y/N fucking L/N, and you’re just gettin’ started, baby. All you gotta do is take a little bit of the love we all have for you and give some to yourself once in a while, alright?” A grin forms, showing his adorably asymmetrical teeth as he reaches out a hand to ruffle your painstakingly perfected hair. “That’s better. Now let's get out there so you can show the world exactly what kind of frontwoman you are. And don’t be scared to show them a hint of Bunny while you’re at it.” You move your guitar out of the way to pull him in for a close hug. You hear Steve start banging his snare and pull Eddie on to the stage with you, feeling a bit lighter than you had been minutes ago.

You approach your mic and take a look out at the packed, hazy theater.

“Well hello, Bawston!’ Your accent rings out to the faceless figures before you. “Aren’t you all looking fuckin’ fabulous tonight!”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Musicland Studios, Munich

“No, I didn’t say it’s bad, just that it sounds tinny,” Brian argues, crossing his spidery arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

“And it’s as if you’ve shoehorned Bowie in there just to mumble in the background incoherently. A waste, really.” Roger tacks on from beside him.

John sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch in the studio. “Just because it’s not your precious red special or your own magic fingers at work, doesn’t mean it’s tinny,” he counters calmly. Trying his best to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice, knowing that Brian already had anger stemming from John’s earlier composition for the album.

It was the first time this week that all four men were in the studio together. Finishing up Hot Space was proving to be a strain on all of them and the growing rift had caused the men to nearly finish their songs separately instead of in their usual group dynamic. John’s experimentation into different styles, such as funk and disco, had not been willingly received thus far.

“Well, I sound rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I’m very proud of us, Deacy.” Freddie states, getting up from his own place on the couch and stretching.

“It’s not that, Fred. It just doesn’t sound like us.” Brian sighs, already sensing the escalation of a row coming along.

“Oh please. Not this again...” Freddie huffs.

“That’s because it’s not us. It’s me and Freddie.” John cuts in with a roll of his eyes, landing them on Mack, their producer, who just shrugs and trains his gaze back to the board.

“That’s for sure.” Roger murmurs out. Now it’s John’s turn to cross his arms as he levels their pointed gazes. He’d worked with Fred for days putting together “Cool Cat,” hoping that the additional vocals from David Bowie would be a selling point for the other two.

With a clap of his hands, Freddie moves about the room. “Why don’t we take a quick break and then give it another listen?” Roger groans. Freddie pats his shoulder as he makes his way over to a radio beside Mack.

John rubs his tired eyes before pushing himself off the couch, eager for a break from the energy in the stale room. “I’m grabbing a coffee,” not offering one to the others as he brushes past Brian on his way out, quickly retreating down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him.

The remaining three startle a bit as Freddie flips on the radio, Lo & The Limbs hit single pours from it, louder than expected.

“Oh! Oh, yes! Simply marvelous,” he exclaims, jumping up and down lightly. Roger and Brian raise their eyebrows in silent questioning. “This is the band of rascals I was telling you about the other week. They must’ve just broken out here.”

“The yanks you met while in the States?” Roger questions, turning his attention to the song, eager to judge any brimming competition.

“Yes, yes, the wild young lady who swears like the devil and her band of merry giant trees.”

“We have one of those!” Rog nods in Brian’s direction, voice muffled by a cigarette now dangling from his lips.

“Hm, Brain’s more of a willowy spruce, if you will. These ones are giant redwoods. You know American’s. And they have these thick New York accents. I could barely understand a word they were saying at first. What a riot they were.” he remembers fondly.

“I feel as if I’ve heard this before, but I can’t place it.” Brian ponders, almost to himself.

John appears in the doorway, blowing lightly on a steaming mug.

“Probably from that shocking video of theirs, darling,” Freddie waves his hands about. “Oh, you must’ve seen it. They’re all dressed up like they're in Grease or something, and this square of a girl is pinning after the bad boy. But he’s with this slutty little thing. And oh, I can’t recall the details, but in the end, she ends up murdering the slut!” He slaps the table for effect. “But for some odd reason the boy is okay with it all and they run off into the night together, covered in blood.”

“Sounds… spooky?” Roger shrugs. John stifles a chuckle.

“It’s dramatic! And sexy. And obviously working for them.” The wheels already turning in his head.

John tunes out their chatter and trains his ears to said song, which is about halfway through. The instrumentals seem a bit basic for his taste. The soft strum of an acoustic guitar, a slightly heavier electric over it, with a simple bass line. A female voice flits in.

Cool city moon lays its touch on the room,

Your eyes reach to me

It has a rasp to it. Akin to Stevie Nicks, he thinks.

Two shadows fall saying nothing at all,

We know what we need

No, not quite. It’s entirely it's own if he’s being honest. He can feel the soul pulsating through words and the power that’s beneath it. One that could probably fit with any genre it should choose. His interest peaked.

In the release, two prisoners are free from the darkness

One more escape surviving the heartache and madness

The raw emotion erupting from the speakers and the lyrics start to paint a picture in his mind, scrambling to fill in the faceless voice.

In the heart of the night

The chorus starts and picks up steam quickly. Male voices begin to fill in on background vocals, blending together seamlessly.

We run like bandits

Two hungry hearts under the gun

Her voice cracks a bit, in a charming way. It must be radiant when heard live.

In the heart of the night

When we find each other

Were stealing love on the run

In the heart of the night,

Heart of the night

A small smile plays on John’s lips as the song fades out. They’re good, he muses to himself, a bit intrigued by the song and Fred’s colorful description of the accompanying video.

“A great voice indeed. They’ve got a strong sound going.” Brian chirps up.

“That’s her first swing at writing, too. Wish it had been that bloody easy for us.”

“Is she a looker, Fred?” Roger wags his brows.

“Oh please, they’re practically babies! Although that drummer of theirs is certainly something to write home about… Even with the head of hair he has. A bit like a mushroom. A cute one.” Freddie ponders, stroking his full mustache.

John reaches up and pats the tight curls atop his own head, wondering how it would look if he ceased from trimming his current short perm.

“I do hope they catch on here. What fun that would be.” John readily nods along without realizing it.

Freddie switches off the radio and turns back to the other three men. “Alright back to it then. Queue it up, Mac,” placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows. “Shall we?”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Columbia Records, New York City

“Why are the undersides of my knees sweaty? I’m not a back of the knee sweat kind of guy, alright?” Lawrence fidgets, adjusting his collar for the fourth time in two minutes.

You casually gulp down your third glass of water while staring at the wood-paneled walls of the office. Attempting to avoid the gazes of a number of gold discs lining the walls, the echoes of your musical idols. They seem to be laughing at you.

Steve partakes in his trademark bouncing routine, the chair underneath him squeaking in a violent rhythm. “Do you think it’s the video? It has to be the video or we wouldn’t be in this office. I knew we shouldn’t have taken that big of a risk right out of the gate.”

“You gotta be kidding me. You basically doused yourself in the blood when Eddie pitched it!” Rich cuts in, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found.

“What! It was your idea for the--”

The door behind where the group is gathered swings open and in strides a stocky man with a full beard and tinted aviator sunglasses still covering his eyes.

“What are we all standing around for? Sit, sit, sit, c’mon.” His gruff Brooklyn accent ringing out as he moves to sit behind a large mahogany desk.

The Limbs scramble to fit on the couch across from him, with you ending up perched on the armrest, gripping Rich’s bicep for support.

The man, Walter Yetnikoff, CEO and Chairman of Columbia Records, grunts as he eases into a leather chair, finally removing his glasses, revealing surprisingly kind eyes, “Jeez louise, look at you kids. You look as if a nun just caught you all playing with each other’s junk. What’s with the faces?”

“Mr. Yetnikoff, we’d like to sincerely apologize for the backlash that has come from our video. We should’ve known better than that. We could’ve toned it down… a lot.” Eddie rushes out. He wipes his hand over his too-snug tailored pants, probably leftover from days of youth choir.

Walter barks out a laugh. “I’ll admit I was a little shocked to find out that’s what you needed a high school gym for, but relax a little, will ya? You’re not here to be scolded. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have fought so hard to get it airtime.”

The Limbs visibly relax- a tad, but their eyes all stay wide.

“Well aren’t ya gonna ask why you’re all here then?”

“W-why are we here?” Rich asks quietly. “Sir.” He adds.

“It seems that the slight PR crisis of a video you made has made its way across the pond,” Walter smirks.

“You mean…” Steve trails off in a voice two octaves higher than usual.

“You kids better like air travel because there’s gonna be a lot of it in your near future. The hit has broken into the London airwaves and they’re not as god fearing as viewers here seem to be. We’re sending you over there next week now that you’ve wrapped up the tour.”

“Holy shit!” Lawrence yells. You feel yourself falling back off your perch as your large friends all jump to their feet. Rich’s gangly arm luckily catches you and pulls you immediately into a suffocating hug. “You did this, Bunny!” He screams in your ear. “You did this!”

“Alright, alright, you can all go celebrate and drink your faces off in a second,” Walter calls out over the group who immediately shut their mouths. “We have a few details to iron out but I’m hoping to send you over there for a full press tour. Photoshoots, interviews, talk show appearances. The works, you got it.”

Steve lets out a squeal of delight, his voice not yet returning to its usual bass.

“You.” He points a stubby finger in your direction. “I’m waiting to hear back about a last-minute cancelation on some game show out there. We’re gonna try to get you in. You know your shit?”

“W-what kind of shit, sir?” You ask from the bear hug that Rich still holds you in.

He holds up his hands, gesturing to the gold discs that surround him. “Music, my dear.”

All you can do is nod, not wanting to think about what that even entails.

“That’s what I like to see. Now get outta here so you can all combust somewhere outside of my office. We’ll call you in a few days. Get those bags ready, you hear me?” He waves you all off.

Before you have a chance to say anything, the boys are sweeping you out of the room. And off to the start of whatever comes next, you guess.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deaky x reader #deacy fic #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

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tlbodine · 3 years

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The History & Evolution of Home Invasion Horror

Here’s my prediction: In the next couple of years, we’re going to be seeing a sudden surge of home invasion movies hit the market. For many of us, 2020 has been a year of extreme stress compounded by social isolation; venturing outside means being exposed to a deadly plague, after all.

And while many people have already predicted that we’ll see an influx of pandemic and virus horrors (see my post on those: https://ko-fi.com/post/Pandemic-and-Pandemonium-Sickness-in-Horror-T6T21I201), I actually think a lot of us are going to be processing a different type of fear -- anxiety about what happens when your home, which is supposed to be a literal safe space, gets invaded. Because if you’re not safe in your own house...you’re not safe anywhere.

Home invasion movies have been around a long time -- arguably as long as film, with 1909′s The Lonely Villa setting down the formula -- and they share many of the same roots as slasher films in the 1970s. But somewhere along the way, they separated off and became their own distinct subgenre with specific tropes, and it’s that separation and the stories that followed it that I want to focus on.

The Origins of the Home Invasion Movie

In order to really qualify as a home invasion movie, a film has to meet a few requirements:

The action must be contained entirely (or almost entirely) to a single location, usually a private residence (ie, the home)

The perpetrator(s) must be humans, not supernatural entities (no ghosts, zombies, or vampires -- that’s a different set of tropes!)

In most cases, the horror builds during a long siege between the invader and the home-dweller, including scenes of torture, capture, escape, traps, and so forth.

To an extent, home invasion movies are truth in television. Although home invasions are relatively rare, and most break-ins occur when a family is away (the usual goal being to steal things, not torture and kill people), criminals do sometimes break into people’s homes, and homeowners are sometimes killed by them.

In the 1960s and 70s, this certainly would have been at the forefront of people’s minds. Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood detailed one such crime in lavish detail, and the account was soon turned into a film. Serial killers like the Boston Strangler, BTK Killer and the “Vampire of Sacramento” Richard Chase also made headlines for their murders, which often occurred inside the victim’s home. (Chase, famously, considered unlocked doors to be an invitation, which is one great reason to lock your doors).

By the 1960s and 70s, too, people were more and more often beginning to live in cities and larger neighborhoods where they did not know their neighbors. Anxieties about being surrounded by strangers (and, let’s face it, racial anxieties rooted in newly-mixed, de-segregated neighborhoods) undoubtedly fueled fears about home invasion.

Early Roots of the Home Invasion Genre

Home invasion plays a part in several crime thrillers and horror films in the 1950s and 60s, including Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder in 1954, but it’s more of a plot point than a genre. In these films, home invasion is a means to an end rather than a goal unto itself.

We see some early hints of the home invasion formula show up in Wes Craven’s Last House on the Left in 1972. The film depicts a group of murderous thugs who, after torturing and killing two girls, seek refuge in the victim’s home and plot the deaths of the rest of the family. In 1974, the formula is refined with Bob Clark’s Black Christmas, which shows the one-by-one murder of members of a sorority house and chilling phone calls that come from inside the home.

Even closer still is I Spit on Your Grave, directed by Meir Zarchi in 1978. Although it’s generally (and rightly) classified as a rape-revenge film, the first half of the movie -- where an author goes to a remote cabin and is targeted and brutally assaulted by a group of men -- hits all the same story beats as the modern home invasion story: isolation, mundane evil, acts of random violence, and protracted torture.

Slumber Party Massacre, directed by Amy Holden Jones in 1982, also hits on both home invasion and slasher tropes. Although it is primarily a straightforward slasher featuring an escaped killer systematically killing teenagers (with a decidedly phallic weapon), the film also shows its victims teaming up and fighting back -- weaponizing their home against the killer. This becomes an important part of the genre in later years!

In 1997, Funny Games, directed by Michael Haneke, provides a brutal but self-aware look at the genre. Created primarily as a condemnation of violent media, the film nevertheless succeeds as an unironic addition to the home invasion canon -- from its vulnerable, suffering family to the excruciating tension of its plot to the nihilistic, motive-free criminality of its villains, it may actually be the purest example of the home invasion movie.

Home Invasions Gone Wrong

Where things start to get interesting for the home invasion genre is 1991′s The People Under the Stairs, another Wes Craven film. Here the script is flipped: The hero is the would-be robber, breaking and entering into the home of some greedy rich landlords. But this plan swiftly goes sideways when the homeowners turn out to be even worse people than they’d first let on.

This is, as far as I can tell, the origin of the home-invasion-gone-wrong subgenre, which has gained immense popularity recently -- due, perhaps, to a growing awareness of systemic issues, a differing view of poverty, and a viewership sympathetic to the plight of down-on-their-luck criminals discovering that rich homeowners are, indeed, very bad people.

Home Invasion Film Explosion of the 2000s

The home invasion genre really hit the ground running in the 2000s, due perhaps to post-911 anxieties about being attacked on our home turf (and increasing economic uneasiness in a recession-afflicted economy and a growing awareness of the Occupy movement and wealth inequality). We see a whole slew of these films crop up, each bringing a slightly different twist to the formula.

* It’s also worth noting that the 2000s saw remakes of many well-known films in the genre, including Funny Games and Last House on the Left.

In 2008, Bryan Bertino directed The Strangers, a straightforward home invasion involving one traumatized couple and three masked villains. By this point, we’re wholly removed from the early crime movie roots; these are not people breaking in for financial gain. Like the killers in Funny Games, the masked strangers lack motive and even identity; they are simply a force of evil, chaotic and senseless.

The themes of “violence as a senseless, awful thing” are driven further home by Martyrs, another 2008 release, this one from French director Pascal Laugier. A revenge story turned into a home-invasion-gone-wrong, the film is noteworthy for its brutality and blunt nihilism.

2009′s The Collector, directed by Marcus Dunstan, is another home-invasion-gone-wrong movie. Like Martyrs, it dovetails with the torture porn genre (another popular staple of the 2000s), but it has a lot more fun with it. The film follows a down-on-his-luck thief who breaks into a house only to encounter another home invader set on murdering the family that lives there. The cat-and-mouse games between the two -- which involve numerous traps and convoluted schemes -- are fun to watch (if you like blood and guts).

In a similar vein, we see You’re Next in 2013, which starts off as a standard home invasion movie but takes a sharp twist when it’s revealed that one of the victims isn’t nearly as helpless as she appears. Director Adam Wingard helps to redefine the concept of “final girl” in this move in a way that has carried forward right into the next decade with no sign of stopping.

2013 of course also introduced us to The Purge, a horror franchise created by James DeMonaco. If there was ever any doubt as to the economic anxieties at the root of the genre, they should be alleviated now -- The Purge is such a well-known franchise at this point that the term has entered our pop culture lexicon as a shorthand for revolution.

Don’t Breathe, directed be Fede Alvarez in 2016, is one of the creepiest modern entries into the “failed home invasion” category, and one that (ha ha) breathed some new life into the genre. Much like The People Under the Stairs, it tells the story of some down-on-their-luck criminals getting in over their heads when they target the wrong man. However, there is not the same overt criticism of wealth inequality in this film; it’s a movie more interested in examining and inverting genre tropes than treading new thematic ground. The same is true of Hush that same year. Directed by Mike Flanagan, the film is most noteworthy for its deaf protagonist.

But lest you start to think the home invasion genre had lost its thematic relevance, 2019 arrived with two hard-hitting, thoughtful films that dip their toes in these tropes: Jordan Peele’s Us and Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite, which both tackle themes of privilege in light of home invasion (albeit a nontraditional structure in Parasite -- its inclusion here is admittedly a bit of a stretch, but I think it falls so closely in the tradition of The People Under the Stairs that it deserves a spot on this list).

What Does the Future Hold?

I’m no oracle, so I can’t say for certain where the future of the home invasion genre might lead. But I do think we’re going to start seeing more of them in the next few years as a bunch of creative folks start working through our collective trauma.

Income inequality, racial inequality, political unrest and systemic issues are all at the forefront of our minds (not to mention a deadly virus), and those themes are ripe for the picking in horror.

I know that Paul Tremblay’s novel The Cabin at the End of the World has been optioned for film, so we might be seeing that soon -- and if so, it might just usher in a fresh wave of apocalypse-flavored home invasion stories.

Like my content? You can support more of it by dropping me some money in my tip jar: https://www.ko-fi.com/post/Home-Invasion-Stories-A-History-R6R72RV7Y

#horror movies #horror history #horror analysis #home invasion movies #essential horror movies

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thebibliomancer · 4 years

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #223: of Robin Hoods and Roustabouts

September, 1982

Apparently a “roustabout” is an unskilled or casual labor.

And lets admit the obvious that if Hawkeye is either of the two things, he’s a robin hood. And its not inaccurate but be nicer to Scott Lang.

Even if he manages to be even more hapless in this issue then in modern takes that leans into him being a fuck-up.

As for the cover? Pretty striking cover. I’ve been waiting for Hawkeye to shoot Ant-Man at someone. Its apparently an Iconic Avengers moment and to think it first happens in a filler.

Because I’m pretty sure this is a filler. Its written by David Michelinie alone instead of Jim Shooter getting a plotter or co-writer credit. It doesn’t really have anything from the dangling plot threads of Hank Pym or the Masters of Evil.

Between this and and the filler with the immortal child who badly wanted to die and all of the plotter or co-writer credits, you just really get a sense that Jim Shooter did not have time to devote to Avengers anymore.

So what kind of filler will this be? Weird? Impactless? Good Actually? Let’s see!

Well, apparently Hawkeye is going to the carnival so at this point, it could go either way.

I like that Hawkeye has a H belt buckle because that’s the kind of thing that he would do and that I can make fun of him for.

I know that it’s been a while since he’s mentioned kewpie dolls but Hawkeye came from the circus. He and his brother ran away to one when they were little and the Swordsman taught Hawkeye archery. The point being, “he’s come home.”

As in, this is specifically the carnival he used to work before he became very briefly a superhero, and then for slightly longer a supervillain, and then for much much longer a superhero for real.

Point is, he’s been away for a while. But he received a flyer in the mail and decided he just had to come.

Because someone wrote HELP! on the back.

Hawkeye figures that the previous owner’s daughter and current owner Marcy Carson sent it as a goof but heck if she’s going to go to that trouble, he’ll be happy to visit.

So he breezes past the workers outside the owner’s trailer and-

Actually they beat the shit out of him for trying to breeze past them. Goes to show.

When Hawkeye threatens to beat them up for this rude treatment, they get ruder and call him a rube. Can you believe! Him, a former employee himself being called a rube! Also they pull a fancy sci-fi gun on him.

So Hawkeye does buzz off. So he can change into his hawking eye duds and buzz right back on.

Roustabouts carrying laser pistols is very suspicious. And I guess Ant-Man isn’t the roustabout of the title. He’s moving up in the world.

MEANWHILE, Perfectly Ordinary electronics technician, ex-con, and Ant-Man Scott Lang is having a night out with his daughter Cassie. And they’re having a bit of a disagreement.

See, Cassie, future superhero, wants to ride the really cool roller coaster the Spin-’n-Heave. Scott Lang, dad with dumb views on gender apparently, insists that a roller coaster just isn’t ladylike enough and she should ride something more refined like the pony ride or ring toss.

Also, Scott is carrying the Ant-Man suit with him, loose in his pocket. And the helmet just drops out of his pocket and the damn fool would have lost it if Cassie hadn’t spotted it and mistaken it for a marble.

Geez, Scott! I stood up for you!

Scott’s attempts to dad by restricting what his daughter can and can’t do based on his own views on what is ladylike get dropped when he spots Hawkeye hauling ass across the carnival and decides that This Cannot Stand!

Scott Lang Ant-Man may not be an Avenger but dangit he can’t leave a fellow hero in the lurch! He must offer unsolicited aid!

So he caves on the Spin-’n-Heave issue because its a way to keep Cassie occupied for the length of exactly this issue.

Scott gives the operator a bunch of money and tells the operator to let Cassie ride until it runs out and then takes off.

Cassie is thrilled.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye has returned to the owner’s trailer but Marcy is gone and so are the two goons that were guarding the door. But he spots them marching Marcy through the crowd.

The goons are complimenting Marcy on being so cooperative but also say that if she’s not cooperative, her star acts are gonna get fed to the lions. And that might happen anyway once everything is said and done because their boss be like that.

Anyway, that’s when the two get hit by a KRAK THUBB arrow. Punch arrow? It looks nerf-y.

Hawkeye grabs Marcy and runs off with her into a tent so she can explain it all.

But first: he has to notice that she is beautiful. He has been gone a while so, y’know. People grow up or whatever.

Hawkeye: “There, that’s better! Now maybe I can get to the bottom of -- hey! You’re beautiful!”

Marcy: “I’ve waited a long time for you to notice that, ol’ buddy.”

Hawkeye: “Yeah, well, it’s hard noticin’ anything when you’re bein’ tripped into a pile of elephant dirt -- which, as I recall, used to be your favorite pastime!”

Marcy: “People change, Clint.”

Young Marcy sounds like a really interesting person. She certainly gave Hawkeye the business.

Anyway, she explains that it was pure luck that she was able to sneak that message out to him. And that the carnival has been taken over by some freak with powers.

Marcy: “Why, if he even suspected I was in touch with you he’d kill me deader than a Monday night in Des Moines!”

Off-screen Villain: “Nicely put, dumplin’! Should make you a dandy little epitaph!”

SCENE CHANGE TO PRESERVE SUSPENSE

Scott Lang has ducked behind some circus carts to change into Ant-Man.

Except he still has the whole shrunken costume piecemeal in his pockets so the process is one of slapstick. Scott goes digging in his pockets for the suit and accidentally drops it all in the straw.

Then he has to go digging around for the incredibly teeny pieces of gear while realizing that this was a stupid plan.

Maybe he should keep the suit in a tin. Like a mint tin or something.

But he finally gets all the pieces together and uses a safety pin to trigger the enlarging gas to full-size the outfit so he can put it on.

Huh! Enlarging gas! Early days in Avengers, they were all about the logistics of the shrinking and growing for Ant-Giant and the Wasp but it hasn’t been talked about in a long while. Wasp just changes size without the how being discussed.

But if it is Pym Particles, then I guess Scott isn’t at the point yet where his body naturally produces them so he has to use the gas canisters on the belt.

Scott does get dressed in his ant duds and uses the helmet to command some ants to find Hawkeye. And this is a carnival with a lot of dropped funnel cake and cotton candy so you know that there’s plenty of ants available.

SCENE CHANGE because we can only preserve suspense so far.

The mysterious off-screen villain hits the lights in the tent that Hawkeye and Marcy were talking in. Which reveals a bunch of gym and training equipment. It’d be nice if carnivals could provide such robust gym benefits to their workers but I feel that this is actually suspicious, finding this here.

Especially the combat flight simulator.

Hawkeye: “This place looks like a training ground for World War III!”

Off-screen villain, about to be onscreen: “And what better setting for the world’s greatest trainer? Namely... the TASKMASTER!”

Heyyy its the Taskmaster!

I forgot that he was a loose thread. He got away after the THREE-PARTER that introduced him. Then again, I guess since he’s the explanation for where villains get their armies of mooks, he didn’t really need to be tied up because that would defeat the purpose.

Anyway, Hawkeye wasn’t on the team for that three-parter but thankfully, the Avengers take thorough records.

Hawkeye: “Yeah, I remember readin’ about you in the Avengers’ files! You’re some sorta goon peddler!”

Taskmaster: “Watch yer mouth, bow-bender! What I am is a teacher!”

And then he recaps his goon, mook, henchman training business for the audience. He even clarifies that his series of secret academies are going great, thanks, but he’s trying to branch out with a mobile recruiting center.

Aka, this circus. And heck, according to Taskmaster, carnies already come off unscrupulous so having a bunch of goons hanging around won’t stand out.

THE PERFECT CRIME.

Actually. I don’t know if this is a crime? It’s not illegal to do combat training or learn how to fly a plane, probably. Then again, when 100% of your alumni wind up arrested for helping steal the Statue of Liberty, a legal goon school would get a lot of unwanted scrutiny. So best keep it secret.

And of course, extorting the owner and workers of a circus is definitely a crime. Pretty sure.

Anyway, the mobile recruiting center scheme is helped by Marcy telling anyone who asks that the new people hanging around are a new act that isn’t ready to open yet.

Hawkeye is sick of Taskmaster’s smarmy smarm and tries to shoot a grabber arrow? at Taskmaster.

Who just blocks it with his shield.

And takes the opportunity to brag about his photographic reflexes, where he only needs to see a sweet move once and he can do it perfectly.

He shows off by doing some Cap moves and then doing a Spider-Man move. Which he seems to do just to do.

And by Spider-Man move I mean hanging upside down from a line. Which, yes, Spider-Man does do that but it doesn’t really seem that necessary or helpful here and you’re totally doing it just to show off but really you look a little ridiculous.

Taskmaster even shows off some Tigra moves by kicking Hawkeye in the face. Its fun to me that he shows off Tigra specifically. Its for some acrobatics like flippy kick but there’s gotta be other acrobatic heroes. Like Spider-Man.

But Tigra was on the Avengers recently and briefly and dammit, he’s gonna show off what he learned!

Anyway, Taskmaster beats up Hawkeye until he gets bored of it and then just takes Marcy hostage to get Hawkeye to surrender.

He just really wanted to show off some of his sweet moves. And as soon as he ran through five different hero movesets (Cap, Spider-Man, Tigra, Daredevil, and Iron Fist) he’s just like ‘k I’m done’.

Meanwhile, back to Ant-Man ant-again.

He’s lurking around a corner trying to be inconspicuous while children are pointing and asking if he’s a clown. Perhaps realizing that he didn’t need to put on the full costume to use the helmet and that he’s just made himself look foolish.

But some of his ants report in that they’ve found Hawkeye so Ant-Man shrinks down to ride an ant into action.

Wait. Yeah. You could have just shrunken down and perched somewhere to wait for ant reports. You’ve made yourself look a fool and you fully had the power to avoid that in so many ways.

Meanwhile back to Hawkeye yet again, Taskmaster knows that killing an Avenger would attract notice so he’s going to make it look like an accident.

So he’s locked Hawkeye in an electrified cage with a lion, a normal situation that can accidentally happen to anyone. So now when Hawkeye gets mauled to death by the lion, nobody will suspect it was anything but an accident.

Taskmaster walks away because its villain tradition that you don’t watch the heroes you lock in the death traps. That’d just be gauche.

The lion sizes up Hawkeye and decides that he’s food and leaps for the kill!

And Ant-Man grows out from under the lion and throws it into the electrified bars, knocking him out.

Pretty good timing Scott! And that poor attempted man-eater lion! That poor five hundred pound lion! WOW SCOTT, do you work out?

I also feel that Republic Serial has aged poorly for more than just lion tossing.

Ant-Man and Hawkeye get each other on the same page. As it happens, Ant-Man actually has more experience with Taskmaster since he was actually in that three-parter. That’ll give them a tiny, tiny, tiny edge.

They’re still stuck in a locked cage and Hawkeye is like ‘gee whiz shrinking hero guy how can we possibly get out?’

Would you be surprised that Ant-Man just shrinks Hawkeye? Scott does muse that he could probably have picked the lock if he had the tools for it but shrinking just saves time.

Hawkeye does not care for it though.

I don’t know what he’s complaining about. Big sleepy cat even bigger now. You could live in the mane at that size.

You could be a tiny man living in a lion’s mane. Imagine.

Anyway.

Over in Taskmaster’s private tent, he’s telling Marcy she done fucked up calling for Hawkeye and she’s going to wish she was getting mauled to death by a lion in an electrified cage like Hawkeye was.

And Hawkeye does the equivalent of clearing his throat and saying ‘hey dingus, not dead’

Taskmaster reaches for a magnesium flare like he used against the Avengers but Ant-Man’s expert knowledge of meeting Taskmaster one time lets him warn Hawkeye who shoots it out of Taskmaster’s hand.

Taskmaster just questions why they didn’t go for a killshot when they had him surprised and then calls a goon squad on the heroes.

Of course, goon squads being called on heroes is just a setup to make heroes look really cool showing their stuff on some expendable targets.

“While the Taskmaster’s troops have been well-trained for normal combat, they fare woefully poor against these super-normal foes!”

And show their stuff they do. Like Hawkeye leaping around firing net and bola arrows!

And Ant-Man... shrinking down really small to punch a guy’s earlobe.

Look. He’s trying.

Also, Marcy is braining people with a juggling pin like some manner of alien clown because she is exceptionally irate at Taskmaster and his goons.

While the three beat up this crowd of goons, Taskmaster runs off to set up his “escape insurance.”

Ant-Man and Hawkeye chase him into the big top where there’s already a crowd watching the show. And waiting for the human cannonball act.

BUT! Taskmaster is apparently a cartoon villain because he’s replaced the human cannonball with a dummy full of explosives and he’s going to shoot it and blow up the grandstand, killing a couple hundred innocent lives.

Taskmaster tells them they can capture him or they can stop his ridiculous scheme.

Taskmaster: “Have fun decidin’, chumps!”

And then presumably he runs off giggling.

Hawkeye wants to go after Taskmaster and have Ant-Man take care of the nothuman cannonball bomb.

Ant-Man: “No, Hawkeye! There are too many lives at stake! And it may take both of us to stop that cannon!”

Hawkeye: “But we can’t just let that psycho walk! We can’t -- .”

Ant-Man: “Hawkeye! Think about it! Think! Please... !”

Hawkeye: “Yeah, I guess you’re right... blast it.”

Scott Lang has his heart in the right place to be a hero even if he is a bit of a goofus about it. I like you, Scott Lang.

Hawkeye runs back into the tent and shoots the goon manning the cannon with a bola arrow. he gets the goon but the goon falls on the button.

Fortunately, its the elevation control, not the fire button.

Unfortunately, there is no firing button, so the firing cycle is automatic.

Fortunately, hitting the elevation control accidentally made the cannon point up instead of at the grandstand. So the bomb is still going to fall and blow everything up but they have time and Ant-Man has an idea.

He has Hawkeye nock his fastest arrow and jumps on it.

Hawkeye shoots the arrow and hits the explosive filled mannequin in the neck right as it reached the top of its trajectory and hung very briefly in the air.

As the bomb starts to plummet, Ant-Man crawls up the arrow onto the bomb-man and to the detonator.

All too soon the bomb hits the ring

but doesn’t detonate.

Ant-Man managed to defuse the bomb!

And he also managed to survive the fall because of course! He’s not destined to die for a long while and only then in a really dumb way.

Thanks to Scott’s experience of watching Raiders of the Lost Ark twenty-seven times he’s a real expert on jumping from one speeding object to another.

Aka, from the falling bomb to a flying ant. Sure.

The heroes see that Taskmaster has escaped while all this was going on but Hawkeye decides he’ll get him next time.

Also? The audience has thought that this was part of the show the whole time so they’ve loved every second of this.

Soon the other Avengers arrive, too late to take part in the plot but in time to help clean up the goon operation.

Also, She-Hulk is in her tattered white dress outfit again. I really think there was some miscommunication here. Like with having her dressed like that on the previous cover and having her dressed like that here in this filler issue.

She doesn’t wear that anymore but its the Iconic outfit for her so if an artist needs a ref to draw her, they’re probably looking at a picture from her Savage She-Hulk series.

And Scott Lang gets the last page because whoops, he left his daughter on a roller coaster the whole time and forgot her in the heat of the adventure. DAD OF THE YEAR!

Scott runs to find her sitting outside the Spin-’n-Heave looking down, head in hands. Scott is worried that something is wrong with her but

Cassie Lang: “I’m a little tired right now, daddy *yawn* but can we come back an’ ride the ‘Spin-’n-Heave’ again t’morrow?”

Scott Lang: “Tomorrow? Again? *sigh* Kids.”

Hah, she tuckered herself out riding the roller coast over and over again but is game to keep doing it again tomorrow. That’s the Cassie Lang that will grow up to join the Young Avengers!

So, Avengers filler but it wasn’t weird or inconsequential. It doesn’t do anything with the ongoing plots but it feels like it does since Scott Lang has come back into the books recently because of the Hank Pym plot. And it follows up on Taskmaster who has gone unaddressed since his introductory stories.

Its just a nice story and by focusing on a guest star and one of the Avengers doing an impromptu team-up it has some fun energy.

Good times.

Hey. Follow @essential-avengers maybe? Its better than the Spin-’n-Heave! ... I can’t actually prove that. But also like and reblog this post because I’m a cool person. ... I can’t actually prove that either...

#Avengers #Taskmaster #Hawkeye #Ant Man #Scott Lang #some roustabouts #some robin hoods #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #some avengers in a one panel cameo in their own book #ant man and hawkeye make a good team weirdly #i'm weirdly fascinated by the Spin 'n Heave #it has a waterfall

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and-justice-for-zoisite · 5 years

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~Ocean Eyes~ (Benny Weir x Reader) Part 3

Series Masterlist // Official Masterlist

Summary: After you all catch a movie, you decide to spend a few hours at the mall since, according to Erica and Sarah, it’s the best time to be there. But, your suspicions of believing that Benny knew something that you wish he didn’t are confirmed when he confronts you about it...

Surprisingly to you, the movie was great! You weren’t sure if you were going to enjoy it considering you couldn’t sit through much of the Star Trek series when it was presented to you, but you were glad you were able to watch Star wars because you enjoyed it very much.

Exiting the cinema with a goofy smile, you had almost completely forgotten about your eyes when you turned to Benny. “Wowie! That was great! I’m so glad I watched that, who knew sci-fi could be so amazing?” You gushed, probably a little too excited over such a small thing. The sparkle in your Ocean eyes caused Benny to smile. Maybe you weren’t so bad after all, but he wasn’t just gonna count on the good feeling he got from seeing you happy for his judgement, he knew he was gonna need a little more proof. “I’m really glad you enjoyed it, you looked like you needed a friend at lunch yesterday. We’re not to weird for you...are we?” He asked, yourself shaking your head rapidly. “I’ll admit, Rory could use a lesson on personal space, but otherwise, you guys are perfect.” You giggled, causing the green eyed boy to copy the contagious action as you all walked out of the theaters.

“Hey, we should all go to the mall!” Sarah suggested, yourself cocking a brow at the statement. “..But it’s six o’clock.” You pointed out. “Yeah, that’s the best time to be out shopping! Unless you have better things to do.” Erica said. “O-of course I don’t, it’d be fun anyways.” You said as you smiled nervously. “Alrighty then, let’s go!” Rory said excitedly, everyone nodding in agreement as you all began on your way.

As you entered the automatic sliding doors which led to the interior of the mall, you took in the rather unfamiliar surroundings like a small fish in a big sea. Before this you had only ever been twice, and that was to buy your favorite snacks until they had started stocking them in the main grocery store in town. It made you feel so small being there, especially since you were still up for hiding your eyes as best you could under the circumstances.

“Ok, Sarah and I are gonna go look at shoes and dresses, would you like to join us (Y/N)?” Erica asked. You blushed in embarrassment as you hid your hands behind your back. “W-well...I-I’m more into uhh...v...video games...” You said quietly, Rory pumping his fist as he cheered. “Yes!! She’s hot, AND a geek! Score!!” You blushed even more as you giggled at his behavior, it was obvious you were becoming infatuated by the energetic blonde, something everyone around you found quite hard to believe since he was so immature. “Alright, you can go geek it up with the boys (*insert “me and The boys” meme*) and we’ll meet at the food court in half an hour for dinner.” Sarah said, the two groups splitting off and heading in separate directions.

The first place you headed off to was the game-stop, quite an obvious choice considering all of your interests. As soon as you had made it, all four of you went of running around the store like sugar-high kids.

Since you were honestly more of a movie nerd than a game nerd, you decided to browse through the vinyl pop figurines, hoping to find any which belonged to classics. That was when you spotted a collection that you favored out of all of them. Sitting upon the shelf was all six figurines made for the film “The Dark Crystal”, the best movie of them all next to “The Exorcist” and “Labyrinth” in your opinion. It was as if they were calling your name, begging to be bought and placed on the already quite crowded pop culture shelf you had at home. It was a good thing you inherited quite a lot of money from your family when they passed, all those valuable demon euros converted into human money made you much more money than you knew what to do with. This was a perfect excuse to spend it.

Carefully, you pulled each box off the shelf one by one, making sure to balance them all before you took any steps. That was when Benny rolled around the corner, raising a brow at all the figurines you were holding. “Woah, why so many?” He asked. “These are all the Pop Vinyl figurines made for one of my favorite movies, The Dark Crystal. I really just couldn’t resist.” You said happily as you began your way to the counter. “The...Dark Crystal?” Benny asked. “Yeah, it’s a classic movie, made in 1982. It was made by the same guy who made The Muppets. It delves into more of a Fantasy genre so I wouldn’t expect you to ever watch it considering you seem a lot more into Sci-fi.” You explained as you placed your desired purchases onto the counter for the clerk to scan. “Well, I mean, sure, Sci-fi is my favorite. But, I do tend to indulge in a bit of fantasy every now and then.” He said as a matter of factually, yourself giggling as you handed the man behind the counter your credit card. “Well, I suppose you might end up enjoying it if you were to watch it. But I’ll tell you now, there ain’t no Jedi's or Space ships in it.” You joked, the boy laughing as the two of you began walking out of the shop, completely forgetting that you guys had two other friends you were supposed to be waiting for.

Benny didn’t see it. After getting to know you a little, he didn’t at all understand how you could’ve been a pure blooded demon. You had normal interests, normal hobbies, and surprisingly good social skills. However, he was aware that if Ethan really did have that vision, and if there was really oceans in your eyes, then he’d have to hinge off of that and figure everything out.

After a bit of strolling, you two reached an area which seemed deserted, no one around to witness what was about to go down. He walked you into a little lounge area, where shoppers would usually sit to sort their shopping, where there was no exit beside the one behind Benny.

In confusion, you turned around to face Benny, about to ask him a question when he pulled out a book. The symbol placed on the cover caused a terrified gasp to escape your lips as you backed yourself against the wall and held your right hand up. “Stay back! Stay away from me you horrid Wiccan!” You shouted as a ball of bright blue glowing energy formed in your hand, Benny opening his book. “I’ve known, ever since I saw your eyes, what you are...I never thought I’d see a pure-blood demon in my lifetime.” He said, causing you to growl lowly as you felt your ears begin to point through your beanie and your canine teeth grow to meet your bottom lip. “I was so stupid to let myself be manipulated by a dirty wiccan...and to think I thought I’d started to make friends. I bet you have the others in on exterminating me as well!” You shouted. “Look, only Sarah and Ethan know...Ethan found out because he’s a seer, he had a vision when he touched your books, a vision you need to see.” He explained, making you scoff as you shook your head. “How do I know that you’re not just gonna freeze me? Your people are dirty and I wouldn’t be surprised.” Benny sighed as he looked into your ocean eyes, watching as the waves overlapped each other in a violent way to indicate the anger circulating through your body. Slowly, he raised his hand. “posuit animam suam in corpus illius....” He mumbled before a beam of light shot through his palm and into your head. You stumbled back from the sudden force, and you felt your vision go blurry until everything went black for a moment.

You fluttered your eyelids open and almost instantly felt the unease in the air as you looked around. The place you were in was unfamiliar, it was a small, dark room, nothing but the mysterious blue glow which centered the room. Upon further investigation, you realized that it was a person sitting in a chair, tied up and bound by chains. But to your horror, it was you, your glowing blue tears as the only light and your whimpers the only sound bouncing off the walls. That was when a sickeningly familiar face entered the scene, her face still as twisted as you remembered. “It’s time, you foul scum.” She seethed, the you which was sitting in the chair lifting your head fast and shaking your head. “obsecro...” she pleaded in Latin, yourself instantly being able to translate. “...please?” You asked yourself, even though she couldn’t hear you. “Don’t even bother, I have no mercy for you.” The old hag growled as she picked up an all too familiar tool from a table to the side. “nihil...obsecro!!” the other you screamed, squirming desperately. “Shut up and stay...still.” The woman said as she grabbed the girl’s face roughly and slowly began etching the tool under her left eye. “Nihil!! prohibere!!!!” she screamed. But it was too late, the other you’s eye had cleaning popped out of it’s socket. You felt as though you were going to be sick, but unconsciousness beat that feeling as you passed out and fell to the ground.

You screamed as your eyes shot open, panic completely numbing your senses as you found it difficult to find yourself again. “Woah woah woah, it’s ok (Y/n), calm down.” You heard a slightly comforting voice try to reason with you, calming your screams to panicked gasps as you felt tears well up in your eyes. Upon regaining consciousness of where you were, you saw a very worried looking Benny kneeling down in front of you while you were sat on the floor and against the wall. Taking in a shaky breath, you let go of your tears and began sobbing loudly, completely horrified by the awfully real feeling vision. Benny carefully placed a hand on your shoulder as he managed to look into your eyes. “(Y/n)...I know what happened with your family...my grandma, she was the one who saved you. Look, I know you’ve had bad experiences with people like me..uh, ‘wiccan’s’, as you call us, but I promise you, my intentions are good, and we’re gonna make sure nothing bad happens to you.” He said softly. Without thinking, you threw your arms around the boy and buried your face into his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt muffling your loud cries. Benny didn’t seem at all surprised when you did this as he slowly wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin atop your head. He figured you needed a loving hug, he didn’t think you had ever had one since your family, that would’ve been for a good fifty years you were hug deprived. The two of you stayed like that until you were calmed enough, Benny pulling away slightly so he could look you in the eyes again. Not to be cliche, but He couldn’t help but notice how pretty the tears which had stained your cheeks were, they made your face glow and sparkle, and they almost made him forget all the nasty things he had heard about your species as he cupped your cheek and used his thumb to wipe away a tear which was still falling. “Alright, so there’s this little ice-cream parlor just outside the mall that we could maybe go to. Y’know, ice-cream always makes me feel better.” The brunette said softly, making you sniffle and giggle as you wiped more of your tears away. “Are you asking me on a date?” You asked jokingly. “Will you punch me if it is?” He asked, causing a small fit of laughter to erupt from your lips as you hit him gently. “Just take me out already lover-boy.” You said, the two of you laughing before he helped you up and you both began your way to where the boy had spoken of, even though that meant leaving your friends behind.

It didn’t take you very long to arrive at the little ice-cream parlor, and surprisingly there were still people sitting at some tables, none of which you knew however. The two of you took a seat in a booth and eventually a waiter came by, pen in one hand, notepad in the other and his hair neatly slicked back. “May I take your order?” He asked in a friendly tone. “Two chocolate sundaes and lemonades please.” Benny ordered, the man nodding as he wrote it down. “We’ll get you your order in just a few moments.” And with that, he left to the counter.

In that moment, you turned to Benny with a curious look in your eyes. “So, what exactly are you?” You asked. “A Spell-caster, I don’t know if there’s much more to it. I mean, anyone could be a spell-caster if they had a book, so it’s not that exciting.” The brunette explained. “No, it is. I often dream of having hands which can give me anything I please with some form of words.” You sighed, Benny cocking a brow at this. “But I thought Pure-blood demons had that sort of power.” He said. “Did your granny tell you that?” You asked with a small laugh as Benny nodded. “No, no no no...there’s a lot told about us that’s incorrect. Pure-bloods are only allowed to conjure things which are direly needed, not things we desire. If we were to act on a selfish want, then we’d be transformed into an impure-blood for the rest of eternity.” You explained. “Wait...then that means...” Benny began. “That a lot of the legends told about us are untrue? I’m aware. About Half the facts in any book written on my species are false, like that we crave anything greed driven and that we’re violent creatures. We aren’t, we really aren’t.” You sighed, resting your cheek in your palm. “Then...what is true about you?” Benny asked. “Well, tell me any facts you’re unsure of and I’ll tell you truth from lie.” you suggested, the boy tilting his head in a thoughtful manner. “Alright, I’ve got quite a few I’m curious about...”

And with that, the two of you talked the night away, receiving your orders at least 5 minutes after the interrogation began. Within the hours Benny had spent with you, he learned so much about who you really were and how your species worked. A lot of it was quite shocking to hear, many legends about you he had been raised with were in fact false, and quite a few facts had also been lies. But on the other hand, it was fascinating to learn of your culture and customs.

The time was now 10:30 pm. Everyone else who had occupied some of the other chairs in the shop were now gone, leaving only the two of you plus a few of the late night employees to finish their shifts. You and Benny were quite tired, and so were the employees who’d usually finish early, but the brunette boy was too intrigued to finish the conversation.

“So...witches don’t use your blood as perfume?” He asked, yourself laughing as you shook your head. “Of course not doof. The healing and anti-aging properties would turn them into a baby again.” You explained. “Well, if that’s the case, you could get a pint of your blood, put it in a spray bottle, and use it against any witches that try to murder you! After all, they can’t fight you if they’re babies.” He joked, only causing more fits of laughter to escape your lips. “You’re such a dork.” You teased, the boy chuckling as he looked down with that adorable smile of his.

There was a small silence as you looked up at the little clock which hung on the wall, your eyes widening at the time you had seen.

“God Benny! It’s 10:30 ! We’ve been here for 4 hours!” You exclaimed, the boy seemingly also quite shock. “Damn it! Grandma isn’t gonna come out and pick me up this late.” He sighed. “Y’know, my house isn’t that far from here, it’s only a 10 minute walk. You could stay the night if you’d like.”

“Are you sure that’d be ok? I wouldn’t wanna be intruding or anything.” He said as he cocked a brow.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be intruding, I’m the only one who lives there.” You sighed, the boy giving you a sympathetic look before he touched your arm softly.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

A/n: FINALLY I DID IT. Sorry for the wait y’all, but here you go. Just so y’all know I’m working on a NSFW Sub!Benny x Reader Headcannon thingy so if you’re into that shit then keep a lookout!

Taglist:

@southsideprinxexx @realityshifter111

#benny weir #benny weir x reader #benny weir imagine #benny x reader #mbav #mbav benny #my babysitters a vampire #benny weir imagines #benny weir fluff #fluff

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fordanoia · 4 years

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pffff okay so... this was going to be the next fic, but on the very last sentence I decided I didn’t like it so I’m just dumping it here.

Ficlet Scraps Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 8 Scraps (Again!! More Scraps!!)

Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || wop wop stan is turned into a kid and ford’s trying to figure out what to do between him and the permanent threat of bill

______(~1500 words) ______

To be honest? Stan didn’t know who this even was. He looked too much like Pa though for him not to be related. Well if Pa didn’t wear suits and forgot to wash or shave. Stan’s best guess was that he was some older cousin or second cousin once removed twice joined, something like that. He didn’t remember seeing him before.

Except, he didn’t really remember much of anything around him right now. Not the messy kitchen, and he definitely should have remembered getting into clothes way bigger than him, or where he was at. He could see snow falling outside, which meant it definitely wasn’t Summer.

The guy took a deep breath, looking beyond tired which was all the more reason for Stan to not stick around him. “Stan? What’s the last thing you remember? Before you saw me.”

“I was making myself a sandwich, that’s all. I didn’t do nothin’.” Stan lied easily, well the last part might not have been, but he pretty sure it probably was. He tied the top of the pants into a knot so they’d stay up and rolled up the sleeves and pants legs before getting up.

“I didn’t- I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I’m just-” He stopped, grimacing like he was already fed up with Stan.

There was something fishy about the way he avoided telling him where Ford was; like he knew, but didn’t want to tell him. If the guy had been a jerk he would have guessed it was because he locked Ford into a room or something like that, but it didn’t feel like that which gave him a bad feeling that Ford wasn’t okay and the guy just didn’t want to tell him outright. Or maybe Ford was somewhere else. Stan tried not to think about either of those options for too long though, all he had to worry about was finding Ford then everything would be alright.

Just as Stan was thinking about banging into every room in the house, the guy asked him another question.

“What year do you think it is?” He asked without looking at him, dead set on staring at the kitchen table behind him instead, one hand holding onto the side of his face like he was just barely keeping himself from an urge to cover his face entirely.

Stan stopped, thinking this was some precursor to some unjustified scolding, but the expression on his face wasn’t right. “Uhh...”

He seemed unwilling to look right at him, not even angry, but like there was something about Stan that made him not want to look at him. Instead of getting mad when Stan unanswered, he got visibly more tense and uncomfortable with Stan looking at him without saying.

“What year do you think it is?” Stan asked, turning the question back around on him.

“I know what year it is.”

“Great, so do I.”

“Stanley, it’s 1982.” He said, getting it out quickly. “It’s not-” he briefly glanced at Stan’s face before glancing away again- “62 or- the early 60s.”

He’d time travelled into the future. He went from completely silent to bubbling with excitement within the span of a second. “Prove it.” Maybe he’d accidentally found an old relic on the beach that actually brought him to the future, or some mysterious artifact in the pawn shop. Or time ghosts-!

The guy let out a breath, looking around and finally standing up. “There’s- I don’t know, there’s-” he pushed his glasses up with a hand to rub at his eyes. “You can see the forest out that window, we’re not in New Jersey. I don’t have time to look for a calendar-”

“Wait! Where’s my brother?” He forcefully asked again, harshly cutting him off.

Stan caught the pained expression that crossed the guy’s face, and how he tensed up like he’d just been given a particularly hurtful insult. “He’s- fine, but you-” The guy said evasively as he quickly went to fold his arms behind his back in a gesture that Stan immediately recognized.

Stan tuned out whatever he was saying and grabbed onto one of his arms to stop it and see his hand. He let go again once he was able to count the six fingers. “Ha!” He grinned back up at him. “I knew it was you, Ford!”

Instead of returning his excitement though, Ford just looked uncomfortable. “There’s more than one person with polydactylism.”

“Yeah, but what are the chances of more than one being as big of a nerd as you?”

Ford scoffed, with a hint of a smile.

“Hey, so what’s going on anyways?” Stan asked. “You look like...,” he glanced him over, “you look like what people feel when they say they need a vacation.”

He shook his head, still avoiding looking at him. “I’m- I’m- what’s important right now is that this is dangerous,” he said pointing at the ground between them. “You...” he seemed to flounder a bit. “I do not know how to fix your current situation.” He said each word just a bit too carefully to sound normal.

“I only just got here, I don’t wanna go back right away anyways!” He objected. “Besides what’s so dangerous about this?”

“Being in this house is dangerous, in this city. Stanley, you have no idea what’s going on!”

“I asked you what was going on! Look, Sixer, just tell me-”

“Don’t!” Ford interrupted him with a venom that came out of nowhere, and finally looking at him again.

Stan glared up at him. All he’d been doing was just asking to know what was going on. He’d expect Pa to yell at him for stupid questions, but Ford shouldn’t have...

“I’m- I’m sorry.” Ford said, once again glancing away again though now guility at least. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Well, you did anyway.” Stan grumbled, crossing his arms and not looking at him.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He said.

Being suddenly in the future with an older version of his brother should have been fun. “... Why do you keep avoiding looking at me?” He finally asked, pushing back the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

There was a beat of silence... then another. Finally, he saw Ford getting down onto a knee and Stan looked over at him where Ford had put himself back to be at least close to his same eye level.

This close, Stan could see the purple tint of the veins under his eyes. “Stan.” He said, looking straight at him. “It- It is terrifying that you’re here like this.”

“What? Why?”

Ford paused. “Because... the longer you’re here the more likely something bad is going to happen to you. As an adult, you would be able to protect yourself, if you were on guard. Sometimes even then- even then you shouldn’t be here.” He cleared his throat, continuing. “As a child, without your usual strength, if you encounter...” He started hesitating.

“What? What is it?” Stan asked earnestly. “Hey, if you don’t tell me what it is then I’m not gonna know it when I see it. Is it like a monster?”

“... yes. Yes, it’s like a monster.” Ford looked down. “You were- I was going to ask you to take some of my research away, but then-” He looked back up, and gestured at him.

“Wait a second.” Stan said. “Okay, first off that doesn’t make any sense. Second off though, where am I?”

Ford blinked. “Oregon. We’re in Oregon.”

“No, no I mean the older me that’s here.”

“That is you. You are you. Wait-” Ford paused, confused. “I mean, there is no ‘older you’ because the older you turned into you right now.”

“That clears up nothing.”

“I am very tired, give me a moment.” Ford covered his eyes, then blinked hard. “Alright. Some magic sigil reacted with you and turned you into a child.” He finally said, gesturing at Stan at the end.

Stan glanced over at the boots that had been too big for him. “Oh.”

“Precisely.”

“Okay uh, how do I turn back then?” Stan asked, looking back at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck.”

Ford halfheartedly laughed, pushing on the floor to stand back up, and stumbled just slightly, grabbing onto the counter top for balance.

Stan watched him for a second. “Are you okay...?”

“I’m fine, I’m just tired.” Ford said. “Listen, Stanley, I need to go check on some machinery downstairs. Can you stay?”

“Why can’t I just come down with you?” Stan asked.

“Because- because the magic sigil tis downstairs and I don’t know yet what would happen if you got near it again.” He said, lying badly.

“Uh-huh.”

Ford let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Just stay here, and whatever you do don’t go outside and if you hear anything or anyone outside then yell for me right away.” He told him, beginning to walk off, and abruptly stopping to turn back towards him again. “And- Just please, promise me if you even think you hear something you’ll get me.”

“Jeez, relax, I promise.” He waved him on.

Ford hesitated, but left quickly moving down the hallway.

He didn’t know how long he’d take, but hell this gave him time to look around to figure out what the monster was.

#my fics #c:paranoid ford #c:kid stan #I'm Just a Kid au #fictober #virthiefictober #fictober19 #writetober #gravity falls #i was in a bad mood and i wrote which helped my bad mood #but didnt make for a good fic #should have done a different kind of fic #this was not the style for me tonight

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moviestorian · 5 years

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Queen on Fire - Live at the Bowl 1982 concert (Hot Space Tour) LIVEBLOGGGGGGGG

As promised! :) Initially I was supposed to go directly from Montreal to Wembley, but dear @his-majesty-king-mercury convinced me to do Live at the Bowl before, and I’m glad she did!

Background: The concert is dated at June 5, 1982. As I wrote in the title, it was part of the Hot Space tour and was initially supposed to be played at Arsenal Stadium in Highbury. A day before the gig Freddie had a nasty fight with his then-boyfriend who had bitten him between a thumb and forefinger.

Let’s begin! - ugh Hot Space - but hey, it's gonna be fun! It's Queen, and Queen always puts the bestest live shows! - oh wowzie, this is mah first liveblog since April, long time not seen right? - my pizza's ready, my coffee's ready, my dip is ready - I think I can start watching now - Ooo wow, this concert lasts an hour and 43 minutes? I would die if I had to play on stage for that long - I can already feel the enthusiasm!!! The ENERGYYYY - FLASH AAAAAAHHH AHHHH - they're leaving the plane and look so hella cuuute - oh hi Crystal! oh hi Phoebe! Great to see you all! - gotta say... Freddie's outfit is fabulous. - Brian: plays the guitar and jumps the Crowd: HELL YEAH - I'm only 3 minutes in and my current mood is: fuck the critics whoever trashed Queen and disrespected their music skills - WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU - I love the fast version, slaps 100 times harder than the studio version - Deaky looks awesome in blue, I mean I already noticed that when I watched Rock Montreal, but let me reiterate - It's only been 5 minutes but let me tell you...not enough zooms for Roger - Freddie's in a good shape and form... not that I'm surprised - ROGER - cute red little scarf on mah boi's neck - THE FIRST FREDDIE AND ROG INTERACTIONS, I LIVE, I'M HAPPY - "hello everybody" "hey hey hey" good time to miss Freddie - Action This Time... Anyone surprised that it sounds better live than on the album? - ROGER'S VOCALS HOTDAMN - Brian's hair is floofy as usual... why am I acting like it's an unusual thing - I really really miss hearing Freddie and Roger together... POWER DUO - the synths get introduced... I neither love nor hate it tbh - okay not Queen related but the pizza is not bad, for a frozen one - Freddie, you feeling too hot for that jacket? And you Deaky, too? Get undressed, babes, I certainly don't mind - Play the Game! I love this song... Also Freddie playing on a piano is a blessing to us all - He really puts his soul into this one... Bless this man - Brian's backing vocals always sound so soft... My tenor angel - THANK FRICKING GOD THE SYNTHS IN THE BACKGROUND ARE BARELY AUDIBLE - LOL FREDDIE - he put a towel on his head I'm XDDDD what a legend - this and the famous plastic bag is a thrilling saga - AAAAA YOOOO - LMAO at Freddie throwing his...water?beer? at the audience - *Hot Space apologist speech* :P - we're at the funky part, I guess... - Brian and John's synchronized movements :)))) - ah okay it's Staying Power... I forgot what the song sounds like - Roger in black... I'm swooning - Roger has a nice closeup view on Freddie's butt, I mean back :D - This is not bad, but I'm gonna bet that I'll forget what this song sounds like again in less than two hours - John's haircut is cute and adorbs :D - OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO - Somebody to Love!!!!!!!!!!!!! - The intro...sounds so sublime, soft, and raw at the same time - I love that it sounds slightly different, depending on the concert - This is really emotional... We shall see how it goes, but so far it surpasses even the god tier Montreal version! - Forgive me for not saying too much now... I'm fully sunk in the sheer beauty of this sincere performance - Love Roger's drumming and the crowd clapping to the beat! - "I like it" ME TOO FREDDIE - I wish we could hear Roger a tiny bit better! I love the crescendo part - That was beautiful :') - Now I'm Here!!!! asjgashasashjgas - I love it when they perform it at higher speed - The jumping crowd fairly represents what my brain cells currently look like - I hella love Roger's drumming in this song - well not just this song but y'know - Freddie...what was that??? WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THAT FINGER??? - hehe you can tell that Brian's very into it :D - Brian trying to get Roger's attention... Rog is, however, fully dedicated to his drums :D - Freddie lying down after the song is a post-exercise or post-dinner mood - "Let's play a game" YES SIR - yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah - "Go pretty boy, go" I'm SOFT - hear that bassline? YES ME TOO - (it's Dragon Attack if anyone's wondering) - Freddie Mercury: lead singer AND fitness instructor - wish I could make some screencaps, alas I'm watching this online so it would take too much effort so here we are - Fred, let BRIAN PLAYYYY nooo don't distract him! - out of context those cuts and shots look like John is jealous of Freddie and Roger XDDD this is gif and meme worthy (around 39 minute) - btw probably no one is interested because you came here for the Queen concert liveblog, but I got my period and I'm starting to feel it - IT SUCKS - ooooo Brian speaking! His voice is so soothing, I could listen to him all day and it would probably calm my nerves - acoustic guitar...I'm already in - WHY SO QUIET THOUGH - Love of My Life, I'm cry - Everyone's singing along from the very first line... this is beautiful - Everyone united by this song's pure beauty :))))) I'm not crying you are - Do you sometimes think about Brian playing the acords for this gorgeous track and there is no Freddie sitting beside him? - Yeah, I hate myself for that thought too - I might be a little bit emotional - No wonder it was this particular song was the one that finally convinced Bri's father to FINALLY accept his son's career - Brian's gentle smile I'm :') :') :') - *clap clap clap clap* SAME - We're at Save Me now... Are we doing a crying compilation or what? - This is almost as bad as the Queen Forever album I recently bought.. TOO EMOTIONAL - Don't get me wrong, I ADORE Save Me - But this is too much - Almost 50 minutes in and Freddie's voice is still STRONG AS A BELL - Remember what I said about the "fuck the critics" mood? Yeah the mood is back - Even the cute Roger/Freddie interaction almost makes me cry I'm agsahjhsAAAAAAAAA - I need a more lighthearted now BLEASE - I'm a tough cookie but when I have Queen feels very little can help! - Is this Back Chat? OH GOD - Please bring me back to the crying mode, I DIDN'T MEAN THIS - (I'm sorry Fidan and all the Back Chat fans over there, I'm not a huge fan of this song :-*) - We get a nice view on Roger's back, though *Lenny face* - The synths sound like a main theme for some mystery-drama tv show from the 1980s XDDD - I forgot how long this song is... - Get Down Make Love *insert Lenny face again* - Okay I gotta admit... lyrically this song is a mess and borderline cringey in the first verse, but I really like it musically - I GIVE YOU HEAT - I GIVE YOU MEAT *three Lenny faces* - Okay, let's just listen to the song and pretend we all forgot the English language, maybe? - That mid parts always makes me feel like I'm about to be abducted by aliens - Thank God I don't do drugs, I would start thinking I might be hallucinating - I assume that Brian's guitar solo starts now? - Nice intro! - And Roger gets time to breathe, the boy needs his oxygen - Actually, this may be one my favourite of Brian's guitar solos? - Brighton Rock :))))))))))))))) - Brian's hands are very pretty - oh noooooo - an error? - poor Bri - that disappointed guy who screamed "No" when the guitar stopped playing :D - thankfully he issue quickly got solved! - hi Roger, nice to see you back <3 - It's Roger's time to shine! - YEs, Under Pressure! - The Montreal version is gonna be hard to beat, though - Let's see - uu I like Fred's red jacket! - ...do you have any shirt underneath, though? Naughty boi - he does not LOL - "HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH" - let me tell you again...Roger's mic is definitely not turned loud enough - This is great but still, I prefer the Montreal one - That beer always amuses me XD - Freddie, you want us to slap your ass? - Oh no, he's just announcing Fat Bottomed Girls XDDDD - "I was just a skinny lad" the editing team: cuts to the camera angle which shows Brian first and Freddie after him - Roger's "oooh" is funny because he's really into it :D :D :D - Freddie is now a pole dancer, he changed profession - The crowd, always cheering when Freddie gets undressed :P - I sense Crazy Little Thing Called Love incoming! - yes it is Crazy Little Thing! - Freddie's joke about the three guitar cords XDDD - This song always slaps - "she drives me crazYY" - ReAdY fReDdIe - FREDDIE PLS STOP FCKING YOUR GUITAR - this is pretty - BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY YEAH - he sounds so soft :)))) - and now so raw - "Momma UwU" - can't unsee this fricking meme now ajsdhjgdhjds - My favourite guitar solo :')))) - they actually played the video??? - I miss spaniel haired Deaky tbh - *instense drumming* *fireworks* - Oh Brian is wearing this cool shirt he also wore in Montreal! - jumpy Deaky...too bad you can onnly see him from the distance - GONG - that was sexy - Roger hitting that gong in the black outfit is sexier than shirtless Rog hitting the gong, change my mind - TIEE YOUR MOTHER DOWN TIEE YOUR MOTHER DOWN - There's only some 15 minutes left... The time always passes so quickly when I'm watching a Queen concert - Another One Bites the Dust! I've been waiting for thiiiis - Deaky: happy jump - He knows it's his time to shine - wait a second, when did Roger change his shirt? - I need a good closeup - Freddie be like *imma slap my thigh now* - ooo I see Roger's Japanese shirt now! It's pretty cool! - Brian looks great too - Those flashing light are kinda migraine-inducing, thankfully I don't have an aura today - SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER heartattack - Looks like Freddie is flirting with Red Special :P - they're going absolutely crazy XD - WE WILL ROCK YOU DRUMLINE INTENSIFIES - LOL the sombrero on Freddie's head :P - ups mr editor dropped a frame - And now we're truly heading towards the end... I'm gonna start associating We Are the Champions with farewells soon - Well done, boys - I know I say it every single time - But you can't stress this enough - :)))) I'm glad I did this liveblog - They look exhausted but very satisfied :))) - Bye bye!

Next time I’ll be doing Wembley 1986, hopefully soon!

Tagging all the people who expressed their wish to read my ramblings. :) Enjoy!

@his-majesty-king-mercury, @x5vale, @radio-ha-ha, @mephisto92, @39-brian, @melisa-may-taylor72, @silapril, @kitty-rushes-in, @lydiannode, @an-abyss-called-life, @litsy-kalyptica, @importantmuggoophero, I hope I didn’t forget anyone! ^^ Comments are nicely welcome! :3

#wera talks queen #liveblog #milton keynes 1982 #queen at the bowl #long post

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pretty-rad-arson-dad · 5 years

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Controlling Shock

Okay, so a few warnings for this one: It’s kinda fucked up, so if your sensitive to the topic of torture, even if it’s not intense torture, I recommend you not read this, or take caution while reading this. If you are also disgusted by yanderes or obsessive behavior, I also suggest caution.

Another thing, this was written some time before the release of The Fourth Closet, so this is not only old (Hence the somewhat cringy writing) but also some things won’t exactly add up. (Wording it like this as to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn’t read it and desires to do so, cause it’s a pretty big fucking spoiler). This was also my first time writing something like... This, so it might not be the best.

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Knock. Knock. Knock.

"William? Are you home?"

Henry stood outside his business partner's two-story house, sighing impatiently. William had told Henry to meet him here at 10:50 AM and he had been waiting out here for thirty minutes now.

Perhaps I could open the door?

Henry shrugged and figured he'd give it a try. The brunette placed his hand on the knob and turned it. Much to his surprise, the door actually opened.

Well, surely William wouldn't mind?

Taking a deep breath, Henry stepped inside the house and gently shut the door behind him.

"William? Are you home?"

Still no response.

Henry sighed and walked down the hall and peaked his head into the living room. Surprisingly empty. Usually Michael would be sitting there watching his weird vampire soap operas but now there was no sign of him.

Henry made his way into the kitchen, thinking that perhaps William had gotten so caught up in today's newspaper that he had completely drowned out the rest of the world.

But he wasn't in there either.

Henry checked everywhere. Everywhere except one room that he hadn't ever gone in.

William's study.

Henry opened the door to the study, only to be greeted with a large room that lacked of people. He nearly turned around and left, but there was an itching curiosity that took hold of him and it was telling him to look around. Henry tried reasoning with himself that it was just a study and that there wouldn't be anything interesting in there, but that small and curious part of him urged him to go on in.

So he did.

Henry entered the study and cautiously walked around. It was pretty decently sized and loaded with books of all kinds. Henry looked curiously at these. There were some on anatomy, robotics and others on history, even recognized some Shakespeare. Henry couldn't help but chuckle as he recognized some of the books he himself had gifted William back when they were younger. Amongst these was One Thousand and One Nights and The Phantom of the Opera.

Henry chuckled some more as he thought back to their high school years. While Henry had been more of the bookish and creative type, William had a thing for dramatics and entertaining people, hence why he was part of the theater group. William had played the role of the Phantom for his first school performance. He played the role quite well and later admitted to Henry that he had never read the book. So, as a graduation gift, Henry had bought it for him.

Henry smiled and shook his head at the thought. He remembered how ecstatic William had been about the gift.

Henry removed his hand from the book's spine and turned towards a desk that was located in the back center of room. He walked towards it and looked down at the contents that lay out upon it. Sketches and designs for possible animatronics. Henry picked them up to examine them a little closer.

They were oddly designed in both appearance and in features. Voice replication? Storage compartment? Scent lure?

Henry thought about it for a few moments, confused as to why William would find these to be useful features for robots, but ultimately decided that they actually were practical. They could use the scent and audio to help sooth an upset child who was feeling scared or had been separated from their parents. And the storage compartment could be useful for storing the spare parts for that particular animatronic.

What a brilliant mind Afton has, Henry thought to himself. He set down the sketches and looked at a few of the other things on William's desk. He also had a few pieces of merchandise from their first location, a bobble head of Albert Einstein and a journal.

Henry's eyes settled on the journal.

He cocked his head to the side as he looked at it. There was an lock on it, suggesting that this was a private journal at that it was for William's eyes only, but the lock was undone and hanging openly off its clasp. Henry thought for a moment about perhaps looking at the journal, but part of him was saying that this was a bad idea and could ruin the friendship that he and his business partner had. The other part of him was giddy with excitement at finding something in this seemingly boring room that was perhaps interesting after all. As the man thought, he didn't realize that he had already picked up the journal and opened it. Or maybe he did and his itching of curiosity had increased enough that he no longer cared.

Henry started to read the pages.

At first, they were actually rather boring and slightly silly, full of mundane things and dumb discussions the two of them have had. Henry wasn't sure why but it surprised him to see his own name in there. They were best friends, after all. But there was also something else in there that shocked him and made him smile a little. The amount of innocent admiration for him that William had poured into those pages. William would go on for pages about how great he believed Henry was and how happy he was that the two of them were friends.

'For the first time I believe I've finally found someone who I can be myself around. Someone who understands me and someone I can look up to!'

Henry continued reading, realizing some things he had never known about them or their lives. He couldn't help but smile.

Until he reached a certain date. The date of the car crash that had nearly taken his best friend's life.

August 1, 1982.

It was from this point on in the journal that Henry noticed a change in William's entries. They seemed less cheerful and seemed to focus more on his failed marriage, Michael's rebellious behavior and just bad things in general. Up until January 1st of 1983.

The entries shifted from William's own family to Henry's. This would've been fine if it was expressing concern or showing innocent adorance. But this was different.

William was speaking about his family in disturbing detail. Cursing the name of Henry's now ex-wife, a strange envy of his late daughter Charlotte and a weirdly loving admiration towards his also dead son, Sammy. There was some stuff about Henry himself as well. But, just when Henry didn't think he could be more confused, he found Afton's disgusting confession.

He had been the one who had abducted Sammy.

Henry nearly gagged as he read about how he had tortured his poor son to death. It was in great detail.

Now any normal person would've thrown the book down and got the hell out of there, but Henry wanted answers.

So he kept reading, completely unaware that it would get horrifyingly worse.

Henry felt himself get more and more nauseated as he read on about how he murdered Charlotte in the alleyway and left her there. And then eventually... The five children that had gone missing in 1985. But what terrified Henry the most was the things that would come after these morbid and in-depth accounts of murder.

Obsessive writings about Henry.

The man would ramble on about how much he cared about Henry and talk about how he had followed him and stolen a few personal things from him so he could keep them as reminders of "all their time spent together." There was also talk of the dead children being "their family."

But what finally made Henry decide he needed to leave was his own name scribbled all over a lot good portion of the sheets along with a few other unsettling things .

But most importantly, how William loved him.

Henry slammed the book closed and made a wreching sound. His heart was racing and his head was spinning. He felt like he was gonna puke.

I need to get the fuck out of here and call the fucking cops!

But one thing Henry wasn't expecting was someone showing up. And he certainly wasn't expecting the heavy object hitting him in the head.

The next thing Henry remembered was waking up. His head was pulsing with a dull ache and he couldn't move. With some coaxing, he managed to open his eyes and look around. He was in a dark room and his arms and legs were bound to a chair.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Henry shouted. His voice came out horse and raspy.

"Shhhhhhhh. You'll hurt your throat." a familiar voice said. Henry looked around in a panic and the person chuckled. "Oh Henry~. You seem scared~."

"W-William, let me go!"

Chuckling, the English man came forward from the shadows. "You know, part of me prefers you unconscious." he said. "You look so peaceful like that. Not trying to fight or scream." William gripped Henry's chin harshly and leaned down to his eye level. "However, if you were unconscious, I wouldn't be able to look into those beautiful eyes of yours." he mumbled. His face was uncomfortably close. Henry could feel William's breath against his face.

William cracked a toothy smile and moved his lips up to Henry's ear.

"I can hear your heart beat, darling~" he breathed in the man's ear. Henry squirmed and tried to lean away, but William's firm and almost painful grip on his chin held him in place. "It's a shame that you decided to snoop about." William sighed. "But I'm not mad, Hen—"

"JUST LET ME GO!"

William pulled away, chuckling as he let go of Henry's chin. "Oh Henry~. You know I can't do that~." he purred. "You know too much~."

"William please! I promise I won't tell anyone!"

William shook his head as he walked away from Henry. "I know you're lying, darling. I know you better than anyone."

William grabbed some clamps off a nearby table.

"W-William, what are you—"

William grinned and sparked the clamps. Henry's eyes widened in terror.

"I'm going to have fun~."William slowly sauntered towards Henry, savoring the horrified expression in the brunette's eyes. He could feel his heart racing with excitement. A sadistic smile spread across William's face as he spoke in a low and playful tone.

"It's time for your controlled shock~."

Before Henry could let out a protest, William had attached the clamps to him. Henry threw back his head and screamed in agony as the electricity pulsed throughout his entire body. William pulled them away and looked at Henry, still smiling.

"Are those tears I see~?" William asked in a low purr. "Let me just—"

The scrawny man began to lick Henry's face. "Mmm so salty~." Henry let out a sob as William pulled away.

"W-WILLIAM PLEASE! YOU NEED HELP YOU NEED—" William cut him off.

"NO!" he shouted, clutching the clamps tightly in his hands. "I'm sick of having to hide these feelings, Henry! I love you! I love you more than anything and anyone!"

"THIS ISN'T LOVE!" Henry screamed. "THIS IS JUST SICK! YOU'RE SI—"

William gritted his teeth and shocked Henry again, causing him to let out another pained scream. This surge was even worse than the last.

"No... You're the one who's sick, Henry. But don't worry. I'm going to cure you~!" William said, tears running down his face, his twisted smile returning. "And once you're cured, we can be happy together~!"

The clamps were withdrawn a second time, allowing Henry some time to gasp and sob. He looked up at William, his expression pleading for mercy despite it being hopeless.

"You're eyes truly speak of life~." William purred. "They're the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen~."

Henry squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, causing William to let out a low growl. "Look at me, Henry." When Henry didn't comply, William shocked him again, causing Henry's eyes to fly open and roll back. He began to convulse and drool.

This pain... This pain was the worst.

William removed the clamps and set them down before grabbing a fist full of Henry's hair and pulling his head up.

"Look at you... Even more defenseless and weak than usual~." he purred, licking the drool off of Henry's face. "I've been wanting to get you like this for quite some time now~."

William's licks quickly became soft kisses. Henry's head hung limply and his eyes were glazed and empty. He could barely process any of William's words. His body felt weak and he could hear his heart pulsing in his head.

But he was wide awake.

"Hmm... It seems I may have turned the voltage up too high..." William hummed, studying Henry's expression. "However, that means I get to spend some more quality time with you without the struggling and screaming~."

William gently ran his hands across Henry's chest, feeling him. "Your so well defined~." he purred, worshipfully caressing the man's belly. He looked down at Henry's crotch before looking back up at his drained face. "But I wonder what it must be like down there~."

Henry let out a groan of disapproval at the idea William was possibly presenting. He'd be screaming if he could.

"No. I must restrain myself." William mumbled to himself, casting down his eyes. "Now isn't the time. That will be later." He looked back up at Henry before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Michael should be home any minute, love. I'll prepare something and bring it down for you." he whispered, pecking Henry's cheek before getting up and leaving.

William quickly made his way up the stairs and locked the basement door behind him.

"Dad, I'm home!" Michael called, walking up to him. William said a quick hello before making his way to the kitchen.

"How was the trip?" William asked, turning on the stove.

"It was okay." Michael replied.

William made a noise of acknowledge as he grabbed a pot and filled it with water before putting it on the stove.

"Don't you think it's a little too early for eating dinner?" Michael asked.

"I'm hungry and didn't eat lunch." William said, grabbing a box of spaghetti and opening it.

"You really need to eat." Michael mumbled.

William hummed as he watched the pot

"Seriously, dad, what will you do when I move out?" Michael asked.

"You make it sound as if I don't eat unless you remind me to." William said, pouring in the noodles once the water began to boil.

"Well sometimes that really is the case." Michael replied. "Anyways, I'm gonna go catch up on The Immortal and the Restless, so I'll be in the living room if you need me."

William smiled and nodded as Michael walked out. But he wasn't smiling for his son. He could care less about him.

All that mattered was the roboticist in his basement.

#Willry #Helliam #yandere #fanfic #Henry makes an oopsie and finds out his friend is insane

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triciaisonline · 5 years

Text

A(N ESTIMATED ) TIMELINE FOR SHERLOCK

PLEASE NOTE: John’s Blog and the show contradict each other at times, in these cases, the show will be taken as canon. In times where the show contradicts itself, if other media cannot solve the mix up, then estimates based on what makes the most real world sense will be used to find an answer.

ADDITIONALLY: I don’t want to get flooded with everyone's headcanons for things where estimates had to be made; but i greatly welcome canon information that might have been missed or ( ie: The Game is Now Escape Room ) have been unable to experience. I also do not consider interviews with cast and crew as reliable sources for the most part, as these answers have also changed throughout the years. It will only be given consideration if nothing else contradicts it and was said without the air of taking the mickey out of us as many interactions with fans have. They like to say things just to get us going. So I consider this less of a word of god and more of a word of the clown.

BIRTHDATES

DATES OF MAJOR EVENTS

NOTES

TL;DR

SOURCES

THIS VERSION IS THE REBLOG FRIENDLY VERSION OF A TIMELINE MADE ON MY OTHER BLOG ( SEE TAGS )

BIRTHDATES:

SHERLOCK HOLMES: January 6th, 1981 ( stated in The Casebook ); making him younger than the actor playing him. However, this does conflict slightly as Sherlock states he was nine years old when Carl Powers drowned, and the article claims it was in 1989, which places his birth in 1980 instead. This was before they gave Sherlock a canonical birthdate in any media, however, and for the purposes of this, we’ll be using the casebook age, and claiming Sherlock was either rounding or misremembering due to the fact his childhood memories are not entirely factual. Additionally, the headstone image shown in The Sherlock Chronicles says 1977, but the previous date is the one considered to be Canon. ( See Notes )

JOHN WATSON: unknown, but somewhere in the 70′s. A popular fandate is March 30th. Judging off of the actor’s age, possibly around 1971, but maybe younger as many actors are playing younger than themselves.

MYCROFT HOLMES: Exact date unknown, but he is seven years older than Sherlock, which puts him to be born around 1973-1974. Which makes him canonically younger than the actor playing him. 02/25/19 EDIT: According to sources, Mycroft is given a birthdate in the Escape Room based on the series, October 20th, 1968. While the October date works fine, year for this doesn't fit the "Seven Years Older" claim on the show. The oldest birth date given for Sherlock is 1977 and that would make Mycroft nine years older than Sherlock, not seven. The year given falls closer to Mark Gatiss' actual age, and leaves me inclined to think that perhaps year for the game isn't entirely factual. That being said, there's still no reason he couldn't have been born October 20th. Based on the "Seven Years Older" claim, stated in show, the best guess is October 20th, 1974.

EURUS HOLMES: Exact date unknown, but she is a year younger than Sherlock, which makes her born somewhere in 1982-1983 depending on when she was conceived.

MARY WATSON: Unknown, but based on the actress’ age, likely 1974; but maybe younger as many actors are playing younger than themselves.

ROSAMUND “ROSIE” WATSON: January 2015. We can infer this because based on how far along Mary was at her wedding, Rosie would have been conceived Mid-April, and if she was relatively ontime, she’d be born late January.

DATES OF NOTE:

REDBEARD / THE MUSGRAVE FIRE: Between 1988-1989 roughly; there is no clear indication on the show as to when these events took place. We can only summarize based on what we know about other events. We know that Sherlock "began" solving crimes at age nine ( see below ) due to Carl Powers; and we know that Sherlock had to be younger than ten years old during the events told in The Final Problem. Assuming that the tragic events of Carl Powers triggered something in him, making him take extra notice due to his own past experiences with Eurus and Victor; but still allowing time for all the events to take place and enough time to have passed for Sherlock to have rewritten the story so completely in his head where he can be suspicious but not fully triggered; I'd place him as seven or eight during these events.

THE CARL POWERS DEATH: 1990

*see notes for Sherlock’s birthday

UNIVERSITY: Sherlock attended the same school as Sebastian Wilkes in the early 2000s. Exact years, and if they were at school for the same duration of time is unknown; but he last saw the man roughly eight years ( if Wilkes can be trusted for accuracy ) prior to The Blind Banker, which would be somewhere in 2002/2003

SHERLOCK AND JOHN’S FIRST MEETING: January 29, 2010

CASE: A STUDY IN PINK: January 30th, 2010

CASE: THE BLIND BANKER: March 23rd-March 27th; inferred by Sherlock deducting the incorrect date on Wilkes’ watch and the on-screen passage of time.

Sherlock traveled to and from Minsk sometime between the events of The Blind Banker and The Great Game; based on the dates given, as well as the close air dates of the two episodes, it’s to be believed that Sherlock left and returned from Minsk on March 28th. This is also made plausible due to the funding Sherlock seems to have for himself, his impatience and the fact that it is a three hour flight each way.

BAKER STREET BOMBING: March 28th; evening

CASE: THE GREAT GAME: March 29 - April 1st; we know this based on both the blog posts and Sherlock updating his website with the case answers. However, the blog post was edited from the original date of April 6th after it’s initial publication. The reason for this is unknown.

DURATION OF SERIES ONE: January 29th, 2010 - March 29th, 2010: three months exactly.

MISC: John and Sarah go to New Zealand for a week and breakup ( April 2010 )

TRIP TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE ( A SCANDAL IN BELGRAVIA ): September 15th, 2010

IRENE MEETING: September 15, 2010

BAKER STREET CHRISTMAS PARTY: December 25th 2010

IDENTIFYING IRENE’S BODY: December 25th, 2010

IRENE REVEALS SHE’S ALIVE: December 31st, 2010

JOHN PUBLISHES THE CASE: March 12th, 2011;

We don’t know the exact amount of time transpiring between New Years Eve and this point. Based on his track record, it’s likely January 15th is meant to be the date that Sherlock is told Irene is in Witness protection ( John seems to publish immediately, regardless of how tasteful it might be to reveal details of recent cases ). This gap would cover everything from Irene arriving at Baker Street, Sherlock going to the airfield, him beating Irene at the game, and saving her in Karachi. It’s likely, considering how erratic Sherlock is by early March with no cases, that the day John tells Sherlock the lie, is around late January / early February. Allowing Sherlock enough time to have done all of this as well as get riled up in time for Baskerville, which had to have occured before March 16th

CASE: THE HOUNDS OF BASKERVILLE: Early March 2011; by best estimates given as John doesn’t take too long to post his accounts of the events, and he had already finished typing up the case prior.

BASKERVILLE CASE POSTED: March 16th, 2011. This is also the same date Moriarty hacks John’s blog with a video of him inside of their flat. Suggesting he’s already free from his interrogation shown at the end of The Hounds of Baskerville.

The dates surrounding Sherlock’s death and The Reichenbach Fall are highly questionable as the episode, the blog, and logistics for certain events all contradict each other. Joe Lidster, who wrote John’s real world blog, has comically said that Moriarty hacking the blog gave it a virus that messed with the dating system, as a tongue in cheek explanation. Meaning if we were to take that as fact, all the dates in the blog could be false. The newspapers shown in the episode, have dates that suggest different things. I’ve chosen the one which makes the most sense, based on the news reel clip on John’s blog, the statement that he went to therapy three months later, the school holiday schedule for the abduction of the Ambassador’s children and several other people’s attempts to sort this all out. An alternative version can be found here.

MORIARTY’S ROBBERIES: Late March, by best guess. Possibly a bit earlier.

MORIARTY’S TRIAL / RELEASE: April 2011

MORIARTY’S PLAN TO RUIN SHERLOCK: June 12-June 14th, 2011

MORIARTY COMMITS SUICIDE / SHERLOCK FAKES HIS: June 14th/15th; the 15th is the more commonly believed date.

JOHN CONFIRMS ON HIS BLOG: June 16th, 2011

JOHN VISITS SHERLOCK’S GRAVE: Mid/Late June 2011

TOTAL SERIES TWO DURATION: March 29th, 2010 ( The Pool ) - June 2011. Fifteen Months / One Year and Three Months

SHERLOCK DISMANTLES MORIARTY’S NETWORK: June 2011 - Late October / Early November 2013

MARY MAKES HER FIRST COMMENT ON JOHN’S BLOG: April 20th, 2013

JOHN POSTS OLD CASES: April 2013 - October 5th, 2013

WEBISODE ( MANY HAPPY RETURNS ): October 5th, 2013

SHERLOCK RETURNS: Late October / Early November 2013

JOHN ALMOST BURNED ALIVE: Guy Fawkes Day, November 5th, 2013

CASE: THE EMPTY HEARSE / #SHERLOCK LIVES: November 7th, 2013

JOHN AND SHERLOCK’S VARIOUS CASES: November 2013 - May 2014

Another case of Blog vs Screen; John and Mary’s wedding invites are shown throughout The Sign of Three with the date May 13th, while John’s blog states it was in August. The blog is deemed incorrect in this case, as well as his entries about the cases Sherlock reads at the Wedding

ROSIE WATSON IS CONCEIVED: Mid April 2014

JOHN AND MARY’S WEDDING: May 13th, 2014; ( see above note about The Sign of Three )

His Last Vow has the opposite problem as the series finale prior, in which next to no dates are given. We only know the dates at the end of the episode. Just that the events of John getting restless, Sherlock using again, Magnussen visiting, Sherlock being shot, Sherlock leaving early to confront Mary, Sherlock leaving to confront Magnussen, John confronting Mary, Sherlock being taken to Hospital again and being released all happen between May 13th and December 25th, 2014. It can take a couple months for gunshot victims to be released from Hospital, depending on the severity. Applying Mycroft Rules and Television Rules we know that Sherlock likely didn’t stay the time a regular patient would have. Knowing Sherlock he would have wanted out as soon as possible. We know John and Mary were at odds for a bit, reconciling on Christmas. Plus there needed to be time for Sherlock to fake date Janine, John to reach the level of restlessness there was and get Charles’ attention. So these next few dates are estimates. The majority of the scenes shown in episode are out of order and happen in two time periods, before Mary’s revealed and Christmas Day.

JOHN BREAKS INTO THE DRUG DEN / MAGNUSSEN VISITING BAKER STREET: September / October 2014

SHERLOCK GETTING SHOT: September / October 2014

SHERLOCK SNEAKING OUT OF HOSPITAL TO MEET MAGNUSSEN AND MARY: Early/Mid October 2014; presuming based on deleted scenes depicting a Sherlock who was unable to move for a while in recovery that this was maybe days or weeks later when it was deemed safe to wake him up from medically induced coma.

JOHN CONFRONTING MARY: October 2014 ( same day as above )

SHERLOCK RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL: Mid-December 2014, inferred by how the family and friends act as if it was more recent while at the Holmes’ family home.

SHERLOCK SHOOTS MAGNUSSEN: December 25th, 2014

SHERLOCK BOARDS THE PLANE / MORIARTY’S VIDEO GOES LIVE: December 31st, 2014 / January 2nd, 2015; the show itself provides two different accounts of this. Mycroft states in His Last Vow, that Sherlock was in holding for a week, placing the scene at the tarmac in Early January 2015; however, the introduction to The Abominable Bride places the scene with onscreen text in 2014 still. The only way both can be remotely accurate is if Mycroft is rounding up, and it’s December 31st, 2014.

DURATION OF SERIES THREE: Fall 2013 - Winter 2014; just over one calendar year.

CASE: THE ABOMINABLE BRIDE ( REAL WORLD ): December 31st, 2014 / January 2nd, 2015 ( see above )

The first scene of The Six Thatchers, along with the real world scenes of The Abominable Bride and the final scenes of His Last Vow are the same day.

SHERLOCK IS ACQUITTED OF CRIMES: December 31st, 2014 / January 2nd, 2015 ( see above )

ROSIE WATSON IS BORN: Mid/Late January 2015, assuming she was relatively on time.

ROSIE WATSON’S BAPTISM: March / April 2015; based on many modern traditions, the baby’s age and the style of clothing worn by the attendees.

The Six Thatchers covers the majority of one calendar year, no exact dates are given but we can surmise things based on the shown development of Rosie Watson ( whom we know to be a year old by the end of The Final Problem ). Rosie is shown to have full head support and movement before Mary dies, which is something that happens around six months. This would mean Mary’s still alive around June 2015. Allowing for time in which Mary is on the lam, leading to the aquarium, the following are my best guesses for events.

MARY IS MISSING: Summer 2015 ( how long she was gone for is unclear )

MARY IS BACK IN LONDON: September 2015

NORBURY SHOOTS MARY: October 2015

SHERLOCK RECEIVES MARY’S VIDEO / JOHN’S LETTER: Late October. 2015 / Possibly Early November 2015

CASE: THE LYING DETECTIVE: Possibly Mid-December 2015 / Early January 2016

Another case of ‘we don’t know how long’; we know Sherlock returns from hospital on his birthday, but the dates in between are unclear. Nor do we know how long John and Sherlock didn’t speak for. Sherlock would have needed a major detox, as well as treatment for his injuries. Based on the timeframe, it’s unlikely he attended any form of inpatient rehab outside of whatever the hospital had on location due to his injuries. Possibly due to either Mycroft pulling strings, or the more likely, Sherlock refusing and signing himself out when able.

We also know that the jump from The Lying Detective and The Final Problem can’t be too long. Even though Sherlock has had a magical recovery from all ailments between episodes, it’s extremely unlikely that John sat on the ‘I was almost killed by your secret sister’ tidbit for a few weeks. Meaning these episodes likely happen very shortly after one another. It also feels unlikely that Eurus would make herself known to John and then wait weeks/months to then begin acting out again once the secret was revealed.

JOHN AND SHERLOCK’S REUNITING: January 6th, 2016

JOHN’S FINAL THERAPY SESSION WITH EURUS: Somewhere between January 6th - January 13th 2016; assuming he went about once a week.

CASE: THE FINAL PROBLEM: January 13th, 2015 - January 20th, 2016; presuming John was able to tell Sherlock after ( not knowing how long he was knocked out for ); and allowing Sherlock and John some time to figure out their next move. This would also cover the attack on Baker Street and the entire event on Sherrinford Island.

ROSIE WATSON’S FIRST BIRTHDAY: Mid/Late January, 2016

OTHER NOTES:

The Entire Series spans six years.

The Sherlock Timeline runs one year behind real world time, with the show’s episodes in universe during 2016, aired in January 2017

Sherlock Holmes would be 29 in A Study In Pink, and 35 by The Final Problem based on the Casebook date. 30 and 36 by The Carl Powers age. and 33 and 39 by The Sherlock Chronicles age. All would make him younger than Benedict Cumberbatch, born 1976.

An incorrect headstone, as seen in The Sherlock Chronicles would make sense with the fact that until The Lying Detective, John states he never knew his birthdate. Which, had his tombstone had it, would make little sense. Providing an in universe reason for this odd lack of knowledge on John’s part. Perhaps John merely guessed? Maybe Mycroft knew he wouldn’t want it known, so they put a fake date? Especially as Mycroft knew he was alive. Otherwise, this is just another plot inconsistency --- which, I’m getting quite tired of.

We don’t know when Mary and John first met, but we can infer they’ve known each other about a year from dialogue in The Six Thatchers when John is attempting to propose.

Alternate timelines surrounding The Reichenbach Fall sometimes claim the following dates: Sherlock Testifies: May 9th, 2011; Moriarty is freed and visits 221B: September 20th, 2011; The Kidnapping: November 19th, 2011; Sherlock Falls: November 20th, 2011. This comes from a couple on screen newspaper clippings; but they are contradictory to the stated three month interval stated. It’s up to fans to decide which version they feel is more accurate.

More of a musing, but it’s kind of interesting how many times John immediately runs to the internet to share the details of really recent cases fresh in the public’s mind; in contrast to Watson’s monologue in The Abominable Bride about how careful he is to avoid doing that very thing. Which is even funnier if you view it through the long standing canon lens of John is an Unreliable Narrator

TL;DR:

SERIES ONE: January 29th, 2010 - March 29th, 2010

SERIES TWO: March 29th, 2010 - June 15th, 2011

SERIES THREE: November 2013 - December 2014

SERIES FOUR: December 2014 - January 2016

WEBISODE: October 10th, 2013

SPECIAL: December 2014

SOURCES:

AO3 META / SHERLOCKOLOGY / JOHN’S BLOG / SHERLOCK ( WIKIPEDIA ) / THENORWOODBUILDER @ TUMBLR / BAKER STREET WIKIA / SHERLOCK FAN FORUMS / THE CASEBOOK ( BUY / FACTS ) / THE SHERLOCK CHRONICLES / MOLLY’S BLOG / SHERLOCK’S WEBSITE ( official site no longer live, information reposted from various sites listed above ) / CONNIE PRINCE WEBSITE / SHERLOCK: THE GAME IS NOW

#TRICIA MAKES A THING*#TRICIA WRITES*#MY WRITING*#TIMELINE*#AN EXERCISE IN BREAKING MY SANITY*#WELCOME TO MY MISERY*#Sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #SELF REPOST*#repost from deductivereason

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dubsdeedubs · 6 years

Text

An Outreached Hand [4/?]

Summary: On a cold winter’s day in 1982, Stan Pines shows up at his brother’s door with two cats tucked in his jacket and no heartbeat in his chest.

Notes: A sort-of Ghost Trick AU, but requires no previous knowledge of that whatsoever to read. Not exactly for Stanuary anymore, but started as something for it!

feat. mistakes, miscommunications, and misunderstandings

[AO3]

Additional things for comprehension’s sake:

the ghost world shows up in ghost trick - it's a place outside of time where spirits hang out, where they're visible and can communicate with each other or with living creatures/people through thought. they can also choose their appearances based on their personal image of themselves.

(to people who have played through ghost trick: had to change it up a bit because no one has the power to go back 4 minutes before death in this verse. not yet, at least.)

i'll be in japan for the next two weeks, however, so it might take a while for me to get the next part written ;; wish me luck!

Ford lays his brother's body down, gently on the single battered couch of the living room.

After a long moment of hesitation, he leans over and shuts Stan's eyelids with two trembling fingers. Something about the cool waxiness of the contact makes Ford's skin crawl and his stomach twist sharply.

He glances up slightly, force of habit, and his brother's face is right there. That's when he realizes with slow-mounting horror that Stan's expression is still contorted in agony, frozen into a final silent scream.

you did this

- and Ford jerks away, staggering back a few steps with his eyes shut tightly, as if he could physically block out what he had just seen.

His foot slips, and he lands painfully on the wooden floor. The room is quiet except for the sound of his own ragged breathing, and it is as Ford sits there - eyes still clenched closed, heart hammering in his chest - that he remembers the book he still held tightly in his shaking hands.

The book he had killed his brother for.

When Ford looks down at his journal, he sees his own horrified expression reflected back at him.

Despite himself, he's reminded of the furious betrayal that had contorted Stan's face, back during their fight. When he had reached out for the journal and Ford hadn't known what to do, when Ford had said the first thing that came to mind that would make his brother stop - something he had more or less meant, to some degree and in some circumstances and maybe with a few dozen stipulations.

That he had ruined nonetheless.

Because he had said it, but he had also used it.

that was low

And now his brother was -

Was.

He hadn't shed tears because of, for Stanley since the night it all began.

There are emotions that Ford has been building up for ten years now, all dammed up in some deep and distant part of him that - he tells himself - doesn't need to regret. Every ignored uncertainty and suppressed thought, of where is he and is he alright and could I have done something, slipping and sliding over each other for an entire decade. He's avoided them for so long that he has wondered if they were even still there.

He's not wondering that anymore.

Sitting on that dusty wooden floor, clutching the journal so hard he thinks his fingernails leave dents on the cover, Ford begins to cry.

He recalls the night Stanley left, the desperate hope in his eyes until Ford shut the curtains on him in more ways than one. He remembers being so desperately happy to move into his first college dorm even though there was no privacy at all and his roommate claimed to be able to speak in tongues, because it had become impossible to sleep in his own room without the rumbling snores of his brother slumbering in the bunk bed below his.

And then, even before he realizes it, he's thinking about the months of paranoia and fear. Of waking up one day splattered with blood he hoped desperately was his, and deciding finally that he couldn't take anymore.

That there was just one person who would understand, who would realize what he was really asking. Who could help him in this one final way.

And, how wrong it had all went.

He doesn't know how long he's there, just that the tears coming down his cheeks don't seem like they'll ever stop. It's difficult to find a reason to do anything else.

And then, he hears a quiet mew.

Ford looks up, and his heart breaks.

With everything that had happened downstairs, he had almost forgotten about Stanley's cats.

But there they are now, padding over with a strange kind of synchronity, staring between him and the body of their owner with innocent, oblivious curiosity.

Before Ford can think to do or say anything at all, they lie down at the foot of the couch. One - Mabel, he thinks numbly - bats playfully at the limply hanging hand, entirely unperturbed by the lack of reaction.

They didn't understand.

Of course they didn't, Ford chides himself.

For all Stan had doted on them, they were still just animals.

"Hey," he says, and is startled to realize how rough and gravelly his voice has become from his earlier breakdown. "Come over here, kids."

They turn to look at him at once, and for the first time he notices their slit pupils, how their green eyes glint so vividly yellow in the shine of the light.

Ford scrambles backwards, terrified despite himself.

don't even think about it

He stops, rooted right there to the spot, and watches nauseously as the cats clamber easily onto the couch with their nimble feet and then, to perch on Stanley's unmoving form.

The cat, Dipper, settles in right on top of Stan's chest, inches away from where his face is still contorted in pain and fear, eyes open and staring into nothing. It blinks down at Ford, its large eyes flickering.

Then it lets out a single mournful wail and - Ford knows it's not at all logical, that the animal mind is limited, but he thinks it knows what he did.

He doesn't know what to do. Some entirely senseless part of him wants to beg for forgiveness.

Instead Ford says, "Kids, I'm right over here."

Before he can even begin to process his own words, the cats turn to stare at him as one.

A beat later, Mabel leaps down, and there's something very deliberate about the way it pads over to Ford, with a searching look that did not belong in the eyes of a cat.

Ford's mouth goes dry. He wants to crawl backwards and away, to get up and run, to do anything so he does not have to be here. But he's rooted to his spot by a potent mixture of guilt and terror, and even as the animal nudges him with its furry head, he can only stare.

That's when his hand reaches out of its own accord and scratches behind Mabel's ears in a smooth, familiar motion.

The way the cat reacts to it, with a satisfied purr and a languid stretch of its back, it's clear it has happened many times before.

"Sorry about the scare, pumpkin," his own mouth mutters. His expression is twisted into a wry grin that feels alien on his face.

Ford's breath hitches in his throat.

It's familiar, this nauseous sensation of being a passenger in his own body, the startling loss of control that came with being used.

All at once, he understands what's going on.

He jerks his hand away and scrambles back before landing painfully onto his own elbows, gasping for breath. Ford turns his head rapidly, up and left and right, as if he could find what - who he was searching for through sufficient repetition.

He isn't sure how he didn't notice earlier, but the world looks different, as if every shade of color had been drained from it to be replaced by a flat monochrome filter.

you've really scre - messed things up this time, huh sixer?

There is something strange about the Mindscape as it is now, with an odd blue tinge that infused every part of his surroundings. But there is nowhere else this could be, this place between physical reality and the incorporeality of thought and dreams.

And with that, there is only one possibility for who this is.

Ford pushes himself onto his feet and stands up, back straight and defiant.

"Bill."

There's a long, almost offended pause.

yeah, nope

and guess what

"That was low, Ford," his own mouth says out loud, in a voice that isn't his. "What you pulled back there, bringing up Dad. That was real da - arn low."

And just like that, it becomes hard to breathe.

Oh. Oh.

He knows that voice, knows it better than his own.

He - he hadn't expected this. His thoughts muddle up like oil paints, impossible to turn into coherent words.

"Stanley," Ford croaks, slow and disbelieving. He feels at his own chest frantically, as if he can find some evidence there of what is currently happening. "But you're - you're dead."

"I've been dead, you dingus."

"You - you're a ghost," he stutters, horrified realization spreading through him slow and raw. "You're possessing me right now. Speaking through my body."

"Yeah, well. Not like mine is an option now, considering what you did to it."

Ford flinches at the reminder.

"I didn't -" he tries, takes a deep breath. And another. "Stanley, I didn't mean to -"

"- You didn't mean to fake that apology?" Stan retorts acerbically, using Ford's own mouth. It's an odd sensation, cutting himself off. "Or you didn't mean to brand me?"

"No! Yes! I - I wasn't lying, Stanley. I meant what I said, I just -"

"- used it to get the upperhand?" His brother laughs, and the unhappy sound of it ricochets around Ford's eardrums like a bullet. "Look, Ford, if ya wanted me to actually believe that you meant what you said, you really shouldn't have gotten that kick in."

Ford goes quiet for a long moment. When he finally opens his mouth it's to say something he has needed to say for a long time.

Stan beats him to it. He stretches widely in Ford's body, lazy and long. Like he's trying to get comfortable.

"But I get it," his brother says casually. "You did what ya had to do, right?"

No, Ford can't say.

"So now, I'll do what I have to do."

There's a darker tone to his brother's voice now, one that makes his heart sink. "You cost me a body, Sixer. Seems like you should give me a hand." He wriggles Ford's hand to demonstrate his point.

"...Or, y'know, a bit more than that."

There's something familiar about what Stanley is saying, that twinges at some part of his memory that he had long tried to forget.

And just like that, it clicks.

Then it's a deal. From now until the end of time, Sixer!

"No," he says immediately, staggering backwards despite himself, unable to hide the fear in his voice. "No."

Stan takes over, easy as anything, and stands their feet flat and still on the wooden floor.

"...See, Ford," he says, all matter-of-fact. "The thing about that is, I'm not asking."

The worst thing is, Ford knows that.

With the level of control Stan could already exert over his body, even against his own direct will, there is no doubt that... if his brother wants to take over entirely, he can.

There iss nothing Ford could do about that, not without anyone else's assistance, not with nothing in the house with anti-possession powers - other than the sigil that had started this entire mess in the first place.

And maybe - it would serve him right, he thinks guiltily.

His actions had damned Stan to a short, miserable existence. It was only a matter of time before he was driven into mindlessess by an obsession with whatever he desired most in life, as all ghosts did.

And once that time came, Ford would have much bigger concerns than just being possessed by the spirit of his dead brother.

(Because he remembers easily the glinting anger in Stan's eyes back during their fight, the barely suppressed menace his brother had emanated from the moment he had arrived on Ford's doorstep.

He has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly what Stanley wants - and what's more, who he wants it on.)

At least, those are the clear, logical thoughts he wants to have.

Right now, Ford is nowhere near them.

Instead, he's thinking - remembering - about the months of fear and regret, the experiences that had taught him how it felt to have his body puppeted by a sadistic force of nature.

(What would make this any different?)

Despite himself, he starts to tremble.

That's when he hears a voice - high, indignant, and... scolding?

Stan, stop messing with Uncle Ford! Can't you see he's high... hype...

The speaker breaks off sheepishly. Uhm, breathing really hard?

Just like that, Ford's body is his again.

He turns around slowly, hesitantly, and freezes.

Because - he's losing his mind.

He has to be, because there are two children sitting on the floor of his living room who certainly were not there before.

A little boy and a little girl, their cheeks round with baby fat, neither of them looking a day over twelve years old. They are... not identical, but close, enough so that they had to be directly related. The two have the same nose and face shape and build, and most of all, the same unruly brown curls that stuck up in gravity-defying tufts at the back of their heads.

...The same Pines curls. There is no ignoring that, no matter how much Ford tries.

Because there's an obstinate expression on the girl's face that is entirely, painfully familiar. There's a distinctive gap in her teeth.

For a moment, Ford thinks he's looking at Stanley Pines, age 10, from a reality in which his brother had embraced glitter as a fashion accessory.

She must had been the one who spoke, he realizes.

(Even though he knows that is not quite the right word for it. There is no sound transmitted from any point to another. It's... all thought and emotion and intent, in a way that he knows what has been said without hearing it.)

And the boy, with his oversized square-framed glasses and bomber jacket, looks just like himself as a child - eerily so. The only difference he can see is an odd pattern on the child's forehead, what looked to be a particularly prominent birthmark. He's staring at Ford with wide disbelieving eyes, as if Hanukkah had come early.

Ford wants to cry and laugh at the same time, because this is exactly what this day needed to become even stranger.

Kids, that - that was a joke, I swear, Stan says just a bit petulantly, in that same not-quite voice.

There's something about him now that feels entirely different from earlier, when he had been speaking through Ford's mouth. Softer, looser.

A bit more human.

We all know you have awful jokes, Stan, the boy grouses.

Yeah, don't think we forgot about the ketchup rat!

...Point taken. But trust me, I really don't want to stay in here any longer than I have to.

He can practically see the grimace on his brother's face. Feels like it's been two weeks since this body's last had a shower.

There's nothing wrong with that! Sometimes I don't groom myself for two weeks, the boy offers, in what seems to be an ill-thought attempt at defending Ford.

His sister scoots away from him immediately. Hey!

You're a pre-teen boy. End of story.

....Ford is entirely, uncomfortably lost.

At the very least, it seems his brother did not have immediate plans to co-opt his body and/or murder him in any particularly painful ways.

Perhaps, given his shift in personality in the presence of the children, not even at all.

And, the strange thing was, he knows he has seen this before. Not exactly, not even close. But the easy way that his brother had relaxed, his cold, violent anger dying down to something he could almost call grumpiness, and all because of the presence of those -

Kids.

That's the realization that sparks everything else. The pieces are all there, even if reality and logic is standing in their way.

But what place did sense and reason have in the events of the past few hours? How did they hold here?

"You're Dipper," he says blankly, eyes locked on the birthmark on the boy's head. "The cat, Dipper."

The boy fidgets. Um, yes?

"And - " Ford turns, even though most of him is currently undergoing a mental breakdown. "You must be... Mabel?" Even his own words sound ridiculous as he hears them. "You were the one that - nuzzled my hand, when we first met -"

Aww, Uncle Ford, you remembered me! The girl beams brightly.

Then her eyes widen in realization. Hey, I got, uhm, 'fine motor controls' now! I can shake your hand for real!

Even with the unreality of the current situation, Ford flinches automatically at the suggestion.

"I," he begins, taking a hesitant step backwards, already instinctively moving to hide his hands behind his back, "I don't know if that's a good idea -"

Mabel reaches out a small hand excitedly.

Six-fingered handshake? She asks, wiggling her fingers. All six of them. Ford can't help but stare. They're the best kind!

His words catch in his mouth.

"How do you have -" Ford says weakly, and changes his mind. "Why do you have six fingers?"

The girl blinks. Why not?

There's something about the matter-of-fact way she says it, that makes his mouth goes dry.

Shake your niece's hand, you dork.

Slowly, dazedly, he shakes her hand.

Their fingers slot together perfectly, in a way that Ford had never experienced before. But then again, he had also never shaken hands with another person with six fingers before. With the strangeness of the circumstances, however, he has to wonder if this particular situation counts.

He can't help but stare down, at how her small hand is so entirely enveloped in his slack grip. It feels entirely, terrifyingly solid.

See? The girl says excitedly.

Ford does. It means more to him than he's comfortable admitting.

Despite that, or much more possibly because of it, he lets go and withdraws his hand hastily.

"Stanley?" He asks frantically, looking around and then to nowhere in particular.

Yeah?

"Why - how are your cats human?"

Easy. They're not.

It is possibly the worst answer his brother could have given.

Ford sits down. Takes a breath. Covers his face with his hands.

"Explain."

#gf #gravity falls #ghost trick #gravity falls fic #stanley pines #stanford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #my fic #return of the cats!!#they're the light of my life #(and of stan's unlife)#ford is both terrified and confused

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juniorformulamotorsport · 6 years

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Monday, 17th September 2018 – Day 1, Kiev

Finding myself in Kiev for a 2-workshop and meeting session with the rest of the 12-strong team I am part of, the London contingent (two of us) were on the ground and in our hotel about 3 hours ahead of everyone else, so with the dispensation of our lovely manager, we didn’t have anything to do until the others showed up. With that in mind, and arriving on a gloriously sunny afternoon, I persuaded my colleague that we really, really needed to go out and do some sightseeing. It was too good an opportunity to waste. Based in the Park Inn hotel, right next to the Olympic stadium which is now home to Dynamo Kiev, we were well situated to walk to the main attractions of the city centre.

Armed with the Lonely Planet guidebook to Ukraine, and a free Kiev map from reception, I now knew where we should aim for, and so cameras in hand, we walked up towards Taras Shevchenko Park initially, along Velyka Vasylkivska Street and over to Lva Tolstoho Street, admiring the variety of architectural styles which ranged from Stalinist flats to turn of the 19th/20th Century blocks with fabulous decorative features, some of them more “foreign” looking than others.

We also encountered the first of many, many terraces which seem to be attached to every restaurant no matter how basic or how grand. Later some of us would come to think these might not be such a good idea, for a variety of reasons, not least the prevalence of both cigarette smokers, and for that matter, shisha pipe users, mostly young women, who seemed not to care how far and wide the awful perfumed fumes spread from the damn things!

We also found the first of many, many murals, usually beautifully done, and covering the entire end walls of numerous buildings around the city. These apparently sprang up everywhere after the 2014 revolution and the plan is to have at least 200 of these instances of street art. There’s even a map of all of them.

This was also roughly the time we realised that crossing the road can be something of an adventure in Kiev. The traffic is heavy, and despite the crossing lights counting down how long you have to cross, and making it very clear that you are allowed to cross, car drivers still try and come round the corners and carry on regardless. You have to adopt a very determined demeanour and trust you’ll survive! Fortunately for the viability of the local population the really big road junctions have underpasses, complete with doors which I assume are especially necessary in the winter to stop the tunnels filling up with snow. The result is a number of underground spaces, full of ad hoc shops, selling all sorts of stuff you never wanted, or in fact never knew existed.

We survived the crossing to the park, and found quite a few things to amuse us. Temperatures were in the high 20s, so pretty much anyone with nothing better to do was perched on the benches in the cool shade of the trees. And the thing is, the benches themselves came in all manner of shapes that can only be described as playful, with no one bench the same as its neighbour. There were fountains, and flowerbeds full of marigolds, and statues of course, including this rather splendid – if rather gloomy – one of Mr. Shevchenko, the multi-talented national poet himself (which probably beats Austrian nymphs on plinths into a cocked hat).

It’s a very busy place, with all sorts going on, and with cafes and coffee shops and pretty much the entire student body of the university across the road sitting talking, dancing, playing music and generally living life outside. Even late in the evening it remained busy (as we discovered later in the week). We continued up Volodymyrska Street, passing the rather fabulous Taras Shevchenko Ukrainian National Opera House on the way.

The Golden Gates of Kyiv (Золоті ворота) were the main gates of the 11th century fortifications of Kyiv, the capital of Kievan Rus’, and were built between 1017 and 1024 (6545 in the Byzantine calendar) at the same time as The Cathedral of Saint Sophia, which was where I was keen to get us, was built. The whole thing was demolished in the middle ages, and was completely rebuilt by the Soviets in 1982, presumably entirely from their imaginations, because there are no images of the original gates available. The whole rebuilding was extremely controversial, and I did wonder why people were visiting it apart from out of curiosity. Hopefully, they don’t think they’re seeing an historical structure.

It was shortly after this that things started to get weird. Across the square from the gates we found this.

It’s part of the same initiative as the murals. It’s all part of the “ArtUnitedUs” iniative, which is the biggest urban street art project in the world. The hedgehog is a monument to a cartoon, “Hedgehog in Fog”, which was produced in 1975, and it’s the work of the Kyiv Landscape Initiative. The claim is that in 2003 a survey of 140 cinema critics and animators declared it the best cartoon in the history of animation. How true this is, I have no idea, but it seems reasonable. And it certainly wasn’t the only odd art work we encountered. There was a cat made out of white plastic forks (by Constantin Skretutsky)…

And also, in the grounds of Saint Sophia’s cathedral, a squishy piece of work (by Beata Korn) that has a sign asking visitors not to cuddle it. You can see why because it’s oddly irresistible. This is part of the art-project “3D.Public Art” and if you can read Ukrainian, then you’ll know a lot more about it than I do!

We had enough time to investigate the cathedral, but not the rest of the “territory”, so handing over a very small sum of money, we went in. I wasn’t allowed to take photos, which was a shame, but understandable. To give you a taste, I’ve found this on the Wikipedia page for the cathedral.

The building work started somewhere around 1011, and it was founded by the Grand Prince of Kievan Rus’, Vladimir the Great, and building has 5 naves, 5 apses, and 13 cupolas, which is not normal for Byzantine churches. it has two levels of balconies on three sides and it’s full of the most stunning 11th century mosaics and frescoes. I can only imagine what it must have looked like when the mosaics were new, with gold everywhere, and paintings on pretty much every surface. The Kievan rulers were buried here, and the grave of Yaroslav I the Wise is still there.

It has suffered substantial damage more than once, and the hands of Andrei Bogolyubsky of Vladimir-Suzdal in 1169, then the Mongolian Tatars in 1240. By the time that Poland and Ukraine were trying to unite the Catholic and orthodox churches it had pretty much fallen into ruin. Repair work was finally undertaken in 1633 by the Italian architect Octaviano Mancini in what is known as Ukrainian Baroque, at least on the outside, while still preserving the interior art.

Its fate was in the balance again in the 1920s, when the Soviet government wanted to destroy the building (a fate that did befall St. Michael’s Golden-Domed Monastery on the other side of the massive square from Saint Sophia’s). It ended up being re-classified as an architectural and historical museum, a function that it still fulfills now. In a side area there is currently a display of some of the art that was saved from Saint Michael’s prior to its demolition. There was also an interesting work made out of thousands of Ukrainian pysanky eggs, highly decorated Easter eggs. The work, a depiction of the Virgin Mary in the cathedral, is by Oksana Mas, and is made out of something in the region of 15,000 eggs, all different. It’s really impressive, and it takes the eye a moment or two to realise that it is actually made of individually painted eggs.

Back outside we admired the bell tower, which, like those we saw in Finland, stands separate from the main body of the church. It’s beautiful, and apparently affords some fine views over Kiev. We didn’t think we had time, though. I took a few photographs, and bought a guidebook before we left to head back to the hotel to meet up with our colleagues.

The park was still buzzing, and the roads were as lethal as ever. I did spot another of the rather fine murals as we were walking along, and if/when we get back (there’s a suggestion of a repeat visit in Spring) I want to see how many of the 200 works I can find.

We were back at the hotel by 18:00, after a couple of hours of nosing around, and I know my impression of the city was pretty positive already, though I was slightly startled by the presence of a bagpiper outside the Metro station opposite the hotel. It wasn’t that he was playing an instrument most people assume to be Scottish, because I know enough to know that it’s a very common instrument worldwide (after all, it’s really just a bag with hollow pipes), it’s just that I’ve tended to regard the playing of bagpipes as an act of war! The Ukrainian version is called a volynka, and originates in the Carpathians.

It remained to be seen what else we might find, as we were due to be taken on a short tour by our Ukrainian colleagues at 18:30. Sadly, the Danes had fallen victim to a taxi driver who had misunderstood his instructions, and they were now on a misguided tour of the city as he tried to find his way through the rush hour gridlock back to the Park Inn from the Holiday Inn. By the time they finally made it in the door, it was dark outside, and the place we were headed for was close to closing. At least the two of us had seen something of the city.

Travel 2018 – Day 1, Kiev Monday, 17th September 2018 - Day 1, Kiev Finding myself in Kiev for a 2-workshop and meeting session with the rest of the 12-strong team I am part of, the London contingent (two of us) were on the ground and in our hotel about 3 hours ahead of everyone else, so with the dispensation of our lovely manager, we didn't have anything to do until the others showed up.

#2018 #Arts #Cathedral of Saint Michael #Cathedral of Saint Sophia #Cathedrals #Churches #Europe #History #Kiev #Museums #Sightseeing #Taras Schevchenko #Taras Schevchenko Park #Travel #Ukraine

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Will Tony Rob Feech La Manna’s Card Game in The Many Saints of Newark?

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David Chase hates it when sloppy pop journalists tag The Many Saints of Newark as a “Tony Soprano (James Gandolfini) origin story.” This is a gangster movie about Dickie Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola), the father of Christopher (Michael Imperioli) on The Sopranos. But we will get to see the first steps the future boss of the DiMeo family takes towards crime. We know young Tony (Michael Gandolfini) made his bones on the murder of Willy Overall on Labor Day of 1982, from the episode “Remember When,” but it’s doubtful the film will go that far in the timeline. That being said, it doesn’t mean Tony didn’t have to pop someone as a tax on past misdeeds.

There is no mention of the character Feech La Manna in the Many Saints of Newark IMDb page, but there are enough wise guys listed as characters to fill in the blanks. There is honor among thieves, at least when gambling, and the first thing the young punk Tony did which got him noticed was rob a room of criminals. Not just any game, either. It was run by one of the most respected standup guys in the Tri-State area, and parts of Sicily: Freech LaManna. He was so much of a legend he had to be played by a legend.

Robert Loggia is cinematic gangster royalty, and it goes way beyond telling Al Pacino not to get high on his own supply in Brian DePalma’s Scarface. He followed that one with the lesser-known mob masterpiece Prizzi’s Honor (1985), made by the iconic director John Huston. Loggia’s first film role was as street level mob associate Frankie Peppo in Somebody Up there Likes Me. That 1956 film, which starred Paul Newman as Rocky Graziano, was based on a book the middleweight boxing legend himself wrote, and was fairly accurate on street crime. Loggia personally was so tough, when Bill Maher said he thought Independence Day was stupid, on his old show Politically Incorrect, the actor convinced him to change his opinion. All it took were the words “what do you mean?”

Michele “Feech” La Manna was equally mythic. Tony says it himself. The old-school gangster was made in Italy, came to America in the 1950s, and settled in on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. The DiMeo crime family was under the leadership of Ercoli “Eckley” DiMeo at the time. Feech ran gambling and bookmaking joints, and was in the same class, but in a slightly better league, as Giovanni “Johnny Boy” Soprano and Corrado “Junior” Soprano (Dominic Chianese). He also had a bakery and catering company on the side which did so well that Paulie “Walnuts” Gualtieri (Tony Sirico) calls him “The King of Breadsticks.” Feech quickly became a caporegime and had a fearsome reputation. But his real street cred came from his friendly Saturday night card game. It was a high-stakes, VIP event, and he ran it with style and humor, and was very hands on.

The Sopranos’ Best End Credit Songs

By Shawn Laib

How The Sopranos Changed TV Analysis Forever

By Shawn Laib

Jackie Sr. and Tony would have robbed Feech game’s sometime between 1978 and 1979. According to the myth, sticking up the venerated game proved Tony and Jackie had balls, and solidified their status as rising stars. By all rights, Feech could have had them killed. Jackie’s older brother, Richie Aprile (David Proval), was a good earner, and a high-ranking soldier in the family. He intervened on his brother and Tony’s behalf. Tony’s father and uncle were capos in the DiMeo family. Johnny Boy probably had to go into his own pocket to make things right with Feech.

The major takeaway of the card game stickup was that nobody died, and Feech was repaid at least some of his money. But the point had been made. These were street legends in the making. It doesn’t go the same way when Ralph Cifaretto (Joe Pantoliano) tells the story to the future generation of mob wannabes. Ralph thinks he never moved up the ranks because he wasn’t part of robbing La Manna’s card game. When Ralph tells Jackie Jr. (Jason Cerbone) and Dino about it, he makes it sound like such an easy entrance to mob life they try to make history repeat itself.

They target a card game run by Eugene Pontecorvo, a member of Ralph’s crew. They smoke crank before the stickup to get up the nerve, and go through with it even though Christopher and Furio Giunta (Federico Castelluccio) are at the table, and the card dealer, Sunshine, gives them a chance to get out before they get in trouble. Jackie kills Sunshine and shoots Furio in the leg. Christopher and Albert Barese kill Jackie Jr.’s small crew. Furio’s leg wound is treated by urologist Dr. Ira Fried.

It’s a hanging offense for Jackie Jr. Even though he is the son of a former boss. On behalf of Jackie Jr.’s mother, Ralphie asks for a pass for Jackie Jr. But he does have Vito Spatafore (Joseph R. Gannascoli) do the job on the kid. It might have come closer to that for Tony and Jackie than the word on the street. In season 2, episode 3, “Toodle-fucking-Oo,” Richie Aprile tells Tony: “I’m the guy who saved you from the hit parade.” He fills in the details. “Feech was a made man. If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve got a vicious beating, to say the least.”

The legend says Tony and Jackie were on a fast track to being made because of the robbery. It is possible the Willie Overall hit was part of the tax Freech put on the clemency. Aprile’s details might explain why Feech wasn’t so hot to take orders from Don Tony Soprano.

Feech was convicted of RICO in 1984, and sentenced to 20 years. When he gets out in 2004, La Manna returns to North Jersey to find the guy who robbed his gang is now the boss of the family he owes allegiance to. He wants to “get back in the game,” and that includes getting his card game back. Tony agrees, just so long as Feech doesn’t step on anybody’s toes. Feech swears he is a great dancer, and to be fair, nobody’s got moves like his. First, he trims the limbs from under the landscaper who pays Paulie for protection. Then he jacks every car parked for Dr. Fried’s daughter’s wedding, even after being told the doctor was not to be touched.

Tony had already gone through this when Richie got out of jail and pulled a power play. Feech La Manna is loosely based on Bonanno crime family capo Carmine Galante, who tried to overthrow Phillip Rastelli after getting out of prison. Tony nips it in the bud, sending Christopher and Benny Fazio over to Feech’s place with a garage full of hot plasma screen TVs. They are there when his parole officer comes by and Feech goes back to prison.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The Many Saints of Newark will be released in theaters on October 1, and will be available on HBO Max for 31 days from the theatrical release.

The post Will Tony Rob Feech La Manna’s Card Game in The Many Saints of Newark? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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tkmedia · 3 years

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Daily Bread Mailbag: Lomachenko, Charlo-Castano, Stevenson-Herring, More

The Daily Bread Mailbag returns with Stephen "Breadman" Edwards tackling topics such as Vasilliy Lomachenko's big comeback win, the upcoming unification between Jermell Charlo and Brian Castano, the record of Artur Beterbiev, Shakur Stevenson vs. Jamel Herring, and more. I’ve asked you in the past about the best wins in boxing. You’ve gone on record stating you believe that Duran’s win over Leonard is the best win in boxing history. But I wanted to ask a slightly different question: What are some fights you think would’ve surpassed that win if it had gone the other way? I know that might be a very broad question, but I’ve been pondering it for a while. One that I can think of that might have an argument is Pryor-Arguello. If Arguello had beaten Pryor, he would’ve been the first four-division champ ever… am I remembering that correctly? Could that have been one of the best wins if it had gone the other way? I also wonder about Hopkins-Trinidad. I know Trinidad was the favorite for that fight, but what if he’d won that one? What are some other what-if big wins you think of? Greg K. Bread’s Response: If I said Duran W over Leonard was the best in history then I was typing too fast. What I meant was it could possibly be the best win in history. It’s high up there. It's among the best. As is Leonard over Hearns1. Ali over Foreman. Frazier over Ali1 and Armstrong over Ross. Along with Duran over Leonard 1, those are most likely the 5 best wins in boxing history. If Arguello would have defeated Aaron Pryor in 1982 he would have won 4 titles before Leonard in 1988, Duran in 1989 and Hearns in 1987. It would’ve been huge. To defeat and undefeated top 10 P4P fighter the caliber of Pryor in his prime would have been amazing and no doubt a top 10 win in boxing history. If Tito would have defeated Hopkins it would’ve been something. Tito’s “off night” vs Oscar would have dismissed as an off night. Hopkins had been champion since 1995 and considered an excellent fighter. It would’ve also been for 3 belts the WBA, WBC and IBF. I don’t know if it would’ve been bigger than Arguello over Pryor but it would’ve been huge. Because for as great as we view Hopkins now, in 2001 he had not received the respect he has today from the boxing community. Hopkins WIN over Tito is actually bigger than Tito’s hypothetical win over Hopkins. If Pernell Whitaker would have gotten the official decision over Julio Cesar Chavez then it would have simply been the best win of the 90s. It’s a shame Whitaker didn’t get the official verdict. I saw your comment about Sha’Carri Richardson and I can’t help but to think she was set up. Marijuana is legal in the state she smoked in and it shouldn’t be illegal to smoke by Olympic standards. I know you’re a fair dude Bread but we disagree on this. On another topic do fighters get tested for marijuana also? Bread’s Response: First of all yes boxers do get tested for marijuana. In fact there have been fighters who have had wins turned into NC because of positive marijuana results. Let me preface my comments about Ms. Richardson. I would love to see her compete and win. My daughter runs the 100m, 200m and 400m. Richardson is from the USA and I want to see her beat the Jamaicans who have had a strong hold on the sprints. Now what I said is the people are using the WRONG argument to defend her. I would love to see marijuana not be on the BANNED list. But the fact is, it’s on the list and the committee has their reasons why. They believe it slows the reaction time which can be dangerous on the track. They also believe it sets a bad example for younger athletes and it can be used as a MASKING agent for more powerful substances. These aren’t my rules. These are the rules of the testing agency. Ms. Richardson was well aware. The best argument that can be used is that marijuana should not be on the banned substance list. Period. The rule is archaic and it shouldn’t be in existence anymore. The arguments I keep hearing is “keep that same energy yall had with Michael Phelps.” And that Sha’Carri Richardson was SET UP. Those are ridiculous arguments. When you’re wrong. Ask for GRACE. Be accountable and hopefully things work out. First let’s address the Michael Phelps case. Phelps didn’t test positive for marijuana. A photo surfaced of him 6 months AFTER the Olympics smoking a BONG. Phelps was suspended for 3 months and lost sponsorship. He could’ve fought that but he didn’t. There would be no way to prove what was in the BONG despite us knowing and using common sense what it was. Remember it’s not what you know, it’s what you can prove. You can’t compare that to Richardson testing positive a month before the Olympics. It’s just not the same. Remember I want Richardson to win, but we look foolish making WRONG points. At least research before you say ridiculous stuff. When I first read that she tested positive I said to myself maybe she used a topical solution for muscle soreness and instead of having CBD in it, it had THC in it. I was literally making excuses for her because I couldn’t believe the press head lines. To hear her say, she knows what the rules were. She did it because of the stress of her mom dying, there was nothing I or anyone else could say. This wasn’t a MISTAKE, it was poor judgment. When you use the word set up you better be careful. I have seen black athletes put through hard times or be held to a higher standard than other athletes. I have seen injustice. In this case a young lady suffered bad news and she decided to smoke marijuana, despite knowing the rules. In order for her to have been set up the committee would have had to have a hand in her mother dying and/or know that Richardson would smoke to relieve stress. Do you see how ridiculous that sounds? Also illegal and banned have two different meanings. Marijuana is a banned substance. It can be legal in Oregon but it’s banned to use during or around competition. Please stop conflating the meanings. Let’s just hope they remove the ban all together and allow her run. But no it wasn’t a set up. And no this is not the same as the Michael Phelps case. It’s ok to support Sha’Carri Richardson and still hold her accountable. She didn’t use a steroid but unfortunately as of now, marijuana is banned. Hi Bread, Hope you and your family are doing well. My question to you is regarding Loma and his latest fight against Nakatani. During the week leading to the fight, Loma and his team let everybody know that he had an injury in camp, 3 weeks before the Teo fight. Loma's manager said that Papachenko wanted to postpone the fight (which Loma refused), and that Loma's right shoulder popped in the 2nd round after a jab (he only really used his right hand again starting in the 7th round, supposedly when he understood that he would lose otherwise).It was obvious that Loma chose Nakatani to send a message to Teofimo and the world, and God knows that the message has been received !Besides being a "vintage Loma performance", as Tim Bradley said, I have to admit that I've never seen Loma with that big of a chip on his shoulder from the get go (we've seen glimpses of it when he was hit clean/hurt by Linares or Campbell, for example). He started letting his hands go after only half a round of assessing his opponent. It was obvious that his objectives in this fight was to show that he could takeover early (proof that he's learnt from his loss), and to hurt and stop Nakatani. What is your analysis of this fight ? And what do you think are the keys to victory for each fighter in the Loma/Lopez rematch? Thanks and greetings from North Africa. Bread’s Response: I thought Loma looked excellent. But reoccurring injuries are part of the game. This is not the first time Loma has been hurt. I honestly felt he dug so deep in the Linares fight, he hasn’t quite reached that form again since that night. This last performance was very close but Nakatani is too slow and gangly to deal with Loma, so this may be a case of the perfect style coupled with a motivated fighter coming off of a loss. I think Lopez needs to do what he did in the their first fight. Put rounds in the bank and keep the fight at long range for as long as he can. It’s not just height and reach. Lopez is not that much taller and longer than Loma. But he has a more commanding presence from Long range and he has to build points before Loma gets in his groove. This match up could be a case of Jermaine Taylor vs Bernard Hopkins. Where as for some reason it took Hopkins time to break the range vs Taylor. Hopkins is clearly a better fighter than Taylor but Taylor who was excellent just gave him fits. We don’t know how good Lopez will be yet….but that comparison comes to mind. Loma can say what he wants but Teofimo’s sharpness and power bothered him. It takes his body and mind time to warm up to Teofimo. He shoulder probably was hurt. I don’t doubt that. But I also know what I saw. Teofimo came out sharp, mean and forceful. Loma needed time to adjust to that. He didn’t want to get clipped. In this rematch he simply has to find a safe way to break the range earlier and get in his rhythm. It’s not as easy as everyone says of “just start earlier”. Well Teofimo has something to say about that. I think Loma has to work on his quickness in camp and find a way to get his jab working a little bit more. A jab finds rhythms and breaks rhythms. Emile Griffith, not Griffin. Valdes was very underrated. He lost a few early because he had mono and went back to Colombia to get better. I feared him more than I feared Monzon even though Monzon was the better fighter. Valdes often fought to the level of his competition. Bennie matched up well with taller guys because of his jab, which was almost like a straight left and tall guys were not ready for it and had trouble getting accustomed to it. Valdes should have been in Canastota by now. There are guys in there who don't have his credentials but many of today's voters are imbeciles. Bread’s response: Thank you for the correction. The editor’s should have caught my mistake, lol. I love it when my old school readers write in to put me in my place and give me wisdom. I receive it with open arms. Let’s show some love for Rodrigo Valdes who is a top 2 or 3 middleweight of the 70s. I’ve watched a few of his fights and he could go! For some reason he had Brsicoe’s number the Philadelphia legend would have been champion if he could have figured out Valdes. Valdes beat Briscoe 3x and stopped him once. 2x with the title on the line. Hey Bread, Love your work mate and your knowledge and insight on the mailbag each week just a couple of questions firstly on Canelo, although I admire the guy as he is a tremendous fighter, it puzzles me why he has gone on record in several interviews stating he will not face other Mexican fighters in the ring again he obviously has the star power and right to choose to face who ever he wants but I cant work out why? Do you have any ideas? If an American or British fighter said they wouldn't fight one of their own countrymen anymore they would be laughed at. Is it a case of him not wanting to spill Mexican blood on the canvas or some sort of patriotic thing I don't know I think fights with the likes of Gilberto Ramirez or Munguia would be absolutely huge especially on the Mexican holiday weekends! Also everyone seems to think he's going to walk right thru plant if and when the fight gets made but I have my doubts I think this will be one or if not the toughest fight of his career to steal a quote of the first rocky movie This man is dangerous and I think the last piece of the puzzle for Canelo at super mw will be the most risky fight for him. Kind regards! B from Western Sydney Australia Bread’s Response: I never heard Canelo say that he wouldn’t fight a Mexican fighter. I know he’s fought a few in his career, Chavez Jr., Angulo etc. So I would have to read the context in how he said that. Munguia and Ramirez are nice opponents for him but the bigger opponents are Charlo, Andrade, Beterbiev and Plant. Then there is also David Benavidez who is Mexican American and wants the fight. If Benavidez beats one of the fighters I mentioned and earns a shot at Canelo, Canelo won’t be able to use that excuse. Let’s see what happens. I never read or heard Canelo say that. I also believe that Caleb Plant will be a tough opponent for Canelo. Plant is better than Saunders. He’s taller, longer, faster and I believe he’s mentally tougher. I also see that he’s a more dedicated athlete. When you have extreme dedication you are willing to go through more to get the glory because you know you haven't cheated the grind. A fighter who gives his all at all times. A fighter who restricts his diet. A fighter who does all of the little things, will fight through those moments of crisis harder. I believe Plant is one of those fighters. Obviously Plant will have to be better than he was vs Uzgategui and Truax. But I think he will be. Obviously he’s going to have to be stronger and not be bullied to the ropes. But I think he will be. Obviously Canelo has a serious heavybag routine where he punches THROUGH the target and Plant has to be aware of this. But I think he will be. I believe if Plant fights an ON THE MOVE fight. Oscar Valdez just fought one vs Berchelt but Plant has to be less violent than Valdez. Mayweather fought one vs Diego Corrales. Sambu Kalambay fought one vs Mike McCallum in their first fight. Muhammad Ali fought the best one in history vs Cleveland Williams. If Plant can punch on the move he will frustrate Canelo. He’s going to score points. And most importantly, he will force Canelo to burn loads of energy by having to use his OWN legs to track him down. Canelo fights an energy efficient fight these days. His pressure is not like Joe Frazier’s or Henry Armstrong’s. It’s been said that Canelo’s stamina has improved. Well if Plant fights this type of fight, then that theory will be put to the test. This fight will come down to what style Plant decides to fight. There are fights I can see. There are fights I have to wait and see and assess later. Plant’s best chance to win is Stick and Move and not try to hit Canelo with anything big. The harder you try to punch Canelo the easier it is for him to counter. Plant has to throw fast stick punches. Sort of like how Calzaghe punches but obviously in his own form and body type. Jab Canelo's gloves, jab to distract him. Feint him. Move him around. Stay off the ropes. When Canelo presses him if he can’t hold the center, move until Canelo stops pressuring then go back to the center. Forget about the crowd. Just win baby. If he fights that fight. People will be pissed but the WIN for this fight is HUGE. I give you props for telling your truth about the fallout with Jrock. I still think you guys are better together and not apart. The young brother may be lost and it’s going to take some pride swallowing to resurrect the relationship. My question is assuming you aren’t training him, do you think he has a shot at the Charlo vs Castano winner? I’ve always been a big fan of his. I’ve watched several of his fights and that wasn’t him in the ring against Rosario. Bread’s Response: Yes I do think Jrock has a shot at the winner. It basically comes down to a few things. How engaged he is with his new trainer. Traveling to train is a load mentally and physically. If he can find someone to run a productive camp and figure out his body he has a shot. People always say he’s too small for 154lbs which is ridiculous. He’s big for the weight. He may not be the BIGGEST but he’s big for the weight. He has big quads, broad shoulders and a wide back. He’s 5’10.5” with very long arms of over 73 inches. He walks around heavy just like the rest of the guys in the division and he has to cut 25lbs-30lbs just like everyone else. If he finds someone to learn his body and know when to peak him out right, he’s right with those guys. The key is learning his body. He has very low body fat and he hasn’t made 154lbs in a year and a half. He may not even be a junior middleweight anymore. Stylistically he matches up well with both guys. At his best he’s turned in a better performance than both ever have. So his high is higher than their highs have been. The issue is, is his low. He’s also turned in a lower performance than they ever have. The key will be his confidence and a trainer who is open to learning his body. It won’t be easy but far from impossible. Jrock would have been the favorite to beat both if the fights were made after he defeated Hurd. I was going to bet Jermell Charlo but then you brought up how good Brian Castano was an amateur. You were right. He did beat Spence and Devrenchenko. My question is how much do you think amateur success translates to pro success? Bread’s Response: I would say 75% of the time it has a bearing. Usually the best amateurs are the best pros. Over the last 10 years it hasn’t been the case as much but it still relevant. Let’s look back. People consider Sugar Ray Robinson the best fighter ever. The Olympics weren’t as big in boxing in the 1940s. But Robinson was either 85-2 or 85-0 as an amateur. Floyd Patterson was a great amateur. Our best in 1952. And he was one of our best fighters of the 50s. Muhammad Ali was our best amateur in 1960. Well it’s no need to get into what he was as a pro. Joe Frazier was our best amateur in 1964. We also know what he was as a pro. George Foreman was our best amateur in 1968. Again HOF as a pro. In 3 straight Olympics the Gold Medalist and the US’s best fighter turned out to be a HOF. In 1976 we produced 5 Gold Medalist. 3 won titles. 2 became ATG in Michael Spinks and Ray Leonard. In 1980 Donald Curry was best amateur. He went on to be a HOF. In 1984 Evander Holyfield, Frank Tate, Pernell Whitaker, Meldrick Taylor, Mark Breland and Virgil Hill were medalist and turned out to be champions and or HOF as pros. In 1988 Roy Jones, Riddick Bowe, Michael Carbajal and Ray Mercer all medalist all turned out to be champions. Carbajal, Jones and Bowe HOF. In 1992 Oscar de La Hoya was our best amateur. HOF as a pro. In 1996 Floyd Mayweather, Antonio Tarver, David Reid all won medals. All win titles as pros. 2004 we had one Gold Medalist. Andre Ward. HOF as a pro. 2008 Gary Russell, Demetrius Andrade and Deontay Wilder were the best fighters on the Olympic team. They still remain towards the top of their games today. In almost 100 fights as pros they have 2 losses. In 2012 Errol Spence was the best fighter on that team. He’s still the best from the team. In 2016 Shakur Stevenson, Gary Russell and Charles Conwell were the standouts. None of them have taken a loss yet. Stevenson the only medalist is the best so far as a pro. Historically domestically and internationally the very best amateurs have about 75% of the time been our best pros. You do have cases like Terence Crawford who was around the 2008 team. He’s our best fighter overall from that time. Read the full article

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sixmorningsafter · 6 years

Text

SMA Flashback, Maroline

Hey guys, I posted this flashback a while ago on ff.net but just in case anyone missed it or skipped it, it’s going to be pretty relevant to the next chapter, so I’m posting it here, too.

Summary: A surprise visit from Matt leaves Caroline reeling, and Bonnie gets a glimpse of what's been going on behind closed doors. TW: implications of domestic abuse.

Emory University Spring Semester, 2012

It was her fault.

He'd driven all the way from Texas to surprise her. Twelve hours in his rattling rust bucket of a 1982 Ford Pickup, windows down, stereo busted, likely listening to nothing but intermittent flares of talk radio between long, mind-numbing stretches of static. Twelve hours of no air conditioning in the southern humidity, of swampy Louisiana, muddy Mississippi, and balmy Alabama whizzing past him in a russet blur of not-quite-summer.

He'd stopped in Houston to get her favorite tacos from Ultimo's Taco Truck—extra guac, no sour cream—and they'd braved the heat in a dingy little cooler in the backseat. He'd even picked up a bottle of her favorite champagne, a bottle she knew he couldn't afford, because he'd wanted to celebrate: he'd been promoted to manager at the Grill. He could finally make a decent salary, enough to chip in for Vicky's rehab—maybe even enough to get a decent place in a year or two.

So really, it was her fault. Most of it, anyway. Maybe all of it.

She hadn't meant to seem unhappy to see him. She just wasn't expecting it. She'd been in the middle of cramming for her microeconomics final, brow furrowed, highlighter a citrine blur in her fingers, when she heard the knock on the door. Seeing Matt standing there with his crinkly-eyed smile, taco bag in one hand and champagne bottle in the other, made her giddily, soaringly, stupidly happy.

It always did.

But it also stressed her out. Her final was on Monday. She needed an absolute knockout performance to pull off a decent grade in the class, and she hadn't budgeted in Matt time. The tension began creeping in about thirty minutes after he got there, right as the rush of surprise began to fade, and like all of her emotions, it shone bright and obvious on her face.

He'd never been big on school, so the concept of caring about grades wasn't something he really sympathized with. She understood where he was coming from—he was only there for the weekend, she could probably just study Sunday night after he left, what did one stupid class matter in the big scheme of things, in the scheme of them, of their heady, hungry, songs-written-about-it kind of story—but obviously not enough, because it started a fight.

The first one, anyway.

The second fight was different, but also her fault. They were twined in her bed, lolling and lazy, naked skin auroral in the fading glow of the Georgia sunset, and even though they'd just made up, even though their last fight had ended a mere orgasm ago, she pushed a bit. About the job, about his goals, about Wimberley and whether he had any plans of getting out of their tiny Texan hometown.

She hadn't meant to sound pushy, she'd just meant to open up a realistic dialogue about their future and how they might navigate it together, but he immediately went on the defensive. He took it as her belittling his promotion, as her patronizing him and being a snob, and maybe there was a bit of truth in that, really, because Matt was smart as hell and it was hard for her to watch him sell himself so short, but at the same time, if that's what made him happy, she needed to support it, right?

The second fight was worse. A lot worse. It had all its own fire plus the embers of the first one, and it spread far beyond the bounds of its starting point. It spread to old resentments, past fights—to her signing him up for the SAT four years ago when he'd said he wasn't interested in college, to him being high more and more often when they talked on the phone, to Tyler and the time she'd accidentally passed out next to him while studying on her bed, on and on and nastier and louder until their throats were raw.

The sex that followed was different, too. Less 'make-up' and more 'make-a-point'. Bruising grips replaced meandering caresses. Sweet, whispered nothings became possessive growls, demeaning growls, growls of 'you think Tyler can make you moan like that?'. He didn't walk the line between pain and pleasure so much as zigzag it—one second she was on the brink of climax, the next she was wincing and trying to slow him down.

He'd chalk it up to rough sex. He always did, always gave her that baffled look of his, the one that made her feel like a moron for even saying anything. 'Since when is rough an issue for you?' She could never find the words to explain what was different about it, what made it feel like there was spite in his movements, like a part of him was trying to hurt her, trying to show her he could do whatever he wanted to her. So she'd flounder, and with a flare of amusement that screamed of humoring her, he'd concede that maybe he'd still been a little worked up from the fight, maybe he'd lost himself a bit in the leftover adrenaline.

Before he left, he told her, like he always did, that all the shit in his life was worth it if the trade-off was her. That he was sorry about the argument, that he'd start looking into the future, and that ultimately, the only thing that mattered to him was having her in it. She couldn't help but think that it was all said with a glint, though—the smug glint of the benevolent victor, of the person who knew he'd emerged in effortless control of a situation but wanted to seem gracious. It was an apology that had nothing to lose because it'd already won.

But then he pressed his forehead against hers and breathed her in, fingers gentle against her chin, angling her mouth up so he could brush her lips in light, nipping kisses, and she felt herself backtracking. Maybe he hadjust been a little too riled up from the fight—after all, how could someone holding her the way he was now, like she was the most delicate thing in the world, ever want to hurt her? It didn't make sense. Matt would die over hurting her. He was right, she was just being stupid.

He'd driven all the way here.

He'd brought her favorite tacos.

He'd splurged on her favorite champagne.

And she'd started two fights in exchange.

It was obviously her fault.

So why was she sitting alone in her bathtub, nauseated and trembling, unable to stop staring at the marks on her skin? Why couldn't she stop imagining the brief, terrifying flash of satisfaction she swore sometimes crossed his face whenever his mercurial fingers shifted her gasps into grimaces? Why did she feel like her bones were dissolving, like she was slowly caving in on herself one shaky breath at a time? Why did she feel so pathetically, inconsequentially, crushingly small?

The sound of the front door swinging open made her stiffen. "Sorry, guys!" she heard Bonnie's wry voice call out from the living room, and she immediately abandoned the bottle of wine in her hand, straightening up and scrubbing a hand over her face. "I don't want to interrupt the love nest, I just need to grab my—" Bonnie halted in the bathroom door, face crumpling at the sight of Caroline huddled in the bathtub in her underwear, "…curling iron."

Caroline's face broke into a fiercely bright smile. "Hey, girl!"

"Hey." The reply was puzzled, hesitant—Bonnie knew her well enough to know the bathtub never meant anything good. She blinked for a second before casting a glance over her shoulder. "Where's Matt?"

"Oh, you just missed him—he left about an hour ago." Her stare slowly shifted back to her, and Caroline felt her lips struggling to hold her smile. "He said have a safe flight."

Bonnie gave a slow nod, eyes fixed below her face, and it took Caroline a second to remember he'd grabbed her by the neck. Hard. She shot an instinctive hand up to her throat, blocking it from view, and Bonnie's stare flickered. "Care…"

Tears pricked at her eyes and she averted them. "It's nothing."

Bonnie dropped her bag on the floor and approached the tub, and Caroline wrapped her arms around her body to try and hide it, hot with shame, bracing for the inevitable reaction. It came in the form of a sharp intake of breath. "Caroline," Bonnie gasped, stopping about a foot from the tub in shock, and Caroline shoved a nervous hand through her hair.

"It's not what it looks like."

"Like hell it isn't," Bonnie replied, stare raking over the constellation of deep, burgundy bruises spanning her upper thigh in horror, and before Caroline could give another instinctive negation, could throw out a tinny 'I bruise really easily!', could invent some kind of accident that shifted the blame, her phone began buzzing against the sink. Even from a distance, she saw the name 'Matt' flashing on the screen.

Furious, Bonnie surged over to the sink and swiped it up, and Caroline felt her veins flood with panic. "Bonnie, no!"

"Matt," Bonnie hissed in greeting, voice wavering with rage, and she whirled around to look at Caroline. Upon catching sight of her desperate face, however, she froze.

"Please," Caroline whispered, shaking her head no, tears hot against her cheeks. "Just… just not yet." Bonnie held her stare for a long, heart-breaking beat before drawing in a tight breath.

"Hey," she said over the phone, pushing a stiff hand through her hair. "Yeah, I'm okay, I just…" she closed her eyes, running her hand over her face, and Caroline felt her heart racing in her chest, "I actually just got some really shitty news about my mom, and I'm not really sure how to deal with it, and I really need my best friend right now, so I was wondering if you could just talk to her tomorrow."

Her chest loosened in a wave of relief.

Bonnie's stare sharpened slightly, jaw locking. "Yeah, I know she has a test tomorrow." Her lips pressed into a humorless line, fingers tight around the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it." A long beat. "She's in the shower right now, but I'll let he—" she let out a sharp sigh at what was likely an interruption, hand closing into a fist. "Matt. I need my fucking friend, alright? Just give me tonight. You'll survive."

She hung up without waiting for a response and proceeded to shut the phone off. Caroline stared at her hands, unable to bring herself to look her in the eye. Bonnie had always known Matt could be intense—she'd overheard enough of their fights to have a sense for that—but Caroline knew she'd never seen her quite like this. No one had.

She didn't know what to expect. Her skin burned with a paradoxical mixture of denial and shame. Was Bonnie mad at her? Was she mad at herself? Was she responsible for letting it happen, for letting it get to this point? She simultaneously wanted to convince her that it was all a misunderstanding and cry out all of the pent up emotions she'd been hiding, but before she could make a call, Bonnie's arms were around her, pulling her into a quiet, gentle hug.

And that was all it took for her to crack. She didn't know how long she cried. Minutes, hours—time blurred, dusk faded into night, and Bonnie merely sat with her in the tub, stroking her hair and occasionally murmuring that it was going to be okay. When Caroline finally managed to ease her sobs into the occasional hitched breath, she shot Bonnie a watery look.

"I'm s-so sorry."

Bonnie shook her head. "Care, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"No, no, I…" she swallowed, slowly pushing herself up to a full sitting position and letting out a strained little laugh. "This is my stupid melodrama and I dragged you into it and—"

"Caroline," Bonnie said firmly, pushing herself up along the side of the tub with a serious expression, "I don't know what you're going through right now, and I'm not going to pressure you to talk about anything you don't want to talk about. But please, please know," she reached forward to take light hold of her shoulders, giving her a loaded stare, "this isn't stupid. This is the antithesis of stupid. This is completely, heartbreakingly serious, and if he's somehow made you feel like any part of this is a joke, he's lying. The last thing this is is a joke."

Caroline merely stared at her, struggling not to start crying again—God, she was so sick of fucking crying—and before she could crack, she gave a quick nod and cleared her throat. "Can we talk about something else?"

Bonnie's expression softened. "Whatever you want." Caroline kept her bleary eyes on her trembling hands, struggling to come up with a topic, and after a long beat of silence, Bonnie slowly leaned forward. "Did you see yesterday's Real Housewives?"

Caroline slipped into a hoarse laugh. Bonnie hated The Real Housewives. "Orange County or Atlanta?"

Bonnie scoffed. "You know Hotlanta is the only way I roll."

Caroline's lips took on a weak smile. "No, I missed yesterday's." She waved a tired hand, smile straining. "Matt and all." Bonnie nodded, biting her bottom lip, and Caroline let out a shaky sigh. "I mean, I was supposed to be studying all weekend anyway, so… wouldn't have seen them either way."

Bonnie's brow furrowed. "Right, your final's tomorrow."

Caroline sighed, dropping her head against her knees. "I'm going to bomb it, Bon."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do," Caroline said with a weak laugh. "I have twelve chapters left to cover and three of them are brand new."

Bonnie straightened up and checked her watch. "What time's your test?"

Her shoulders lifted into a vague shrug. "Nine."

"Nine," Bonnie repeated, eyes narrowing in brief calculation before she reached back and pushed herself up to her feet. Caroline's brow furrowed.

"What are you doing?"

"Switching my flight," Bonnie replied, stepping out of the tub and heading over to her abandoned bag, and Caroline lifted her head off her knees in alarm.

"What?"

"It's 8:30 now, which means that factoring in the time it'll take to get to campus, we have exactly twelve hours to get you ready to kick this final's ass."

Caroline merely blinked. "Bon, no, you're—" she shook her head as Bonnie fished out her phone and began typing away, baffled, "—you're done with the semester, people are expecting you back home, I can't—"

"Too late—done," she said, lips quirking at the corners, though her brow promptly furrowed. "Actually, should I fly out tomorrow night, or are we going to want to go out to celebrate your slayage?" At Caroline's dumbfounded silence, she nodded, lifting a finger. "You're right—figure that out later. Let's start with reinforcements."

She tapped her phone and brought it up to her ear, chewing her lip. "Lockwood," she said after a beat, "I need you to peace out of whatever party you're terrorizing freshman at and pick up literally every source of caffeine you can find from the 7-Eleven. Yep. Caroline's got a final tomorrow." Her brow furrowed after a second. "Obviously. And sour worms, too. And twizzlers." Her eyes flashed with attitude. "Do not snack shame me." She shot Caroline a 'can you believe this guy' look before turning around and waltzing out of the bathroom. "Oh, and see if the Delts have one of those study bibles for Micro…"

Caroline merely stared at the empty doorway, thoroughly overwhelmed, chest tight, tears once again pricking at her eyes, but this time they were from an entirely different emotion. She was so grateful she could burst. She'd been convinced her night would be her alone in their apartment, dreading the break of day, drinking cheap wine till she finally managed to pass out and forget for a while.

Instead, her night was Bonnie acting out vocab terms through overzealous interpretive dance, Tyler coming up with wildly inappropriate mnemonic devices for all the different laws, a constantly brewing pot of coffee, sixteen different heart-attack-waiting-to-happen snack options, and more five-hour-energy shots than should've been survivable. Tyler passed out on the armchair at about 5 AM, drooling on a stack of flashcards, but Bonnie somehow stuck it out till the bitter end, even going so far as to make her a 'healthy breakfast!' of pop tarts and runny eggs.

Caroline managed to survive the class with a B+.

A few months later, she would manage to survive Matt, too.

What she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to survive, wasn't sure she'd ever want to survive, was a life where her best friend and knight in 5-foot armor wasn't Bonnie high-kick-means-appreciating-asset-droppin'-it-low-means-depreciating-asset Bennett.

#six mornings after #sma caroline #sma matt #sma bonnie #sma tyler #sma maroline #sma baroline #sma forwood #writing #flashback

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