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themadauthorshatter · 3 years

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You guys know me too well at this point.

I did one of these for Cal, and I don't really make solo posts on Maven.

These are some headcanons about Maven's headcanon pets, a doberman and black cat.

This is just my personal AU where Maven lives and everyone's happy, because I miss when Maven was a good brother and person 😭😢😭😢😭

Anyway, HERE ARE THE HEADCANONS!!!!

Elara was against the idea of Maven having any kind of animal because it would distract him.

Even after her death, he was unsure of getting a pet.

Pre-Pet AU turn for the better where Maven, instead of fighting Mare to the death, pushes her and runs away. She follows him to see he has collapsed and is having something of a mental/emotional breakdown. He is on the floor screaming and holding his head. He passes out.

Cal finds them both and Mare helps him carry Maven to a cell, one not made of silent stone, and with no candles or anything that can make a spark.

After some time, and some therapy, let's be real here, Maven gets his own place to live, even thoguh he spends some nights with Cal. And his doggo Sweetie. And Fink the Cat.

He's confused as to WHEN and, honestly, why Cal got these two, but understands the latter when he sees his brother lit up and relax when Fink climbs onto his shoulders, something he has not seen in a very long time. Cal still admits it was Julian's idea.

Maven thinks on it while Sweetie gives him some love; "Mah hooman is in TWO!? YAAAS!!!"

Once he's in his own place and settled, hating the silence and solitude, he makes a pro-con list, talks to the person who's been keeping an eye on him, on a guard, but something of a parol officer and therapist, and has a really bad nightmare before he decides to adopt a dog, but he's not getting anything fluffy and soft like Sweetie because she's not the best guard dog.

The person keeping an eye on him tells him that this is a great idea because giving love to something, like a dog or cat, might help him. I know I'm being too fanfic-y here, but I want good boy Maven back, okay?😭😢

He gets his companion on his way to the shelter, i.e. a stray on the side of the road, a black doberman with one bleeding cropped ear and one floppy, normal ear.

This is the text conversation when Maven arrived home:

"I got a dog."

"That was quick. How'd everything go?"

"Fine? I found him on the side of the road. I don't think he likes me."

"What breed is he? Send a picture."

(Maven sends a picture of this doberman as it is curled up in the corner of his bedroom and growling at him.) "He literally hates me. What do I do?"

"Leave him alone for a little bit. I think he's might be one one those fighting dogs."

"I thought those were illegal." He almost sends, "I thought Father made that illegal," but doesn't and sends what I just typed.

"They are. I guess people still keep doing it."

"Blood money. Anyway, what should I do?"

"I don't know. I think one of the generals said it's better to make yourself smaller so the dog doesn't think you're dangerous or something like that, the Animos on the front. Try that."

"Alright."

Maven decides to sleep on the couch that night, because he doesn't want to get mauled, and leaves some food and water out because the doberman hasn't left his room since bringing him home. He wakes up late in the night in time to see this dog grab a little bit of food and then sort of check on the person that picked him up. He growls a little bit, when he sees Maven is awake, but is calmer when he smells and inspects him. Maven tries to pet the uninjured half of his head, but the doberman backs away; "We're not there yet."

Maven wakes up this morning to see the dog across the floor from him.

Three weeks later, the doberman, which Maven has named Dagger, Phantom, or Ghost, I'm going to call him Dagger for now because of how sharp he is, has started whimpering and shaking his head. Maven can't really go to a vet because they'll think he abused the dog, so he's left to his own devices

GORE TW! DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE: Remember that bleeding, cropped ear I mentioned? It's infested with mango worms. And, unless he wants to be listed as an abuser towards his new pet and be labeled a lost cause, Maven cannot go to a vet. Everyone knows he is an amazing liar.

He texts Cal, tells the person he's been talking to, and even tells Mare, asking what he should do before Cal says to wait for him and the person he's been talking to sends him instructions on how to remove these worms.

Go time. Maven gets some treats in his hands and lures Dagger to him until he's close enough for Maven to check his ear.

Cal is very careful to be quiet when he arrives and has a moment of "That's my boy" when he sees Maven petting and assuring Dagger that he's okay.

The two get to work, Cal holding Dagger as Maven gets the worms out; don't worry, they gave him some Melatonin to calm him down first.

GORE'S OVER! It takes a little while, and they have a few close calls when Dagger panics at being held down, but Maven gets all the worms out, cleans the infected ear, and wraps it up, Cal helping by holding Dagger and wrapping the ear.

When all this said and done, Dagger barks and snarls at Cal, growls at Maven, and runs back into Maven's bedroom.

I'm pretty sure I do not need to spell out what this dog went through anymore than I just did.

After Cal leaves and Maven cleans up(His house, his rules), he gives his progress to his doctor, not an actual nurse/surgeon doctor, but you know what I mean, "the person he's been talking to" is getting tedious, and mentions Dagger's reaction when they're done, thinking he might have some trauma. His doctor sees his point and assures him to be patient and thoughtful before musing that he and Dagger are very much alike.

This is a video Maven sent to Cal later that day:

(Like with the video of Sweetie, we take perspective of the phone camera as Dagger creeps into the hall connecting to the living room.)

"... Can I help you? Is your ear better now?"

(Dagger only stares at Maven, not growling and we and Maven cannot see if Dagger's tail is wagging or not.)

"(To Cal) He's been, sort of... watching me for a little bit. ...I'm so bored😐."

(Dagger stretches out of the hall and lies down, doing a doberman sploot.)

"(To Dagger)Hi."

(Dagger blinks at him)

"... Am I your favorite show? (More to himself, honestly, and a little quieter) ... Why do cats even watch the laundry?"

TIME JUMP

(Dagger has now rolled onto his back, smiling, and is staring at Maven, who is laughing his ass off for the first time in forever, and struggling to hold the phone up so Cal is going to be able to see.)

"I don't know what he's- (Laughter) Are you okay over there!?😂"

(Dagger sneezes, stands up, and shakes himself off before sitting down life nothing happened.)

"(More laughing) I CAN'T BREATHE! BMY COLORS!!!😂😂"

ANOTHER TIME JUMP!!!

(Maven holds his hand out, palm open and relaxed, as Dagger is creeping up to him. His ears are back ams eyes are wide as he smells and licks his hand. Dagger sits and Maven carefully scratches his head.) "Good boy. You're a good boy."

After this moment, Dagger's more active in inspecting and opening up to Maven, who is using his phone to record each instance to show Cal and his doctor. It's a little step more almost every time, pets on the head and body, a kiss on the face, sitting next to Maven on the couch, laying next to him in bed, and even having conversations.

I don't know what he'd do as a job, but once he's stable enough financially, he gets a proper video camera and computer to make the videos more presentable.

He later comes to realize he's better talking to the camera in the same way Cal writes in his journal. He is required to show these videos to his doctor, who tells him whatever he says is privileged information that is only shared between the two of them.

He also talks to his doctor through video calls/face time and most of those talks are interrupted when Dagger stares at Maven and barks for pets.

This is a conversation when one such event happened(I am not a psychologist and I saw a therapist sparingly, so if anything's not right, I'm so sorry):

"And how are you sleeping? Do you feel rested?"

"I'm pretty sure. It's a little worse when it storms, but overall I'm fine."

"Good. Still no dreams?"

Maven shakes his head. "My mother was really thorough."

As if sensing his uneasy, Dagger climbs onto the couch(he hasn't mastered jumping up yet) and rests his head on Maven's shoulder.

"Is that the dog you adopted?"

Maven nods and pets Dagger a little bit before returning to his conversation. "Yeah. I think he's getting better since I found him."

"It looks like he trusts you now."

"Thank goodne-"

Maven yelps and his doctor jumps when Dagger barks.

"Sorry!" Maven panics as his doctor fights a smile, not to be rude, but because this is cute. "I've been trying to teach him to use his paw to tell me 'more.'"

"While that is a bit much, that means he loves you and wants to leep feeling you. Touch is a strong sign of affection, especially for animals."

Now, Maven doesn't dream. Instead, he wakes up when he hears yelling and screaming in his head, primarily from Elara. Dagger is great at waking him up. Where Sweetie kisses Cal awake, Dagger... does the same, honestly. When that doesn't work, he cries and burrows himself into Maven's side to wake him up. The younger Calore brother goes back to sleep with Dagger in his arms. HE WILL NOT GO BACK TO SLEEP UNLESS DAGGER IS WITH HIM.

On his bad days, Maven will curl up and cover his ears, because it's loud in his head, and Dagger will either find a toy, maybe a tug of war rope, and make him play with him or force his way into Maven's arms and start panting from the heat. It helps distract Maven from the voices in his head.

Dagger hates the the rain. The first time he heard it, he barked and had HUGE anxiety fit. Maven had to help him through that, which meant MANY sleepless nights. It was worth it when Dagger fell asleep on the couch next to Maven while it was raining.

I know I've been talking about good boy Maven's good dog, all the same I think it's time we talk about the cat😊

Maven was napping with Dagger when he got a text from Mare that she found a kitten in the alley near where she lived. For context, this was a SMALL kitten, as in it fit in Mare's palms with no excess showing.

Yeah. That cat was his. And he thanked Mare so much that she told him. (Don't worry, they've been having a healthier relationship since the events of the war, however awkward).

Yes, he recorded bringing the kitten home and was so scared she'd end up dead in the morning because of how weak she was.

She was fine in the morning, just a little noisy because she missed him. He had to talk to his doctor while checking on her, and it wasn't easy when he had a kitten trying to climb up his shirt and on his shoulders.

Dagger KNOWS there's something behind the bathroom door, and he looks between Maven and said door to let him know; "Hooman. Dat door was unclosed before. Now it's closed and doing a noise. What behind da door?"

He was so scared to introduce the pets because Dagger is HUGE compared to her.

You know the comic Pixie and Brutus? Violet-the cat-and Dagger ARE Pixie and Brutus.

Maven thinks it's too cute when Dagger carries Violet by her scruff.

He was not happy when he learned she was a dwarf; Don't ask how, when, or how long ot took him to be allowed to see a vet and not look like he was falling back into bad habits.

Now, I know what you're thinking, "This is great, but didn't you talk about events such as a pandemic happening with our characters with pets? What does Maven DO with these two?" To which I say, This:

He talks to his doctor, records videos, and lives with his cat and dog.

He joined the group in a workout session, and there was one thing alone that gave everyone the proof they needed that he was growing and healing: While struggling to do push ups, Violet got close to his phone and knocked it over and Dagger stole it and ran around with it. These were their reactions when they saw his smile as he called Dagger and Violet silly and brats in the warmest and most loving way: Cal almost cried, Mare smiled, Kilorn's and Shade's jaws dropped, and Farley muted herself so she could tell a few of her men to listen better to Cal and Mare and the doctor looking after Maven, and to not worry about him, at least until she gives the word that they should.

Maven did upper body workouts with Dagger, who was so confused as to what was happening because Maven was holding him in a way that kept Dagger calm and was going up and down rather than down the hall. He whimpered, pawed, and barked to be carried again.

If Violet sees Maven having a bad time sleeping, she'll lay on his head and purr to calm him down. Works every time.

Dagger and Maven share a common interest: taking baths. Dagger is washed once every other week and has the biggest smile ever. Maven bathes at least once a month and Dagger comes into the bathroom to try and join him. Violet hates baths, both because she hates water and because she cries for Maven, or cries for Dagger, or anyone else, to help Maven.

Both animals are very smart and have puzzles to do.

Dagger is a sassy boy.

Dagger is also a really good guard dog, and Maven used to knock on his own door just to enter his home.

After having both Dagger and Violet, Maven has heard Elara's whispers less and less. Her voice isn't gone for good, but thanks to the support from Cal and having Dagger and Violet, the whispers are really manageable.

Sorry again if this is SUPER fanfic-y, like I said I want some serotonin and it's Maven's turn for some happiness!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this post!!!

#red queen #maven calore #cal calore #mare barrow #pets #possible angst #possibly funny #mental health #gore tw #trauma tw #implied abuse tw

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givemequeen · 5 years

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below the cut is everything that is currently in my inbox:

the first one (at the top) is the one i am currently working on, thanks for your patience.

also, things that are crossed out are my words

Roger Taylor x reader x john lennon threesome smut

imagine each beatle reacting to their girlfriend licking an ice cream cone with out realizing how suggestive it looks

PLEASE do more devil john lennon! (p≧w≦q)

Hi! Could you do me a favour and write me some Brian May fluff? I'm on my period and it's rough! Thank you, love your blog :)

fluff 19,29,38 smut 7,23,38 george being dominant in the studio with his girlfriend (sorry i couldn't pick you can choose what ever ones you want

Let me just say the writing in 'I want to see you' was so good like it was genuninley too much for my little heart to handle. I was wondering (if you're comfortable with it) if you could do a smutty part two, it's fine if not I know you get a lot of requests but you're soooooo good at writing and I hope you doing well with life in general x

perhaps a smut one shot about the reader and shy, kinda sub george doing it for the first time in a hotel after prom?

really going through it right now and need some comfort. could i request a fluffy thing with john or george about the reader being insecure about her bisexuality cause her parents don’t support her about it and one of them comforting her through it? 🥺

Love I'm sick, well I'm lactose intolerant and my stomach is really upset so how about Geo helping reader out and making them feel better and maybe Geo then makes the decision to not have any dairy in tho flat even tho that's hard for him to say because we know he loves his food🦙🖤

hewwo! how are you? could you please write about beatle!reader in 1965 being with the boys while filming help! especially the scene where they sing another girl and they goof around and then like paul and reader accidentally kiss each other but then they kiss more which means they love each other💖💖

Hi I absolutely love your fics!!! 💛💛 May I request one where john and reader have been flirting for so long which climaxes during the shea stadium tour and reader gets really flustered seeing john all sweaty and enjoying himself while john gets really horny seeing reader enjoying their show and they just go at it right after the concert ;))

could i please request a george oneshot where the reader is a photographer and she goes to take photos of the beatles and george is just immediately taken by her and spends the whole day trying to get her attention and she very much likes him too (very much paul/linda kind of scenario). perhaps including prompt 14 “I don’t think I’ve ever been this…happy. It’s an odd feeling.” :)))

um hi, I broke up with my boyfriend because i'm really not feeling the most mentally stable and he really didn't take it well. I was just wondering if you could cheer me up with anything. Thanks.

Okay but like a John x teen!reader where she's like a little sis to him and he notices how she has bruise's on her and he naturally asks her where it's from and she doesn't say anything and then her remembered that her dad is an asshole and he puts 2 and 2 together and makes her move in with him and mimi🌺 sorry that was a lot

hii idk if you're comfortable with it but could u write something about 80s george?

first time with teddy boy george ?

write reader riding teddy boy george 😳😳

I just read the accent kink anon and now I need something like that in my life, because all I can think about is George groaning while you whisper something to him in Spanish and he just can’t control himself 😉 Whenever you have the chance could you whip something like that up?

Hey!! been following you for a while! Can i request an imagine about you dating paul and being with him through the breakup of the band, and him being very sad and depressed and you barely talk, barely have sex, barely laugh until he realises how you must have been feeling and he apologises ;) wink wink thank you so much! love your blog!

Hey love! When u have time, could you write maybe a John Lennon x fem! reader headcanon what would John be like in bed? I love ur posts!

do ya think, you could maybe do a george x reader where the reader and george babysit baby julian since john wasn't always there for him? lots of fluff, george is good with kids and the reader's heart explodes

Could you do hc for george when fem!reader comes out as bi or LBGTQ+ ?

Could i request a fluffy shot of beatle!reader coming out as bi-sexual and she’s super nervous because be LBGTQ+ can get you in jail at the time and the guys are like, “we know”

Okay but imagine the reader is a model and she is a love interest for george and george questions bruises on her wrists. She tell him that it’s her boyfriend and later she is a love interest for george in a film. She had just broken up with her boyfriend so baby boy george shoots his shot. (Probably angst and maybe smut ;) )

After the Shea Stadium concert Paul, who is all sweaty hugs you from behind, you protest and tell him to take a shower, but he start kissing your neck and running his hands under your dress. You can't resist anymore and let Paul fuck you in the dressing room.

Can you write something smutty for George?

Hi, I love your blog❤️❤️also can I have a smutty Ringo where where at his house and admits his feelings to the reader and then dirty things start happening. Hope you have a great day❤️🌹

can you do a one shot of the reader and george just before the beatles get famous in like 1962 and he’s telling her he’ll never leave her even if they do get big, please? love ur writing!

Can you do a short fic about the reader having short curly hair and the react of the boys about it?

Hi can you do a imagine where 1961 Paul takes your virginity? Plz

idk why but I’ve been crazy about the idea of Ringo like bending you over and fucking you with his drumsticks idk, I need it plzzz

Hi could you do a imagine where you going to Disney with the Beatles and Ringo is all happy and excited and you start singing songs with him like Once Upon A Dream plz!

i know you have a lot of requests, but maybe some ringo fluff because there's not much of it? maybe ringo and reader go ice skating? you're my favorite writer on tumblr 👀

Can I request a ringo x fem reader smut? how bout one where they’re staying at Ringo’s childhood home with his family and they’re staying in his room and come night time, they get it on but try to stay relatively low key (cos they’re in his tiny childhood room in his parents house lmao) and then next day his family makes a cheeky comment, leaving them blushing and wondering if they heard everything 😝😳

Teddy Paul x square reader

Could i request a fic where Paul and the reader are listening Elvis records and he ask her to dance with him?

can you do an imagine about george and his wife/girlfriend being new parents and being all sweet with their baby just fluffy stuff :) btw love your blog, you’re so dedicated!!

could you do an imagine where the readers basically paul’s side chick behind janes back? and maybe in the end they both leave paul to be together ((sorry i’m a sucker for wlw))

Ok so your concept and writting for the Harry Potter Beatles au was amazing! Could I request of fic of that same scenario? Like the boys all have to take polyjuice potion to look like George and reader’s helping them with their plan but also being really blushy because they all look like Geo (whom she has a small crush on) and maybe the other lads use this as an opportunity to bring the two closer together. Thanks :)

idea (you can pick any beatle boy you want) you're in a conference room with your boyfriend and there's about to be a meeting and you notice how hard he is and you're not wearing panties so literal seconds before the others come into the room you just sit down on him and he has to keep his composure while he's deep inside you

Could you please write one where the reader is Paul’s love interest in Help and George has a major crush on her. Paul and Reader have to kiss in the movie and George is upset and ignored reader until the after party of the premier where she confronts him and they have sex. Thank you

Could you do beatles headcannons for the boys dating a model?

Could you do a smut fic with Teddy Paul where is the reader's birthday?

Reader and teddy boy John are best friends (could be in a relationship if you want) and the reader is fed up with how things are at home so she walks out after an argument or something and goes to see John and he’s basically just there for her and cheers her up and they have a good ol’ time jammin to records or he shows her a new song he’s learnt on guitar

Modern day teaching the Beatles how to do the renegade

I loved your modern George x reader could you do one with Paul too?

Can i request a imagine with the Beatles and Brian Epstein? I think Brian deserve some love.

Hi can you do an imagine with teddy boy Paul based on Summer Nights from Grease? Thanks.

heyy!! i've only just joined tumblr and ive found your account and i love it :)) do you think that you could do a ringo smut please i would be so grateful

Hi! um, Can you please do a POC! reader with Paul?..

Could I request a modern teddy boy!beatles were the reader has a soft grunge aesthetic and is a sweetheart and she ends up dating George cause he is a year older and the boys tease them? Maybe smut 😳

Could you do a Paul fic where is the reader's birthday and they go out for a romantic dinner ?

I don't usually ask but may I have a John x McCartney reader? And The reader is scared of John ,but deep down she has a crush on her, and John teases her about her beening scared of him.(Alsoifitisokaycanthereaderhaveglassesand beshort?)-Admin.

Could you maybe do something with dom!paul x reader?

Can I get some Ringo fluff?? Like something to do with kids, having them or taking care of them etc.?

Can I request a ringo imagine where he takes her out to a fancy tea place and treats her to a sweet girly time having cakes and sandwiches and tea and stuff and she is just so in love with him and how sweet he is and then can later that night ringo wants to be intimate (they have been before) but he’s shy about it and they get it on :’)

Can I request an angsty ringo imagine where ringo and reader have been friends and they both liked each other a lot but never have been able to admit they’re feelings for eachother and so reader dates around, and none of them are good, and ringo sees her out with some guy and he gets so upset seeing her with another man and so ringo sort of fake flirts with other girls at the club and reader gets upset n so they get together in the end and make love lol

Could you please please please do a Paul and virgin reader fic?

A cute imagine with Beatle!Assistant with dyslexia and she’s working on some files and a beatle (preferably George) helps her with the grammer and he’s making her feel not embarrassed about it and is like kissing her on the cheek (basically them being all cute and stuff) ps I LOVE your writing ❤️

Could you do a John x reader (maybe a late 70s john) were he as conflicted feelings for the reader but he is with Yoko but one day he sees her and tells her how he feels and they end up together and it ends all fluffy and stuff

can i request a reader (preferably male but gender neutral if you’re uncomfortable with writing a mlm fic)gushing over how cute honey pie (the song is) to paul and then he starts calling paul his honey pie and paul attacks his face w kisses?? very fluffy becuz.... well... it’s fluff... thank you!!

'65-66 ish soulmate au with john?? he hasn't had his turn at one yet I don't think--

omg could u do a highschool john x reader where the reader is like such a goody goody and they never rlly cross paths until one day john gets in trouble for smthg he didnt do and like idk the reader knows it wasnt him cuz she saw who acc did it and so she defends him and the teacher believes her cuz shes a good kid and then john just never leaves her alone cuz she saved him and hes like obsessed w her and she doesnt fall for it at first cuz hes a teddy boy but hes just so sweet she caves in🥰

Could you do smut with teddy boy!george and maybe Paul your older brother walks in a causes a scene cause he’s a drama queen👀😳😳😳

umm can I please uh request a John and reader smut? Just filth where the reader is really submissive and they like fuck over a desk or she’s on the kitchen counter and it’s rough but v hot??

hii can i request a teddy boy georgie x reader where theyre neighbours or smthg and they grew up tg like they were always close but since george joined the quarrymen a few years ago they havent been hanging out as much (only see eachother at school) but then one day george goes full teddy boy mode and the reader thinks hes changing and tryna be a badboy like john or smthg but rlly hes still the sweet george she knows and loves but now he has the confidence to tell her how he feels heehee :)))

early 1970s john deacon smut/fluff please heh, sub john oop

could you do a oneshot of teddy!george fucking you whilst his parents are home?? btw love your writing and dedication :)

Can you do a reeeeeally dirty and hard smut? With 70's John and a younger reader. Please :) But like, REALLY rough John

HI! i know youre probably busy, but can you please make a oneshot about respected POC! reader and her mini band singing "in spite of all the danger" in the cavern, and teddy boy ringo with his cute lil beard catching the eyes of the reader?? thank you so much!!!

#requests #what im working on #the beatles x reader

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throwaway-sinfulwriter · 5 years

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The Same - Chapter 7 - 4/6

Sitting in Dr. Brown's living room, Malcolm and JT question her until she finally begins to divulge.

"Was Alice Downey taking LSD on your order?" Bright asks the woman, a small tape recorder in his hand. The throw pillows on the chairs and couch reminded him of his father's eyes. He tries not to look at them too often, focusing on Elaine instead.

"This isn't 1963, Detective. I can't make anyone do anything." For a moment, he and JT share a look.

"Except, you can. With your credentials and authority, you could make anyone do anything. How long did these experiments last? How many students participated in them?" The pillows were mocking him. They were simple, a blue to green gradient with shimmery thread and sparse beads.

He questions her, mouth running on auto-pilot as his mind slowly drifts off to another place. He sees recognition in her eyes as he lists off what they know about their suspect.

Bright faintly hears the name Dominic Render as his eyes glaze over.

Malcolm fully spaces out.

He couldn't get his father off of his mind. Shutting his eyes, Malcolm remembers every glance Martin had ever gave him. How his eyes darkened when annoyed, lit up when he was joyful. How straight and perfectly white his teeth were when he smiled.

"-right?"

Malcolm just wants to sit here, and think about things he usually never allows himself. Just for a moment. A sinful, forbidden moment. Think of his father's hands, how they were still bigger than his, even when he was fully grown.

How his father would put on records and play classical music to dance to, how he read sonnets to him as a child. Doctor Whitly taught him to play the piano at a young age.

He was remembering the small details, the ones that hurt to think about when his father wasn't there.

Martin loved the rain. He would always make Malcolm hot chocolate and read to him when it rained. Kept him warm, even when a storm was raging outside.

"Bright? Bright? Malcolm blinked his eyes open, and instinctively clicked stop on his tape recorder.

"Uh.. sorry. I'm just.. uh.. I'll just.. I'll go wait in the car." He stood and walked outside, sighing as the cold air hit his face.

He was thoroughly embarrassed about losing himself like that. Making a fool of himself in front of JT, who already hated his guts.

Malcolm enters the car, resting his head on the back of the seat and taking a few deep breaths. He just needed to get back into control. Become closed off from his emotions.

He knew how to do it, his heart was just hurting so bad he didn't know if he could. Malcolm needed to escape from his mind. Focus on something else.

JT. How long had the man been calling out for him while he was trapped in his childhood memories? Seconds? Minutes?

He didn't know. Bright sighs, his tired eyes refusing to rest as he fiddled with the car door. In fact, he knew nothing about JT. Only that his humor was incredibly strange, and he did not like Malcolm.

The driver's door open, and said man hopped in the car. "Elaine is settled down for the night with some chamomile."

Malcolm nodded, pushing down the discomfort at the mention of tea. His mother always tried making it for him, but he refused to drink it. It was how his father drugged his victims.

Tea laced with ketamine.

Needless to say, Bright was more of a coffee fan.

"Hey, what happened in there? You completely zoned out." JT asks, hands on the steering wheel.

He shrugs. "Yeah, that happens sometimes. My body can shut down at times."

"Gil and Dani are off looking for Render. He wants me to stay on Professor Bad Trip."

Malcolm stares at him.

"That means you can go home."

He doesn't respond to that. "What does JT stand for? Joseph? Jake? Jason? Julian? J-"

JT interrupts him.

"I don't think you're stakeout material."

Bright shakes his head. "I'm a chronic insomniac. I was made for this."

JT looks past him, observing Elaine's house. Only the porch and living room lights were on.

"How many kid's brains do you think she scrambled to get that house?" Malcolm glares at him, crossing his arms.

"…Sorry." He says reluctantly. "I know she's your people "

The profiler next to him hums, non-committal. "No. You're my people."

JT gives him a certain look, and Malcolm raises his eyebrows. "Tell me why I'm wrong."

"In the service, we have a hierarchy." So, JT had been in the service. Malcolm had guessed this the first time they had met, but now his assumption was confirmed. He smirked lightly.

"Your rank earns you respect. It's the same for cops, y'know. I have a badge. But you don't respect me."

Irritation grows in Bright. How could the man be so daft?

"Listen.. when I was a kid, a cop came to my house and took the bad guy away. He saved me. Saved me from hell on earth, from a lifetime of fear. There is not a single person that respects the badge more than I do, okay?"

Malcolm is uncomfortable with opening up to JT, but he knew that he had clear this up now, to prevent anything from happening later.

"Any respect I haven't given you is what you've been giving to me. You've been an absolute dick since I started consulting, and it's really not helping any of us. Including yourself."

"I'm doing my best. I might not have the most orthodox methods, and I know I come off as strange to you, but I do my best to get justice for everyone. Just like Gil tried to give my family justice." Tried being the keyword.

He doesn't want to get too emotional, so he runs his hand under his nose and sniffs.

"I need to ask Dr. Brown a question. For the profile." He exits the car.

-------

Sitting in Doctor Elaine Brown's living room, Malcolm Whitly opens up about his case. It was quite sad to call his life a case, but that was what it had been since he was 10 years old.

Legal documents, testimonies, and news articles. It wasn't much of a life for a child. And it didn't lessen as he got older. People had always expected he would turn out like his father.

"Your case is a testament of the humans mind to endure trauma."

Malcolm winces. Ouch. Not exactly the support he had been looking for.

"Uh.. thanks? I guess? Was that a compliment?" Elaine just raises her eyebrows and drinks more of her tea.

Bright shudders in his seat, the scent of chamomile in the air.

He continues on, telling her about his "controversial" repressed memories, and everything he had been diagnosed with.

She asks him if he believed he had been drugged, and Malcolm nods, fingers tapping in a rhythm on the arm chair to stop the tremors.

"Have you ever smelled chloroform?"

"..Well, it's not my drug of choice." She gives him that look, a look that his therapist gave to him often. He knows he's deflecting, okay, but he's not very comfortable talking about this with anyone.

Unlike his therapist, Dr. Brown continues on.

"It has extreme chemical notes, but it's actually quite sweet smelling."

He swallows hard. Thinking of his father's clean, crisp cologne with a hint of chemical and sweetness.

"A familiar smell can trigger repressed memories."

Malcolm stands from his chair, going over to a desk in the far side of the room. Fingers resting on his hip bones.

"Do you have any fears?"

He asks, shuffling through the papers on the desk. Looking at different files, with graphs and charts. Dr. Brown doesn't say anything about him going through her things.

"I have regrets." She says, and Malcolm turns to look at her curiously.

Elaine continues. "If your memories are blocked, it must be because your mind is afraid of something in your memories. You'll need to overcome that fear to access them."

Malcolm notes this, vowing to remember that fact once the case was over.

He turns, eyes raking over the room. Meticulously looking at every detail, trying to find something that would aid him.

His eyes catch on a glass display of tribal masks, and his head tilts. Something clicking in his mind.

"These are.. interesting." Bright says, going up to the case and staring at the one displayed in the middle. There were four in total, but he couldn't tear his eyes off the one.

"What is this one?" He asks, finger poised just inches from the glass case.

"It's African." Malcolm exhales through his nostrils, trying not to snap at the woman. He knew that. He wasn't an idiot.

"It's an artistic interpretation of Lucifer." A cold shiver travels from the base of Malcolm's skull to his tailbone.

"Has Dominic Render ever been here?"

"Yes, he along with many other students.. he.. he was always fascinated by those masks.."

Malcolm sprints back to the desk, gripping the folder with the copy of the notes left by Render.

One thing he hasn't understood earlier was the circular shapes Dominic had formed with his words. At the time, separately, it hadn't made much sense.

But now..

Bright moves the papers around, his own panting breath loud in his ears. Stepping back, he looks at all of the papers. They form a face. His head snaps to the left, at the Lucifer mask, and back.

"He wants you to understand him. To find him." Dread washes over Malcolm as he quickly takes a picture of the papers and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

"This is where he's planning on killing you. It has sentimental value to him."

"S-something's wrong." Dr. Brown tells him, and his heart drops to his stomach as he turns to her. She's sweating, pupils dialated. "My pulse is racing, my thoughts are shifting. It-It's the tea. The chamomile."

Malcolm rushes over to her, biting the inside of his cheek so hard the bitter taste of blood fills his mouth. He should have known to not trust the tea. Dammit.

At least it wasn't ketamin. If it was, he wouldn't be able to function. Wouldn't be able to help the woman.

He ignores the pain at the thought for now, hesitantly placing his hands on Elaine's arms to get her out of the chair. His stomach flips unpleasantly at the touch.

"You've been laced with LSD. We need to get you out of here." Bright leads her to the door, and goes to open it when all the lights cut out.

Left in the dark, the only sound Elaine's drugged babbling and his own panicked breathing, Malcolm knows what he has to do.

"Come on, let's go back." He pulls her away from the door, and she holds onto him, pupils unnaturally dilated. "Shh, shh. Come on. Sit back down.."

"Stay here. Don't go anywhere." Bright tells her, making sure she doesn't get up, and leaves the room.

Outside, in the hallway, is a record player. A record is already sitting in it.

Malcolm takes out his phone, ringing JT. He waits in tense silence until the man finally answers.

"JT. Dominic Render is in the house. Get in here." He hangs up, not waiting to hear the man's response. Malcolm would have to go find the mentally ill man, prevent him from getting to Dr. Brown.

Thankfully, due to his father's love of classical music and all things retro, they had a record player in their home. He and his father used to dance to Frank Sinatra.

Thank you, Martin. Malcolm thinks as he turns the player on, pressing the needle onto the record.

He flinches as rock music started playing. It was definitely no Sinatra, and it hurt his ears quite a lot, but hopefully it would delay Render.

The loud music should confuse the man, and if Malcolm was lucky he might hallucinate due to sensory overload. A part of Bright feels guilty for undoubtedly causing a mentally ill man more pain.

But, thinking back to the Professor's empty head and the many blades next to Carl Mitchell, Malcolm can't take any chance.

Malcolm stops by the fireplace, grabbing a fire poker and holding it ahead of him like a weapon.

Walking through the house slowly, hands in front of him, Malcolm tries to talk Render down.

"Dominic Render!" He calls out over the booming music, trying to hide the fear that was bubbling at the surface. Malcolm couldn't let the man to have the advantage.

"No one else needs to die." He comes around the corner, muscles tensing in anticipation of the killer being there. He isn't.

Where could he be?

Malcolm goes over the entire house, not finding the suspect. That only leaves one place.. upstairs.

"I know how you feel. I've had my fair share of nightmares."

He begins slowly ascending the stairs, his breathing erratic and undoubtedly afraid. His palm runs over the wooden railing of the staircase. It does little to calm him, but Malcolm memorizes the grain of the wood underneath his hand.

"But they trapped you inside yours, didn't they?" Bright prided himself in his skill of talking people down, getting a Masters in Psychology hadn't just been for show. He reverently studied conversation, and the act of talking to a person who was dangerous.

It helped him in the sociopathic aspect (he was not a sociopath, he just had tendencies). He understood empathy more, though he could not accurately emulate it without looking quite robotic.

It also helped in his career as a profiler. He had many personal conversations with killers, which was especially easy due to his background. Malcolm was quite good at subduing killers, talking them down from suicide after they had been caught. Showing at their trials, convincing them serving time was better than death.

He wanted to use this skill to help Dominic Render, but so far the man had yet to show. This worried him. Bright not be able to talk him out of it.

"..Dominic, I know you're scared." Malcolm reaches the top of the staircase, walking towards a closed doors on the left. "I am, too."

The door opened, and the next thing Bright knew, he was being hurtled backwards, into a picture on the wall. He feels the glass shatter as he hits it, all breath leaving his body. Hitting the wall so hard, his knees wobble.

He fights back with the fire poker, holding it in front of him so Dominic couldn't stab him. Malcolm pushes against him, giving him enough space to get away from the wall.

Dominic's hand hits the wall, and Bright is behind him. He grabs Malcolm by the shoulders, trying to get him down the stairs so he could subdue him properly. This doesn't work well, as Render's elbow comes back and hits him in the face. The hit causes his shaking knees to give in, and he collapses to the floor.

Render stands over him, pressing him with his foot to the edge of the staircase.

"This is how I respond to fear."

He crouches over Malcolm, raising his blade.

Malcolm's eyes go wide, pure, unbridled fear in his eyes. This is it. He's going to die. Dominic is going to kill him, take his brain and.. and what? Do what with it? He didn't know, there was no time, he couldn't even open his mouth for his last words-

There's an incredibly loud bang, and Render is off of him, a warm splatter of blood on his face. Unlike the time at Quantico, when the feelings that followed were resentment for a person that could be saved, all Malcolm felt was satisfaction.

If that was how Dominic reacted to someone who was trying to help him, he couldn't imagine how he would react to someone prosecuting him.

He doesn't wipe the blood off of his face, sitting up calmly and looking back. Dr. Elaine Brown is standing on the staircase, shotgun still in hand.

"I-I did it. I killed him." Something twists in Malcolm's chest, and he slowly desends down the stairs. There's a large crash somewhere in the house and then a cry of, "Police!"

JT enters the archway near the staircase and raises his gun. "No!" Malcolm tells him. "No. Wait."

"Elaine, you're in the middle of an intense psychedelic episode. I know it may seem like a lot right now, but in the end it's just going to be a bad trip." He manages to take the gun from her, taking out the bullets and turning the safety on, throwing it to the side.

"You can't run from the fear. You just have to.. fall into it, okay? You did this." He gestures up the stairs at Render's body. Cold and lifeless. "You have to live with it now."

#my fic #my writing #the same #prxdigal sxn #malcolm bright #malcolm whitly #malcolm/martin #martin whitly #jt tarmel #dead dove do not eat #i apologize to this fandom

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kiss-my-freckle · 5 years

Text

Dialogues for @thesweetkeenlife

1x1

Red: Evidently someone with the authority to make decisions has arrived. I think I smell the stench of your cologne, Agent Cooper. Smells like hubris.

Red: You got rid of your highlights. You look much less Baltimore.

1x3

Red: So you went with the gray?

1x4

Red: That’s a pretty blouse.

1x7

Red: Agent Keen, I have a tip. You’re a winter, not an autumn. Stop wearing olive.

Red: You’d look positively radiant in a Guayabera dress. I know a little shop in Reston. We could stop before our flight.

Red: I brought you a souvenir. What’s your feeling about guava? Liz: Anxiety. Red: Oh, you’re in for a treat.

1x8

Red: I don’t know how you do it. I had that done once. I couldn’t bear the tickling.

Maltz: Ray, look at you. You look great. I mean, the elasticity is amazing. You been juicing? Red: Beets, mostly. Some celery, carrots, a lot of ginger. The kale makes me dyspeptic.

Red: I find it so reassuring - the movie stars, the pop singers. They really are just like the rest of us.

1x9

Red: Donald, never let it be said that I valued a Zegna Venticinque tie over a human life, even yours.

1x11

Red: Janice, my sincerest apologies. I’ll take a rain check on the Stroganoff. It smells delicious.

1x12

Red: We brought a little something for Julian - a care package. It’s a Tibetan singing bowl. What do we have here? Some jackfruit, vitamin D, kola nuts. But we’ve got to get him to eat more protein. He looks like hell. He isn’t vegan, is he? Anyway, I’ve also included a couple of my favorite Richard Pryor records. I want to try and inject a little levity into the proceedings. I mean, Julian looks so crabby all the time. House arrest can be grueling. Borakove: Didn’t you spend, like, four months - in Phonthong? Red: Seven. Borakove: How did you survive? Red: Naps. Occasional calisthenics.

Red: If I tell you, you have to promise me you’ll try the fertilized duck eggs. It’s a daring and unique dining experience. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to hell.

1x14

Red: Who decided on this paneling?

Red: You smell nice. Something new?

Red: Wow! And I like your clutch.

1x17

Red: This piroshki is delicious.

1x18

Red: I come bearing gifts - pimento cheese sandwiches, toasted with the crusts cut off. Eartha Kitt’s recipe. It’s a fantastic story.

2x1

Red: It looks so soft. Shea butter?

2x2

Red: Lizzy! I’d like to introduce you to my manicurist, Rosa Heredia. She’s the one I was telling you about, who was dating that nine-fingered bullfighter from Juarez. This woman is an artist, trained at the Latin-American school of medicine in Havana.

2x11

Red: Oh, that’s a shame. She’s gonna miss the most tantalizingly delicious khorem baklava.

2x12

Red: Oh, that’s a shame. Dendrobium? Ruth: My own hybrid. I call them “Snows of Everest.” Red: Lovely.

2x14

Red: You've changed your hair.

Red: Come on. I got to be worth as much as that fake Xuande Ming vessel was. Yaabari: 18. Red: Sorry, Santos, but those cat’s eye Chrysoberyls are brown, not green. An expensive forgery, but a forgery nonetheless. 20!

3x1

Red: I must say, your hair, the way it frames your face is very becoming.

3x2

Red: You have no idea what I’ve offered Chui to divulge the secret of this recipe. He won’t say. I suspect it has something to do with how he beats his eggs.

3x6

Red: I love mauve, but a soft creamy yellow will just open up the entire room.

3x8

Red: You didn’t find anything. Jilly found it ’cause you’re too dense to even look for it. No wonder Cash doesn’t trust you with anything more important than babysitting. T-bone: That’s big talk coming from a g-guy who’s -

3x12

Red: Yeah. Oh, I should probably mention, I booked a pregnancy massage for you. She’ll be here at 9:00. Her name’s Edwina, she’s a registered nurse, and she smells absolutely divine. I hope it goes with the rest of your stuff. I’m told it pulls out.

3x13

Red: I se your new home is a work in progress. What colors are you considering?

3x17

Red: Came together rather nicely. They went with ruby fringe tulips and pink peonies.

3x20

Red: I was just imagining young Katarina covered in glitter. As an adult, it’s easy to dismiss this stuff as girlish frivolity. You forget the wonder it creates, the light captured, secret wishes evoked. It renders even the darkest days sparkly. Never underestimate the power of glitter.

3x21

Red: They say gifting a bouquet of daffodils ensures happiness, while presenting just one means bad luck is on the horizon.

4x7

Red: You looked absolutely ravishing the other night. What do you do to stay in such incredible shape? Calisthenics? Or Jazzercise? Maybe we should be workout partners. I’ll see you in dance class, Samar.

4x18

Red: So I get a babysitter now? I haven’t had a babysitter since Brenda Gilroy. My God, pot pies, Lawrence Welk, bath time with Brenda. Still my perfect Saturday night.

5x1

Smokey: Sorry it took so long. Once I knew Humberto had your African friend and his chums in transpo, I stopped for some Bengay ointment. Think I overdid it with my back. Red: I use Epsom salt baths.

5x2

Red: Oh, my goodness. Look at those Guan vases. And that flatware. Did you know Nancy Reagan - She could dress a table specifically for that night’s guest at a moment’s notice. Russian Silver for a tea with Gorbachev, Italian silver stag-head stirrup cups for a last-minute supper with Sinatra. Can you imagine?

Liz: What color is that, pumpkin? It looks like a pumpkin. Red: His wife says it’s Tuscan Sunset.

5x10

Red: Paris, I’d like you to meet Elizabeth. Paris and I first met when he was a saucier at La Bernadin. Liz: Pleasure to meet you. Paris: Shall I set a third place for lunch? Liz: No, thank you. Red: You may want to think twice. He’s making a turbot with a matsutake mushroom broth.

5x12

Red: What makes her happy? Does she like a good foot massage?

5x15

Red: Maybe a massage parlor. The athletes would love it!

5x16

Red: Mr. Garvey, might I suggest you enjoy what little time you have left - crab cakes, scalp massages, perhaps a double feature of “The 400 Blows” and “Jules and Jim” - whatever floats your boat. Do it now, because I will find those bones, and when I do, I’m gonna kill you.

5x17

Red: I hope you have indigestion. Liz: No. But if it makes you feel better, I’m in a bad mood. Red: Excellent! Dembe: He’s making fenugreek porridge. My ancestors learned that it can cure a troubled stomach and soothe aches and pains. Red: Medicinal South Sudanese cuisine. Liz: Cooking it up in their embassy’s kitchen. Aren’t you living large?

5x19

Red: This apartment. Right here. Oh. My God. To have been the proverbial fly on Clyde Tolson’s duvet. Liz: Clyde Tolson lived here? J. Edgar Hoover’s lover? Red: This was their secret hideaway. Imagine the conversations. Cooing over JFK’s lovers. Slandering Dr. King. What peignoir to wear to bed. When I saw the apartment was for sale, I couldn’t resist. Liz: You own the apartment where the homophobic head of the FBI carried on his affair with his boyfriend? Red: Allegedly. I wouldn’t admit this in mixed company, but J. Edgar and I have a surprising amount in common. For instance, we both always get our man.

Red: What’s that smell? Is that lavender? And mint. Is that your head? What kind of products do you use? I’m dying of curiosity. Garvey: Wouldn’t that be nice. Red: You smell that? Dembe: Yes. It’s lovely. Red: I’ll say. Absolutely lovely. Whatever it is, you and I need to get some.

5x22

Red: Oh. A lightweight merino. Super 120, natural stretch. I swear by it.

Waters: So, what do you think of this one? Red: Oh, John, yes. I like that. But go with the Snowy River Collection in the Glen Urquhart plaid. It worked for the Duke of Windsor. And, just my opinion, consider a vest. Waters: You think? Are vests in again? Red: Vests have never been out.

6x4

Vega: Yeah. I also got the blade that’s gonna carve you like a pumpkin. Red: Jack-o’-lantern. Vega: Huh? Red: A pumpkin is a gourd. A jack-o’-lantern is the carved pumpkin. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I knew what you meant.

6x5

Baldwin: One. I arrested that man there, in the navy-blue suit. Sima: May the record reflect the witness has identified the defendant. Red: Uh, o-objection. Judge Wilkins: Grounds? Red: The suit is actually a prunelle weave blue with a subtle overlay of red. So in the right light, it goes quite plum.

#dialogues

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nerdy-flower · 6 years

Text

@sinunamor IT IS WRITTEN

Sorry for the heckin long wait ;^; here it is! Ernest Growing Up Part 3/3! (For now~)

(Ernest curses a lot and it’s a little sad at the beginning, otherwise it’s G)

It isn't working.

In spite of everything, Ernest came out of college doing kind of okay. He had an alright resume, a little pocket of savings, some furniture. Better than some kids he sat next to at graduation, for sure. He gets that coveted first apartment to himself- literally a room and a bathroom. The water pressure is like a dog lifting its leg and peeing on him and the neighbours are obnoxious, but it was his. He was paying rent! Utilities! Insurance, even! Life was looking up! Was.

He stayed in the city he went to school in, With his Pop's new condo a half hour away, it didn't feel so far. They'd have dinner all the time. Pop would give him tips on places to go and things to see. At one point, he says he wouldn't have moved here if he didn't know Ernest was staying. Ernest didn't have a great answer for that, tongue sudden;y stuck. They get froyo anyway.

His shit job became two shit jobs and then one again, then two, then three very briefly, then one with occasional paid-in-cash online ads stuff. Maybe illegal? Only in a tax law way, so whatever. He busts his ass- well, some of the time. Sometimes he half-asses it and gets paid anyway, other times he gets fired, depends on the place. What it comes down to is that he never has enough money. All the Gen Z-targeted personal finance advice blogs are shit, too. “Get a roommate!” For where? The cupboard under his kitchen sink?

Actually, in his postal code, someone might take it. But they'd be just as broke as him.

Even now, he feels spoiled and pathetic. Plenty of people just had to make do, they didn't have a Dad to send cheques in the mail, a stepdad to order them groceries online, a Pop to full-on spot them rent money. He tries and tries to make it work and he /can't./

Finally, he picks up the phone. “Dad?”

“Ernest? What's the matter? Is everything-”

“Can I come home?” With his stuff, he means, with the furniture he can't use anymore and his rejected debit card and-

Hugo makes this little noise, a very parental click of concern that sticks right in his chest. “Of course, always.”

Lucien drives him because he's been working solely off his laptop and following Pablo around the East Coast. Ernest isn't a hundred percent on what he does, but it's enough to pay for a rental van and a premium streaming account so commercials don't interrupt their drawn-out silence on the way back North to Maple Bay.

“Do you need to be an asshole about this? I said I was sorry, okay? I'll pay you back as soon as I get money, /god./”

“All I asked,” Lucien drawls, smartass as always. “Is if you wanted me to buy you a bagel. So I'll just buy your least favourite one and we'll carry the fuck on, shall we?”

Ernest officially hates everything forever, but mostly himself.

Dad and Damien welcome them home with big, awkward hugs and lots of understanding when he wants to go to bed straightaway and they left his room the way it was and /fuck/-

Pics or it didn't happen, as the young adults say. If no one sees him crying and hugging his teddy in his mid-twenties, it never took place.

His dignity drops a few more points the next day when he has to beg and plead with his Dad not to tell Pop.

“What if he goes to your place and you're not there?” Hugo insists, hands soapy from washing the dishes. “He'll be so worried!”

“He always calls or texts first, always,” Ernest thrusts another dried plate into the cupboard and balls his fists together. “I'm not gonna pretend forever, honest. /Please/, Dad, just a few more days, that's all I'm asking. It's my thing to tell him, anyway!”

“Okay, okay,” Hugo holds his hands up in a peacemaking gesture. He tucks some overgrown hair behind his ear- shit, he's gone even more grey. His dads are going grey and he can't afford his own Netflips account. “I won't tell him, but if he calls and asks, I'm not going to lie. Alright?”

“Fair enough,” Ernest sighs through his nose, tucking the cutlery away in brooding silence. Goddammit, he's too old to brood. This sucks.

Hugo watches him a minute before draining the sink. “Have you heard from Carmensita? She's back in town, you two should meet for coffee or something. Get your mind off things.”

Ernest swings his head around, barely listening to the second half of the sentence. “She's back already? I know she was talking about it, but- yeah. I'll text her.”

He does, and they meet up, later that day because his schedule is open indefinitely. He waves to River and Crish, doing something with multiple types of sportsballs in the Cahn family driveway and thankfully too focused to do more than wave back. Carmensita comes strolling out of Mat's house in a flower-print romper and jogs up the sidewalk to him and he's never, ever been so happy to see someone.

Except that time he got lost at Disney World, but we don't talk about that.

“There's my favourite human!” Ernest laughs as she hops up to hug him. He insists he never got taller, she got shorter, but she still gives the greatest hugs. “No more braids, huh? That's a big change.”

Carmensita giggles and teases her fingers through her mohawk, her sides shaved down to thatches of brown fuzz. “I just got it done, do you like it? It's pretty different, for me at least.”

“I love it,” Ernest scratches one side of her undercut until she playfully bats his hand away. “Nah, it suits you. Makes you look cool and smart, like you're gonna mess somebody up but with your know-how instead of your fists.”

“Overly specific, but I'll take it.” Carmensita grins, a flash of snarky white and he feels like he can stand up straighter. They wave again at the over-active River on their way across the cul-de-sac, and 'Sita leans in to him, talking behind her hand. “You heard about Ashley and Mary, right?”

“Yeah, I sure did.” Ernest glances across the street, almost feeling eyes on him from Mary's house. Which used to be Julian's house, but then Julian and Damien talked and agreed to sell it to Mary shortly after her divorce so she could get out of Damien's spare bedroom and have enough space that custody would be a non-issue. Julian was totally cool with it, because he was practically moved in with Mat anyway and Amanda was fully settled into New York- “God, this neighbourhood is weird.”

“Something in the groundwater, I think,” Carmensita laughs, shaking her head. “Craig's the real deal though. He's legit totally cool with it. I was here in time for the first summer BBQ and I expected, y'know, some awkwardness.”

“Folks around here save all the awkwardness for their kids,” Ernest drawl to make her laugh again. It's nearly sticky outside, but he refuses to remove his sweater. He goes bare-armed for exactly two months a year, tans up real nice, and goes right back into his cotton cocoons of happiness. “So how's life n'stuff?”

“Life n'stuff is pretty good. I've got all my boxes unpacked in less than two months, so that's my record.” She slips off her glasses to polish them on her shirt. “I'll show you my place when we get there, I'm teaching piano lessons out of my living room right now, and- oh! You know what tonight is, right? Are you busy?”

Ernest shakes his head to both, he's been too depressed to check social media and he definitely isn't busy. “What's tonight?”

Carmensita grins wide and imitates an airhorn to punctuate her words. “Open mic night! Woo woo woo!”

It's a little different to watch from the audience with everyone else. The Cahn twins are working part-time at the Spoon now and they're the ones doing the backstage stuff. Lucien drives into town for it, Pablo's tour wrapping up with 'boring business shit' that he'd apparently rather skip. The three of them claim a corner table with high stools and enjoy the quirky parade.

His dad was right, it is nice to forget about his bullshit for a while. He recognizes kids he used to see racing around the playground strumming guitars and nervously messing up their lyrics. Back then he would have made fun of them, and maybe he does chuckle a little, but he gives them credit. He hasn't been on a stage in- oof, at least a year. Discounting karaoke, of course. He wonders what Disaster Master Quinn is up to these days.

The night ends, early enough for all the teens to go to bed, with a pretty tight Sunstroke Project cover on theramin. There is much clapping and whooping and thanking before everyone starts clearing out. Carmensita chugs the rest of her coffee, discreetly wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “Alright, let's pay our tabs and head upstairs. Who's feeling Mario Party?”

“You know I am,” Lucien smirks as they gather their things. “None of the car ones though, I hate that shit.”

Ernest loses the thread of the conversation because there's a hiss of static in his ears. He can't pay his tab. His chequing account is a negative number and he can't remember if their register takes credit or not but that's not an option either. He's too broke. To pay for a goddamn /tea./ God, why does he only clue into shit when it's too late?

The thought of asking them to pay makes him wanna puke, so he performs the maneuver that saved him from many a terrible college party: the Irish Goodbye.

The crowd makes it easy to slip away. He lopes through the parking lot and heads into the undeveloped no-man's land behind the softball field. He shuts off his phone, which any rational instinct would encourage him not to do. He's gonna take the long, long way home and- then what? Isn't that just the biggest fucking question of his life- and then what, you witless idiot?

The static does not stop as he hurries through the warm summer air, eventually cutting across the street and walking down the bay. His pulse is really high for no friggin' reason and he probably couldn't type a text if he needed to- wait, is this a panic attack? No, come on. He's too old to get on any of his dads' benefits. He can't be doing this. He can't, he can't-

A car drives up slowly beside him, and he has a split-second of facing his death before the window rolls down to reveal two annoyed, very familiar faces. “You live in my Dad's house, what the hell was your long-term plan with this?”

“Look, I'm sorry, I couldn't pay and I-” Ernest rakes a hand through his hair, pulling on his scalp. “I'm sorry I'm such a fuck-up, okay? I shouldn't have come out tonight, I'm no good to be around right now.”

Carmensita runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “You ditched us over a four-ninety-seven tab?”

“I called it.”

She scowls, undoes her seatbelt, and clambers out of the passenger door, stomping around to his side. “Give me your face, right now. C'mere-”

Ernest hunches his shoulders so she can reach, mostly out of confusion. She takes his cheeks in her warm hands and paps them with each word, like she's trying to wake up a drunk guy in a movie. “We're not hanging out with your wallet! We want to hang out with /you,/ if you'll stop! Being! Such! A! Dumbass!”

“Can you stop smacking my face?”

“Maybe,” Carmensita drops her hands after two more, crossing her arms. “Seriously though, not cool. What's gotten into you?”

“Dude, I forgot that I couldn't afford to buy a bagel, like how fucked am I?” Ernest scrubs his face, palms burning with his need for a shave. “Everything's so messed up right now. I feel like a complete waste of space.”

“Again with this?” Lucien makes an irritated noise from the car, leaning out the window. “Like you're the only one who's ever been broke. How much money do you think I had after college?”

“Why do you think I'm living over my dad's shop?” Carmensita tilts her head at him. “I know you're upset, but you're not on your own, for god's sake. I would have bought you that bagel anyway, you didn't need to freak out.”

“Guhhhh,” Ernest pushes the heel of one palm against his eye. “I'm sorry I'm such an idiot. I can barely fuckin' think right now.”

“Do you wanna go home or do you wanna play video games with us?” Lucien asks, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “No judgment either way. But maybe decide quick, before some cops come by and get all up in our business.”

Ernest would really like to bury himself in all of his blankets but, in the interest of not continuing to screw up his personal relationships, he picks the right choice. “Video games, please.”

They collectively kick the CPU's ass at getting stars and Carmensita hugs him before he leaves, Lucien's taillights in the distance. “You're not a waste of space, okay? It'll get better, just don't let things get this bad again.”

He almost misses being the one to cheer her up. It's a shitty thing to miss, but at least he didn't go home feeling all squashed on the inside.

Ernest gets up the guts to call his Pop a few days later. He's totally cool about it, even though he sunk how much into that one room. Somehow that makes Ernest feel worse.

“Trust me, my credit in my early twenties was a /mess,/ I was really stupid with my money. It was bad. Like, scary bad. Your gramps flipped his lid when he saw my pile of bills on the table.”

“Mine's a mess too,” Ernest mumbles, knees folded up to his chest as he leans back against his headboard.

“Yeah, but it's more fixable than it looks. It'll just take time. If you owned a car or something that would be kinda rough, but hey, I turned it around, didn't I? Before I met your dad too, no way would he have dated pre-grad school me. Nuh-uh,” Pop laughs, a hiss-crack in his ear because he does this weird almost-silent laugh that Ernest makes fun of constantly. “Tell you what, I'll pay off your card so you're not getting those assholes calling you every day. Then you can focus on finding a job, I heard they have a youth program you'd still-”

“I'm sorry,” Ernest manages to wobble out, a big lump in his throat as the tears burn.

“What?” Pop's voice turns all anxious and concerned, which hurts even worse. “Hey, kiddo, it's alright. You don't have to be sorry. I know you were trying your best, it's really tough when you're starting out alone-”

“I'm so sorry,” Ernest hiccups, covering his face with his hand as he snots. “I can't pay you back and I probably never will and I'm gonna have to put Dad in a nursing home with cockroaches because they just slashed teacher pensions again and everything is so fucked /forever./”

“Ernest, Ernest, listen to me,” Pop's voice strains against the weak receiver of his phone. “Nothing is fucked, okay? No one's mad at you. We'll fix this, I promise. Ernest?”

It's a rough month, for sure. Pop comes to visit. Him and Dad have been really good at not-bitching-at-each-other since he crossed that adulthood threshold. Maybe it was child support that made them fight after all. Pop used to get these little digs into dad, telling him to quit and go into something with a future. Maybe him and money are just cursed or something.

He loses it again when they hug him at the same time. He's only gotten those at graduations and he's all out of those now. “We would do anything and everything for you, do you hear me?” Dad is halfway out of his lawn chair, the three of them on the back porch, having borrowed a little barbecue from Brian. “I'd rather have you here than starving in some apartment somewhere. Everything's going to be fine, mijo. I promise.”

“I'll bring you down for a visit whenever you want.” Pop assures him as he's leaving, hugging him again. It's so weird that he's taller than him now. “If you want to move, I'll help. But honestly, you might be better off here for a bit. Rent is going crazy in the city and it's not worth it.”

“How does a couple hours' drive make such a huge difference?” Ernest sniffs, shuffling in the driveway.

“I mean, I could explain but it's really boring.” He smiles and ruffles his hair. “You'll be alright, kiddo. Don't worry so much, okay?” Easier said than done, but it's well-meant. He accepts it.

He does qualify for extra help at the employment place, but unfortunately he has a humanities degree, which means no marketable skills. Which means part-time at the small bougie grocery store downtown, which is in fact a hell of a lot better than nothing.

“Excuse me.” An older woman clutching a plastic handbag strolls up to him while he's stocking shelves. “Do you have any of those sweet honey mustards?”

“No ma'am, sorry. We ran out.”

She narrows her beady eyes at him. “Why?”

Most of the time.

Carmensita's doing pretty well for herself between the Coffee Spoon and her piano lessons. Not move-into-her-own-place good, but she's got a nice little loft space over the shop. Sick prints up all over the walls, those fairy lights she's always liked, her keyboard set up beside her computer desk all tidy for when the kids come by. Ernest spends his off-hours googling potential side-hustles and making music for the first time in a while.

“-Practically everybody's stressed, yes!” Ernest snaps his fingers with one hand and runs his beats with the other. “But they press through the mess, bounce cheques, and wonder what's next!”

“In the heights! I buy my coffee and I go,” Carmensita sings clear as anything, laying into her keys. “Set my sights on only what I need to know...”

“Girl, how'd you get so good at that? Damn,” Ernest shakes his head after they stop recording. “It's like Mandy Gonzalez was right here.”

“Vocal coaching, son!” Carmensita grins, sticking out her thumb and pinky finger and twisting her wrist. “Taught me how to sing from the diaphraaaaaaagm.”

Ernest cracks up at the low note she hits, spinning around in her chair and staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. “Hey, do you ever feel bad for being happy? Like, you're not supposed to be, or something?”

“Hell yeah, all the time,” Carmensita stretches, laying out on her secondhand piano bench and popping her back. “Like if I'm having a good day I get thinking, 'oh but if I was at X point, I could be doing Y.' I think I'm scared I'll get complacent or something.”

“Yeah,” Ernest sits up, catching his feet on the carpet. “But like, I don't know how long our whole generation's gonna be stuck like this. So if we can't enjoy this...”

“Oof, heavy stuff.” Carmensita swats at the bag of mini Oreos until he passes it to her, grabbing a handful himself. “This isn't so bad though. Who knows, maybe we'll look back with nostalgia goggles and miss it.”

“Yeah.” He settles back in the chair, toying with the music program on his aging laptop. “Maybe.”

Carmensita sits up, tugging her off-the-shoulder t-shirt back down where it had ridden up on her belly. “Wanna eat pot brownies and watch Bebop again?”

Ernest scoffs. “Is that even a question?”

By the time Pablo and Lucien come down for Thanksgiving Part One (there's always cliffhanger holidays with divorced parents, but it's not so bad anymore, it's just a part of it), his life has a routine. He's too grown to resent 'being another cog in the machine' in any significant way. Predictable income and free time is a blessing and a half and he's not giving it up unless he works his way up to something real good. Which will take time, and energy, and so, so much luck.

But right now he's got a favourite lunch and does his share of the chores (cleaning Damien's weird house only seems daunting, it just takes a lot of furniture polish and a big-ass feather duster). He sees his Pop as often as he can with him jetting all over the continent, texting when they're in different time zones and laughing about stupid coworker stories (his Pop's are more maddening, apparently higher salaries don't strain out the truly incompetent, somehow that's comforting, too).

He can pay for Coffee Spoon bagels now, coming to Carmensita's aid during lulls in her shifts. Both their schedules are pretty regular, so they exchange barely a message or two before coming to see each other at certain points in the week. With what pocket money they do have, they get concert tickets once or twice, go ice skating, and buy fries at the mall, wandering around the stores after dark and trying to pick out new versions of themselves. Mostly they just go home with small things they don't need and pricey chocolate bars they split. When she gets wicked cramps, he hits her up with aspirin and movies they've seen ten times. When he can't get out of bed, she sends him memes and cute dog videos.

Dad and Damien are gross as per usual, but they're also way less nosy than they used to be. It's weird to just take off for the day or night without any further questions. Though coming back is a different story.

“I got your text,” Hugo leans out of the study (yes, they have one, of course they do) when he hears Ernest's sock feet shuffling up the hallway. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” Ernest shrugs, unbuttoning his uniform shirt. “A sewer main burst while they were working on the parking lot. The fire department scooted everyone out of there pretty quick, it smelled awful. I had better get paid for the full shift.”

“You have a right to, you weren't the one driving the backhoe.” His dad grins, re-shelving a book before shutting the door. “On the bright side, unexpected free time is always a bonus.”

“It sure is, and I'm gonna use it to take a well-deserved nap.”

“Oh.” A beat while he fixes his expression. “Okay, I'll record that documentary for you.”

Ernest turns, hand on the ornate doorframe. “Is that on today?” Hugo's eager nod goes right between his ribs and he smiles. “Nah, I'll watch it with you. Naps mess up my sleep schedule anyway, make me all cranky in the morning.”

“As opposed to any other morning?”

“Rude,” he snorts while his dad chuckles. “I'll be down in a minute, okay? Just gotta get changed and stuff.”

“Okay.” Not five minutes into changing and checking his email, he gets a text.

HV: You want to order in for dinner? Two-for-one at the pizza place

HV: We can get those chicken bite things, I have a coupon :)

Ernest laughs, oddly reminded of coming home to Duchess after high school sleepovers. He sends a quick 'sure dad,' and takes some of his recycling down. They spend the evening in their boxers on the couch in the den, three of the four hairless cats Damien had adopted when they came through the shelter (he didn't last long post-Duchess once he had a taste of pet ownership) snuggled up beside and on top of them. It's not their first or last night spent this way.

He does quietly scream to the heavens at the mere suggestion of a girlfriend. “I'm a cashier- oh, sorry, 'customer service associate.' All I've got to offer someone right now is pocket lint and my winning personality.”

“But that is precisely what you should be offering in a relationship!” Damien insists, winding black tinsel up the staircase while Ernest does the same on the other side. “If wealth was a prerequisite, only the rich would fall in love.”

“I don't need to be rich, but I do need a little something to put in my dating profile, you know?” He's already down a few pegs courtesy of his 'no sex for me please' sexuality, but he won't bring that up now. Tis the season, and all that.

“You have much to include! You are in possession of many fine qualities,” Damien smiles at him, looking less vampire and more nerd with his hair up in a bun and his glasses on. His outfit is like Dickens and Mary Shelley had a weird baby, though. “Your father and I just think it would be nice if you had someone special in your life, that's all. We're not pressuring you to bring someone home for the holidays.”

“Well, that's appreciated,” Ernest ties off the tinsel, zipping up his hoodie again. What did thermostats ever do to fathers, anyway? “I'm just kind focusing on me right now. I'll get in a relationship when I'm in a better spot.”

“Ah, that is fair,” Damien grabs another handful of tinsel for the top banisters. “But love can happen upon you when you least expect it. Such was the case for me both times.”

Ernest had never decided if Damien getting sappy about his dead husband or his very-alive husband who is also Ernest's dad was worse, they might tie for first place.

EHV: Plz never let me become this gross n sentimental when I'm old plz

LB: You cry at Hamilton now and you've seen it so many fing times

EHV: ELIZA DESERVED BETTER GDI DON'T START W ME

CS: I WILL CRY AT ITS QUIET UPTOWN UNTIL THE DAY I DIE FIGHT ME SCRUB

EHV: YEAH THAT'S RIGHT

LB: Oh ffs I forgot this was the groupchat

Speaking of awkward sad times, this year's holidays are busy and bright and not as rushed as last year where he could barely visit anyone for more than a couple hours, but the same anniversary comes around. He's celebrating a third Christmas up at Damien's parents place over New Year's weekend, laughing it up while everyone is maybe too drunk, but he has a sixth sense when that text buzzes in.

CS: I wish missing someone didn't hurt so much :(

EHV: I know <3

CS: Dad's sad, but he's got Julian now

CS: I'm just by myself up in my old room, they're asleep already

EHV: Aw, shit. Do you want me to call you?

CS: No, you're with family. I'm fine

EHV: Everyone is tipsy and Dad is losing at trivial pursuit

CS: Okay then yes please <3

He makes his first appearance at open mic night in the cold and crisp new year. One technical glitch makes him nearly piss himself but it otherwise goes okay. Carmensita sings right after him, her dad on guitar and it's so frickin' good.

“God, you guys are so cool,” he says afterwards, spinning a bottle of Windex around his finger and taking Wild West-style aim at the glass in front of the baked goods.

“Glad I've still got it,” Mat grins, going back to counting the money. “You should do more of these, everyone was super into it. There's another place that does really good open mics out in the boonies, it's a cafe-arthouse thing.”

“You think so?” Ernest had immediately repressed all memory of his performance upon leaving the stage, it was a good coping technique.

“We should start a YouWatch channel!” Carmensita exclaims, as if for the first time, though she's been bugging him for weeks. “We'll do covers to get the subs, then post our own stuff! I bet we could get sponsors!”

“Mister Sella,” Ernest says very seriously. “Are you aware that your daughter is selling out to the man?”

'Sita hits him with a broom, but he does decide to take the leap. Not like starting a channel takes a lot of upfront capital investment, exactly. They do pool money for one good mic, and figure they'll work their way up if it turns out to be worth it. They pick songs from their early teens to indulge their own and others' guilty pleasure fix, and they do weird remixes of things that aren't songs, and he convinces Carmensita to do tag videos. It's fun, and some people like it. Not a ton, but hey, maybe someday.

They only complain on days they're not recording, not wanting to wreck their voices. This time they're slumped on Ernest's bed, him whinging continuously after his first attempt at online dating ended in utter failure, therefore he should give up and never try again, right? Less money on dating, more money to eventually adopt dogs?

“Ernest, I want you to try something.” Carmensita reaches over and covers his eyes, her voice only a little exasperated. “Envision what you want in a relationship. Dad taught me this, I used it to figure out where I wanted to go for college.”

“Okay. Does it work, or is it some hokey bullshit?”

“Quit being rude and humour me, dammit.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, feeling her well-manicured thumb jab his cheek. He wets his lips while he thinks for a moment. “Uh, I wanna be with someone who's funny and nice, fun to be around.”

“Okay, can we get a little more depth than that?”

“Give me a second here, woman,” he snorts. “I want- someone who's chill, who likes some of the stuff I like- not everything, but we gotta have stuff to do together, you know?” Carmensita hums. “I want- I really want someone I can build a future with. I don't wanna just play around, y'know? I want someone responsible- heh, maybe not too responsible. But someone I can trust, someone I can see myself having kids with.”

“Woah, you want kids-plural now?”

“Well not a whole bunch, but two would be nice. They can play with each other- anyway,” Ernest gulps, strangely caught up in the thought process. “I want someone who when I look at her- I just want all the good stuff in the world for her. She's going places and she's talented- I want someone who I really get, who gets me back. When people talk about marrying their best friend, that's- that's what I want. Someone who- accepts me, and we can be ourselves around each other, always.”

They're quiet a moment, Carmensita's hand still on his face. She takes it away slowly and smiles softly. “So, you want what you have with me, but with kissing?”

Ernest blanks for a solid thirty seconds before raising his finger. “Okay, first of all, when did you get so smooth?”

Carmensita laughs, loud and cute, sweeping some loose curls off her forehead and looking at him with these eyes- he's never seen her look at him like that until now. Or maybe he was just that clueless. “Is that really all you want to ask me?”

Ernest swallows, loud enough to hear it, sitting up a little straighter. “Can I- kiss you?”

“I don't know, can you?”

He groans outright, dropping his head on her shoulder while she giggles. “One of these days, 'Sita, one of these days.”

She smells really nice this close, maybe it's her shampoo? It's damn good, whatever it is. Her hands end up on his shoulders, not pressing, just holding him. He lifts his head and god, that little moment of eye contact before they both lean forward-

First kisses are not usually perfect, but he's willing to call this one close enough. She's warm and soft beneath his lips. His arms slip around her waist and it's like she was made to fit against him. He outright sighs when they part, kissing her nose just to hear her laugh again.

“Are you-” He can't quite find his words right now, his mind cycling through all the new and so very nice stimuli his senses are taking in. Carmensita's always been beautiful to him but he never thought, never let himself- “Do you- are you sure you wanna do this? I can't- I really like you, but I don't think I'll ever be able to do the physical stuff. You deserve-”

She presses a finger to his lips and he silences himself immediately, distracted by the light of her eyes. “There's nothing I want that online shopping with discreet shipping can't provide. None of that 'you deserve better' crap. I want you, if you want me back, then we should keep kissing and see where it takes us.”

Ernest works his jaw for a few moments, then nods. “Yeah, I can get behind that train of thought.”

Carmensita's laugh as he pulls her in for more smooches is the sweetest sound he's ever heard.

They end up cuddling up and falling asleep together- hahaha an asexual sleeping with someone on the first date, hahaha, puns and stuff -a bonus of neither of them having morning shifts the next day and Carmensita not having anyone expecting her back at home. He wakes up before she does, spooned up behind her, all their clothes rumpled, the blankets cocooned around them. He kisses the nape of her neck and sighs. He feels content, for the first time in a while.

The softest of knocks precedes the door creaking open. “Hey, Ernest, do you want- /oh/.”

The door shuts quickly, rousing Carmensita and making Ernest groan. “So much for keeping quiet about it.”

“Were we going to?” She yawns, sitting up and stretching. “Also, I'm bringing my silk pillowcases or we're only sleeping at my place. How do you live like this?”

“I dunno, I'm a mess.” He laughs and sits up, a tentative hand on her back. “I just- I'm scared. We've been friends for so long, I don't want to risk it going badly.”

“But if we don't risk it going badly, we also don't risk it going well.” She clumsily boops his nose, smiling dopily at him. “Guess which outcome I have my money on?”

“Girl, what money?” He laughs when she jabs him in the stomach. He leans in for a kiss after a moment, realizing that they can do that now, and smooches her cheek gladly. “So, if the Dads know, that means we're officially an 'us.'”

“We are.” She grins and kisses his cheek back. “I like being an us, it's pretty great so far.”

“It is.” He grins back, feeling like he can't stop. Shit, it's really happening. Is he in love? Is that an okay word to use after literally one very unexpected day? Probably not out loud.

He walks her downstairs, and they whisper-laugh a few walk-of-shame jokes before she heads out in her poofy pink coat, leaving him alone with the giddy feeling in his gut. In the dining room, Dad and Damien are doing maybe the worst acting job he's ever seen. “Are you two gonna make a big deal out of this?”

“Make a big deal out of what?” Damien inquires with convincing innocence, frying pan and spatula in hand.

“Yes, is there something we should make a big deal out of?” Hugo smiles, legitimately doing the newspaper crossword like he's a goddamn cartoon character.

Ernest sighs and drops into his chair, accepting several pancakes from Damien. “We literally just started- dating, I guess. No wedding bells, no grandbabies, nothing crazy yet, so please relax.”

“You know we're not like that.”

“Certainly, I'm not my mother.” Damien chuckles, almost unconsciously rubbing Hugo's robe-covered arm while they eat. So gross, but also goals.

“But, out of curiosity,” Hugo teasingly elbows him. “Did you kiss her yet?”

The dads laugh while Ernest howls. He'd text his Pop for backup, but he will get the exact same shit in different wording. He pulls out his phone and texts Lucien instead.

EHV: Hey Carmensita and I are dating just FYI

LB: About gd time, you've been heart eyes at her for literal years

CS: What

CS: Lucien why would you not tell me this

CS: I COULD HAVE SAVED SO MUCH TIME >:(

EHV: Oh shit group chat again

LB: Let's rename these things plz

EHV: Sorry babe <3

CS: Np hon ;*

LB: And here I am, third wheeling it again

EHV: You are basically married stfu

LB: That does not make this better

CS: Ladies ladies, you're both pretty

EHV: Sita knows whats uppppp

LB: Finishing BNHA this weekend y/n?

CS: Y, obvs

EHV: Also Y, I'm off at 7 don't watch ahead

LB: Don't walk so slow and we won't

EHV: Eat a dick

CS: G2g, love you guys

EHV: Love ya too

LB: <3

LB: Also, straaaaaaaaaaight

EHV: Fuckin really dude

LB: Someone has to

LB: Tell Dad I'm coming for dinner tonight

EHV: Will do, bye weeb

LB: Cya loser

#sinunamor #dream daddy #dream daddy hc #ddadds #ernest hemingway vega #carmensita sella #ernestsita

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wearecounterfeit · 6 years

Photo

Rolling Stone Russia interviewed Jamie before Counterfeit. headed on over for their gigs. You can find the interview in Russian here.

We have a rough translation for you below:

"I apologize for the late call," Jamie begins politely, carcassing one cigarette and pulling out a new one from the pack. Behind the back of a 28-year-old actor and musician, he can see a room lit by a floor lamp with a window almost to the wall. The atmosphere is very cozy, even in the absence of curtains. - Lately, a lot has happened. On Friday, I need to be at the funeral of my friend's father - we've known each other since I was eight, and before that I rehearsed a lot. The whole group now lives together in a country house, but because of the circumstances, I had to come to London for a short time. " Jamie's hair is combed back, with a black denim jacket that reveals a light blue shirt unbuttoned over his chest. The leader of Counterfeit is visibly enlivened when I tell him that I have just returned from a short but exhausting tour with Machine Gun Kelly. "I know Kelly! - with a smile of recognition, exclaims Bower, a handsome guy with delicate features. The earring glitters in his nose. - We had dinner with him somehow, and we have a lot of common friends. He is awesome!"

How do you, the musicians, survive on long tours? I was exhausted even four days.

It always happens - you just have to go through this state. The first week is always the heaviest, your body is shocked, and then you are drawn. I always thought that the most important thing for the band is the performances, so you need to make sure that everything that happens on the tour does not interfere with them. I love touring - it's on the road that I feel most comfortable. When the tour comes to an end, I try not to notice that this is the last concert - I do not want to stop. When it all ends, it takes me about a week for a kind of decompression - I understand that I'm exhausted, and I plan to spend this time in bed eating pizza and in every way imitating a sloth. However, at some point I get an incredible itch - the same happens when we get a day off during the tour - wake up at five in the morning and realize that you do not need to play any concert - you can rest. In any case, the end of the tour always causes mixed feelings - touring is exhausting, but on the other hand, you are on the road with friends, with the family that you chose yourself - this is a bonus. We've known my guitarist Tristan from the age of eight, so we perfectly understand when we start to enrage each other. The same goes for the other members of the group, the tour manager and the technicians - they are like a family, we have known each other for a very long time, and we understand when it is necessary to shut up.

Have you watched the TV series "The Tourists "?

Kelly was in it, was he not? I read that it was closed after the first season, but did not see it. We have one guy among the staff, whose name is Peter. So, Peter is a bloody pocket rocket! You know, we are always involved in the process of loading equipment onto the site. One day I went off to smoke one cigarette, and when I came back in a couple of minutes, all my shit - and it's a lot of it - was already on the stage. Peemar - that's what we call him, - a very short guy, and I do not know how he gets up such things. The guys from our team work very hard, and without them we just could not do it. I consider it very important to maintain friendly relations with them - often you see terrible examples when the group conducts between themselves and the staff a line dividing the guys into "them" and "us". For me, it's dog shit - we all work for the same purpose.

An hour ago I spoke on the phone with Isaac Holman of Slaves , and asked if he knew your group. He said he knew the name, but he had never heard your music. What, in turn, can you say about Slaves ?

I like Slaves ! I recently discovered this band for myself, and was impressed with how just two guys with a guitar and drums can create such a dense sound. They sound very cool and damp - I like it! They also have an incredible cover on " Shutdown " Skeptics - grime is perfectly combined with punk rock. For me, so generally now there is more punk in pimp than in punk rock - they send everyone to hell and talk about real shit. That cover simply blew up the airwaves when it sounded on BBC Radio 1.

Since we're talking about Skept, then how do you like his joint track with Mick Jagger?

I have not heard yet, but in general it's very cool: Skepta and Mick Jagger, two absolute icons of different generations, together! Skept in England is indeed a cultural phenomenon - he is at the forefront of the grime scene, working with Drake, directed by Boy Better Know .

What kind of music do you like lately?

I really liked the new album [Marilyn] Manson. Amazing record - he seemed to be back in those days when I first met his work - then only the track " Fight Song " came out . And after a softer, in my opinion, " Pale Emperor " - I'm a fan of Manson, but I listened to that album a couple of times and put it aside. When I really like music - like " Heaven Upside Down " - I lose it again and again without stopping until I'm already sick of it. This is an incredibly clever record, and I really like her deep aggression.

Also recently, I was mentally returning to the time when I was fifteen - then only came "The First Impressions of Earth " The Strokes , an album that summed up my teenage period - when I first heard it, it just gave me a brain. Recently I sat down and listened to their first three albums. " Is This It " and " Room On Fire " are quite similar, but in spite of this, both there and there are great songs. The third plate of The Strokes is just gloomy - Julian Casablancas, they say, he decided then to send everything to hell - so he was tired of everything.

In addition to The Strokes and Manson, there are many friendly bands that I like, for example, The Xcerts - I'm their longtime fan. Soon the guys have a new album; they play a melodic pop-rockin 'pop-pop, but without any reproduced shit. I like the latest release of The Story So Far ; The new single The Architects , which was released a couple of months ago, is simply amazing! I'm repeating these records, but, you know, when you're doing your music and you're very involved in it, then you start missing something new - I force myself to listen to new bands and be aware of what is happening in the music world.

A really cool service for such researches is Spotify with its section "similar artists". God, is he really inaccessible in Russia? It's terrible! We also have an excellent DJ Dan Karty on BBC Radio 1, he conducts a Sunday rock show and always tries to promote new bands, which is very cool - I learned about many newcomers thanks to him. I also have a brother Sam, who listens to heavier teams. This scene is very self-contained and full of cool projects, for example, thanks to him I recently discovered for myself Worthwhile - they play something like melodic hardcore. Hell, there are so many names of genres that I'm always confused in terms!

It's very cool when you find a group at a stage when they have very few followers - listen to them, go to concerts, and when they become popular, you are "Yes, hell! I have long loved them! "

Your latest video for the song You Can’t Rely turned out pretty halloweeny. Do you celebrate this holiday?

Of course! On this day everyone seems to dress the way we look every day.

What about horror movies?

I've always loved this genre - I like even bad horror movies. In general, I like all genres, because in the end it all depends on how interesting the story is. I think that I like horrors because, including them, you know roughly in advance that you will find out: there will necessarily be a protagonist who will be saved from the devil's wicked entity, or if you are on the side of this most evil essence, you just wait, when it will all dunk.

I also like science fiction, but again, the story should emotionally entice me. This succeeds in the production of the studio Blumhouse , as well as the authorship of James Wang - this guy is just a genius. The genre of horrors, having begun the way from a distant shelf, has strongly advanced in that to force spectators to perceive it seriously.

I have not seen the new " Blade Runner " yet, but I've heard a lot of good things about it. Did you like the movie? I'm a fan of the first part and I understand the general tension that arises every time a remake or a continuation of the classics is shot. Imagine that someone decided to remake your favorite record twenty years later in the spirit of "The album is excellent, but I want to write down my version." A natural reaction to this will be: "Wait, do you really think that this is a hell of a need? Maybe we'll leave it as it is? "This approach has to be resisted internally, and I'm looking forward to the moment when I can see" Blade Runner 2049 "- after all, it's a sequel, not a remake.

In one of the interviews you said that the engine of your creativity - both texts and music - is anger and aggression. With age, people usually become a bit calmer - what do you think will move you in the future?

You know, I once suppressed aggression - in the period from fifteen to twenty-five, but then I realized how it happens to many, that all these emotions are equally necessary in life - they are needed for the senses. In our first album, the malice I mentioned is not a reflection of my current state at that time, but rather there is my retrospective view of life. I believe that most of the art is born out of pain, and for me, as an artist, the pain is a powerful moving force - it concerns both songs and poems and some artistic scribbles (I'm not an artist, but I tried to draw). I do not know what will inspire me in the future - now we are starting to quietly work on a new album, and a lot of ideas are in the air. Usually I take as a basis one idea or written down on a line and build music around it - from this everything is born. It is important to establish an inner connection with yourself and pull out the words that you want to express, and also surround yourself with inspiring people. The new album will definitely have a lot of pain again - I do not know what will inspire me this time, but something definitely should - otherwise the record will turn out to be damn boring!

Say, and your name was never pronounced as "Bowie"?

Damn, no! Although I'm fucking waiting for such a case - I would like that when you check into the hotel, someone thinks I'm his son. By the way, my father's name is David - he will have to ask this question.

#interviews #counterfeit

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dearmyjimin · 7 years

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BTS as Actors (Hollywood AU)

I read the tags people left as they reblogged my latest edit: Bts as Actors Mockup and many requested to know the full synopsis of the movies, so read on if you are interested on the individual storylines. These are just some thoughts of the complete plots that were in my head as I designed. If you want to write fics based on any of my plots, you’re welcomed to do so but please credit + link back to my tumblr account & edit. Thank you!

TAEHYUNG: THE PRISON GRENADE

Taehyung plays the role of Jang Hyun who was captured for suspected arson. Jang had been seen and nabbed at the Port of Busan when the containers caught fire. Arrested, he was detained and eventually jailed when sufficient evidence worked against him. He doesn’t have a clean record. But his past crimes were mostly petty theft. The police and prison wardens saw him as nothing but an amateur criminal, and left Jang alone. Little did they know that this was his ploy. They had underestimated his abilities, the way his sweet words cold cajole criminals to work for him, his touches in the dark could seek favours from those who lusted after him, his face: pretty, charming and handsome, could make the nastiest men follow his heel like dogs after their masters. Jang was the slyest criminal the police didn’t know they would face, and he’d intentionally let himself be caught, so that he could be thrown into prison, and test his abilities to get himself out. It was all just a challenge to him, a dare that the genius in him gave his conscience. Jang burst his way out of jail with the criminals as his syndicate, just to prove that he was a serpent. He would be caught if he wanted to, and released if he desired.

HOSEOK: THE BRIDGE ACROSS MEMORIES

Hoseok plays the role of Edward Kang Shin, a child who grew up in the farms because his parents passed away during a fishing trip. Ever since his parents’ passing, he had been left in the care of his grandmother. She raised him single-handedly, worked in the fields so that she could send him to the village school. When he’d reached a certain age, Edward started to beg his grandmother to let him do some chores, because he’d wanted to help out at home or in the fields. Deeming him too young to work, she’d told him to focus on his homework or he’d fall back in school. Defiant, and struggling to prove himself, Edward left home one day to pluck seaweed for dinner when his grandmother made a short trip to a neighbour’s house. He’d wanted to show her that he was old enough to do it. So he took his cart, wore his shoes and set off towards the beach. Neighbours who’d passed by looked at him quizzically. It’s odd that Grandma Kang would let her beloved grandson roam around unattended. But he tripped on a rock, and fell into the sea when the waves were dangerous. He’d hit his head against a breakwater and promptly fainted. By mysterious luck, he survived and drifted until a fisherman found him. He took Edward him, raised him, until he was found a job in Seoul to pursue his dream of being a radio DJ. Edward was renamed as Lee Hyojun and he lived under this identity due to lost memories. He started to have dreams that he’d a grandmother, although his adoptive father did not have a mother. He talked about this dreams, and created a radio segment called “Dream and Recall”, where listeners could call in about their dreams. Hyojun (Edward) shared his until he realized that they were too realistic to be considered dreams. They felt real, like Déjà Vus that clung onto his memories. His program started to grow famous, and one day his grandmother tuned in from their village to listen to his segment. She listened to him describe about their past, listened to him describe the poppies and sunflowers in the vast fields, listened to him say he used to have a basket where he’d keep his toys. Stunned, she received help from the younger villagers to call the radio station to request for the radio DJ’s name. Hyojun? Her grandson’s name is Kang Shin. With dimming hope, she’d asked the young villagers to search through Naver for the radio DJ’s program and profile, and found an interview where he’d talked about losing his memory and being discovered by a fisherman. Eventually, his grandmother realizes that he is Kang Jun and she rushes to Seoul to reunite with him.

JUNGKOOK: THE DERANGED BEAST

Jungkook plays the role of Aaron Byun who had been snatched by child traffickers when he was only three. HIs parents had brought him for a trip to the Haeundae beach when he was kidnapped. When he was told he’d been kidnapped, he did not shed a single tear, neither did he cry. Young and innocent, he was the perfect candidate to be the syndicate’s next heir. Raised by the leader (who’d always wanted breed an heir), he was ruthless. Aaron was trained to kill when he needed to, and was told to be as unforgiving as a harsh winter. He grew up strong, fearless and unwavering even with men begged to be kept alive. He forgets that he has two loving parents, forgets that he could have the chance to go to school, grow up normal and have friends, forgets that he is just a boy from busan, one without the blood of innocent people on his hands. Then, one day, he is tasked to kill a aged couple because they had passed through a murder scene and were core witnesses to the syndicate’s crime. He kills them both, but almost falters when his first victim stares at his neckless rather than his face. She whispers, shell-shocked “My son. You’re my son!” The man kneeling beside her starts to cry, not at the situation, but at her words. Aaron fires two bullets and they slump forward. Even then, she crawls towards him and places a hand on his shoe. “You’re my son. My son,” she sobs, tears trickling down her bloodied face; eyes glassy from the life that seeps through her skin to the blood the stains the carpet. “we’ve been looking for you. Always.” After that night, Aaron start to investigate and question his origins. He realizes that he’d killed his biological parents, and they had never stopped searching for him every since he’d been kidnapped. Deranged, Aaron swears that he will destroy the syndicate and crush them into pieces, for they had taken his childhood, his life, his parents and crushed them to smithereens.

SEOKJIN: DRIFTING CLOSER

Seokjin plays the role of Yong Seongu, a neurosurgeon born into a rich, and unrelenting family, where his parents dictated his path, decided what was the best for him and sieved away what wasn’t. He lived through the vast majority of his life trapped and unhappy. He hated being a doctor, but he had to be. One day, he speaks to a random stranger in the park, an old man whose eyes were wiser than his father’s. The old man speaks to him like he speaks to a child, and asks him simple but piercing questions. Seongu realizes that he isn’t happy and that life will pass in a blink of an eye if he continues to let himself stay within a rut. Inspired and somewhat reckless, Seongu quits his job and flies to Europe without the consent of his parents. He lives a carefree life, travels from city to city to take pictures, and explores the reasons why he’d lost his dreams in the first place. He starts to heal, starts to gain inspiration, starts to find a sense of direction in his life. Eventually, he goes back to Seoul and lives away from his estranged parents. He starts a photography company with his savings. Months later, his mother visits him unannounced and notices the difference. There are sparks in his eyes and his footsteps are so light she wonders just how heavy his heart once was. In the end, his parents accept him for who his is and they rebuild their relationship.

JIMIN: WHITE HELL’S MONSTER

Jimin plays the role of Julian Kim, a poor college student studying in Seoul National University. One day he goes for a party and his friends tell him that there is a paid experiment looking for students. Naive and simple, Julian signs up for the paid experiment and arrives at the venue of the centre. He is met with a doctor, who explains that he will be blindfolded and lead to a room to sit to await his turn. However, time ticks and the room gets quieter by the hours. He doesn’t know why he is left alone and peels off the blindfold. When he does, he is shocked to find himself in an empty white room, with no windows and a truckload of ceiling cameras. Unknown gas fills the room and Julian passes out. He wakes up and discovers that the room has changed. There are two beds, no windows, pristine sheets and more ceiling cameras. Worse, his ankles are bound to the bed. He ends up tortured, cut open with invasive surgeries without painkillers, passes out when he gets stitched up, almost loses his limbs from the extreme, inhumane experiments conducted on him.... until he starts to go insane, loses control of his body and mind, and lets himself succumb to the darkness. When the police eventually find him, both his body and mind are beyond repair.

NAMJOON: A BROTHER’S PROMISE

Namjoon plays the role of Nam Gyeongwan, the sole breadwinner and older brother to his visually-impaired sister Nam Gyeongah. They were born from alcoholic parents, who would beat their daughter, so hard that she’d lost 60% of her eyesight due to a head injury. Their alcoholic parents died in a car accident and Gyeongwan has been providing for his sister ever since. Although he was a brilliant student, he had to quit university and take on odd jobs to earn money for her treatments and school fees at the School for the Disabled. One day, triad goons drove into the petrol station that he was working as, and they humiliated him by throwing trash at him. Angered, Gyeongwan has a rough fistfight with the gangsters and although they lost, the gangsters swore to take revenge. Their revenge came in the form of a kidnap, when they took Gyeongah from when she was waiting for Gyeongwan to pick her up at the school gates. Gyeongwan begs the triad to release her, but because of his combat skills, the gang decided to make use of those skills. They bargained that if he would work for them, they will leave his sister unharmed, but if he failed on the mission, they would add a cut on her body. Gyeongwan goes through hell, and spills blood with his bare hands. Each time he kills, he tries to think of her face, her sweet, radiant face whenever she held his hand as they walked. Gyeongwan eventually saves his sister from the triads.

YOONGI: KEYS & CLOSURE

Yoongi plays the role of Yang Junyeong, a budding concert pianist that struggles to make a living by performing at night and delivering pizza in the day. He’d come from a good family, and was pressurized to pursue the path of an engineer. When he’d quit university to chase after his passion, his parents deemed him a disgrace and kicked him out of the house. Dejected and penniless, Junyeong began to take up part time jobs to sustain his love for piano. Throughout this ordeal, his childhood bestfriend and girlfriend, Lee Yunsa, does not leave his side, but stays with him even during his darkest moments. Young and very much in love, Junyeong works harder so that he can provide for the both of them. Yunsa’s parents disagree with her involvement with a university dropout, but she ignores their protests and moves out to stay with him. They scrimp and save, until they are wealthy enough to start a family. She’s bright, cheerful and whenever she talks about starting a family and raising kids, she always has a spark in her eyes. But before the night of their marriage, she jumps off the Mapo bridge and drowns. This shatters Junyeong’s view of their world, the world they had painstakingly built together. Wasn’t she happy? Weren’t they happy? What could have possibly driven her to her death? Junyeong ransacks their shared apartment, desperately hunting for clues; a suicide note, a diary, anything that could give him answers. But he finds nothing. He sinks into depression and mopes. His friends help him and they encourage him to play the piano to seek comfort. A few months later, he finally has the strength and courage to play the piano. And when he does, he realizes to his horror that she’d written her suicide letter as lyrics to his melodies, scribbles in fine ink below each note on the music score. She explains that although she loves him so much, she’d cheated on him, and it was her fault because she was drunk. But she couldn’t live past her guilt, especially when Junyeong had been so loving. Hence she killed herself and left him behind, as a chance to redeem herself because he’d be free to love again. Knowing this and extremely heartbroken, Junyeong composes a piano piece and dedicates it to her as he performs it around the world, often ending the performance with tears streaming down his cheeks. Even though, she’d cheated on him, he finds it difficult to forget his first love, his one and only soulmate that decided that her death would not be strong enough to drag his soul along with hers. He doesn’t find another lover, doesn’t marry another woman and he also doesn’t stop playing the piano.

#personal #I really wanted to write these down!#it's almost like a story lmao i wrote a little too much

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gplusbfics · 7 years

Text

“The Wire” - Synopsis

The following synopsis is from Deep Space Nine magazine Vol. 9 (1994). “The Wire” was written by Robert Hewitt Wolfe. Synopsis is by John Sayers. I will be posting the photos from this again separately. I will also be sharing the one for “Crossover,” which appeared in the same issue. -Wendy

On the Promenade of Station DS9, Dr. Julian Bashir and his enigmatic acquaintance, Garak -- the "plain and simple" Cardassian tailor -- walk towards the Replimat for their weekly lunch. As they discuss Cardassian literature -- for which the Starfleet Lieutenant has yet to develop a taste -- Garak experiences several spasms of headache-like pain, which piques the Doctor's medical curiosity.

But when Bashir suggests a trip to the Infirmary, the Cardassian's usual charming demeanor turns sour. "There's nothing wrong with me that a little peace and privacy wouldn't cure," Garak barks, and storms off -- leaving Bashir looking after him in curiosity and concern.

Afterwards, Bashir discusses the incident with Jadzia Dax while attempting to diagnose an ailing house plant. He can use the station's medical database to treat the foreign flora, but his records are woefully inadequate when it comes to Cardassians. Bashir's professional pride is also wounded when Garak won't come to him for medical help.

The Cardassian tailor turns not to his occasional luncheon companion, but to Quark for aid. Bashir only catches the end of their conversation, but it's obvious that the Ferengi will be making some sort of illicit transaction on Garak's behalf.

Later, during a conversation with Chief O'Brien, Bashir is summoned to Quark's Bar, where Garak is on his third bottle of Ferengi booze. "Anyone who talks about the numbing effects of liquor," Garak says, in considerable pain, "is severely overstating the case."

Bashir tries to coax the Cardassian to his office, but Garak will have none of it -- until he collapses to the floor in agony. The Doctor beams them both to the Infirmary -- where scans show a small, artificial implant embedded deep within Garak's brain. Constable Odo can offer no insight into the device's purpose, but agrees with Bashir that Quark may know more. "Quark has sent several coded messages to Cardassia Prime in the past few days," Odo says.

The pair monitor the Ferengi's latest transmission -- to a Cardassian military operative named Boheeka, an old friend from the Occupation. Quark offers to pay him handsomely in return for some Cardassian bio-technology. But when Boheeka enters the requisition code for the item, he freezes in horror. "Quark, you idiot!" he cries. "It's for classified bio-technology -- even the cursed number is classified!" The request will be traced back to him by the Obsidian Order.

At the mention of the name, Quark abruptly ends the transmission. Odo explains the mysterious Order to a curious Bashir. "They're the ever-vigilant eyes and ears of the Cardassian Empire," he notes, even surpassing the ruthless, information-gathering efficiency of the Romulan Tal Shiar. If Garak's implant is some sort of Order-related punishment, then why is he trying to obtain another one?

The questions will go unanswered for now. When Dr. Bashir returns to the lnfirmary, Garak is gone. Bashir finds his patient in his quarters, in the process of injecting enough anesthetic to knock out ten men. "Not nearly enough, I'm afraid," comments the agonized Garak.

Bashir reports that Quark couldn't get the item he requested. "Really? That's most distressing," Garak replies, his charming facade finally crumbling under the pain and hopelessness. When he goes to inject himself with a fatal overdose of the pain-killer, Bashir intervenes, revealing his knowledge of the implant. When he suggests that it's some sort of punishment device, Garak can only choke out an ironic laugh.

"On Cardassia, I was entrusted with certain information," Garak reveals, "that needed to be kept safe, regardless of the situation. My implant was given to me by Enabran Tain himself, the head of the Obsidian Order. If I was ever tortured, it was designed to stimulate the pleasure centers of my brain to trigger the production of vast amounts of natural endorphins."

The device malfunctioned, he notes, because it was never meant for continuous use. "Living on this station is torture for me, Doctor. The temperature is always too cold, the lights, always too bright. Every Bajoran looks at me with loathing and contempt. So, one day, I decided I couldn't live with it anymore. And I took the pain away."

Garak activated the implant, first for only a few minutes each day, then for longer and longer periods. "Finally, I just turned it on and never shut it off." That was two years ago. Now, the implant is breaking down, and Garak's body has become dependent on the higher endorphin levels generated by the unit.

But Bashir won't let Garak give up to whomever has exiled him on D59. "Has it ever occurred to you," the Cardassian asks him, "that I might be getting exactly what I deserve?"

"No one deserves this," Bashir says.

"Oh please, Doctor!" Garak sarcastically exclaims. "I'm suffering enough without having to listen to your smug Federation sympathy! And you think that because we have lunch together once a week, you know me? You couldn't even begin to fathom what I am capable of!"

"I'm a doctor," Bashir says evenly. "You're my patient. That's all I need to know."

Garak tells Bashir the story of his days as a Gul in the Cardassian Mechanized Infantry, when Bajorans under his custody escaped to a Cardassian shuttle bound for Terok Nor. Garak's aide, Elim, boarded the shuttle to stop it, but the captain wouldn't comply. "So I had the shuttle destroyed, killing the escapees, Elim, and 97 Cardassian civilians" -- plus the daughter of a prominent Cardassian. He was stripped of his rank and exiled.

But Bashir is uninterested in his patient's past. His duty is to heal. He finally persuades Garak to let him shut off the implant. Bashir sets up his medical equipment in Garak's quarters and begins a long vigil, waiting for his unconscious patient to recover. Bashir even denies Odo's request that Garak be awakened to be interrogated about past unsolved murders.

Hours later, Bashir is roused from a half-sleep to find Garak silting up on his bed, sobbing. His depression turns quickly to rage as his body reels from the withdrawal of the pleasure-creating endorphins. "There was a time, Doctor," Garak rails, "when I was a power. The protege of Enabran Tain himself. Do you have any idea what that means? Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand -- my future was limitless. Until I threw it away."

Garak didn't shoot down the shuttle, as he had told Bashir before. On the eve of Cardassian withdrawal, he and Elim were interrogating five Bajoran children, when "suddenly, the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless. All I wanted was a hot bath and a good meal. So, I let them go."

He failed his duty and destroyed everything he had worked for, causing his exile. "And left me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you." As Bashir tries to calm him down, Garak's rage erupts, and the two wrestle about the quarters until the Cardassian collapses.

Bashir and the emergency med team stabilize him, but the doctor remains puzzled. "I shut down the implant. It can't be affecting his blood chemistry, yet toxins are accumulating in his lymphatic nodes," he notes. After studying Garak's readouts, Bashir finally finds the problem -- the molecular structure of Garak's leukocyte cells has been altered, causing the blood toxins.

The only way to correct the problem would be to synthesize new cells. But with no reliable Cardassian medical data, the process could take weeks -- and Garak has only days. Reactivating the implant could keep the Cardassian alive for a few weeks longer, but a groggy Garak rises from his sickbed, his rage spent, to forbid it.

"You've done enough, Doctor, more than I deserve," he says. "There's something you have to know ... the truth."

"I've about given up on learning the truth from you, Garak," Bashir smiles.

"Elim wasn't my aide," the Cardassian reveals. "He was my friend. We grew up together, we were closer than brothers. For some reason, Enabran Tain took a liking to us. Before long, we were both powerful men in the Obsidian Order. They called us the Sons of Tain -- even the Guls feared us." But then, scandal. Some member of the Order was accused of letting some Bajoran prisoners escape. Tain could do nothing to protect Garak, as he had retired to the Arawath Colony.

"So, I panicked. I did everything in my power to make sure that Elim was accused instead of me. I altered records, planted evidence -- only to discover that he'd beaten me to it." Elim had betrayed him first. Garak was sent into exile. "And the irony is, I deserved it. Not for the reasons they claimed, but because of what I had tried to do to Elim, my best friend."

"Why are you telling me this, Garak?" Bashir asks.

"So that you can forgive me, why else?" Garak tells him, sincerely. "I need to know that someone forgives me."

"I forgive you, for whatever it is you did."

"Thank you, Doctor. That's most kind."

As Bashir complies, the Cardassian falls again into unconsciousness. The Doctor decides to head for the Arawath Colony -- "to find the man responsible for this."

After a journey in a runabout, Bashir arrives at the home of Enabran Tain, former head of the Obsidian Order, who addresses him by name and knows all about his journey -- even Bashir's taste in tea. The cheerful, grandfatherly figure has even made sure Bashir's entry into Cardassian space was met by a less hostile reception than he might have expected. Although retired, "I try to keep informed on current events," Tain chuckles.

When Bashir tells Tain that Garak is dying -- and he's trying to save him, the wily Cardassian can only shake his head. "Strange. I thought you were his friend."

"I suppose I am."

"Then you should let him die," Tain says. "After all, for Garak, a life in exile is no life at all."

Nevertheless, Bashir contends that his job is to save lives. He asks Tain for information on Cardassian biochemistry that would let him synthesize replacements for Garak's damaged blood cells. "Besides, you're the one who ordered him to put that implant in his head, aren't you?"

"I never had to order Garak to do anything," Tain notes. "That's what made him special." Oddly, Tain agrees to Bashir's request -- but not for kindly reasons. "He doesn't deserve a quick death," the old man spits. "On the contrary, I want him to live a long, miserable life. I want him to grow old on that station, surrounded by people who hate him, knowing that he'll never come home again."

Whatever the motivation, Bashir is grateful to be able to help his friend. But he has one question before he beams out, regarding Garak's friend Elim. At the mention of the name, Enabran Tain only laughs. "That man has a rare gift for obfuscation. Doctor, Elim is Garak's first name."

Days later, Dr. Bashir pokes glumly at his lunch in the Replimat when he's unexpectedly joined by a fully recovered, amiable Garak, who asks about lunch as if the events of the past few weeks had never happened. "I, for one, Doctor, am perfectly satisfied with the way things turned out. And I see no need to dwell on what was doubtlessly a difficult time for both of us." He also notes that he has informed Constable Odo that he was completely mistaken about his impression that Garak was ever a member of the Obsidian Order.

As a kind of thanks, Garak gives Bashir more Cardassian literature to peruse. But Bashir won't let go of the pursuit of truth. "Out of all the stories you told me," he asks a smiling Garak, "which ones were true and which ones weren't?"

"My dear Doctor," the Cardassian replies, "they're all true."

"Even the lies?"

"Especially the lies."

The End

#the wire #elim garak #julian bashir #ds9 #star trek ds9 #deep space nine #star trek #andrew robinson #alexander siddig

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dbtrilogy2 · 7 years

Text

Strike One(16)

Carlton

I won't up early this morning to make my family breakfast. Believe it or not I'm trying here. Having both my girls upset with me is stressful plus my own son schooling me was a bit of a wake up sign.

"And the kiss up begins." Elias walks in. "Waffles huh good choice."

"Have you always been this much of a smart ass?" I put Rebecca plate on the tray with the cup of coffee and bowl of sliced pears.

"Yeah but you wouldn't know that." He smirked pouring himself a cup of juice.

"Look I get you upset or whatever but I'm still you father don't disrespect me boy."

Me being away is doing more than just having my family miss me. I'm starting to feel like a step dad. When all this album stuff is over they see it all was worth it. The long hours and all!

Before I start my way to my wife and I room my princess came down.

"Your here?"

"Yeah I live here don't I?" I pinch her cheek. Usually she would smile and blush.

"I don't know I thought you moved into your office." She walked by me.

"Ok you both need to cool it. I get it you don't like me working but I bet you do like your phones and clothes and living in this house. Someone has to pay for all of that stuff it doesn't just come for free!"

"Dad please don't try to make us look like over spoiled kids. You gave us most of this stuff we didn't ask for it." Amanda says picking at her food. "If it means you won't miss another of my shows you can have my phone and iPad....I just want my daddy back."

She pouts getting up walking off. Elias went after her leaving me alone. Taking the tray of food I go into our room seeing a empty bed.

"Yes I can meet you at my shop and we'll just work from there." Rebecca came out the closet putting on a watch. Seeing me and the food she ends the call. "What's this?"

"Breakfast. I wanted us to all eat together but the kids are in a mood." I say watching her sit in front of her make up stand thing.

"That happens when you abandon your kids for some island hoe."

"Rebecca-"

"Don't worry I'm not starting anything just stating a fact. I gotta leave but thanks for the thought...don't forget Julian first game is tonight everyone is going."

"Ok but uh I was thinking after all this album stuff is done we can go on some kind of family trip maybe Disney world or something. I wanna show you guys the benefit of all the long hours and me being absent to a few things."

"Sure Carlton I'll see you later."

She came kissing my head then strutting out. Her outfit was a little more over the top than usual but I'm sure she just wanted to look good.

Today I'm going with Robin to her first radio interview and a shoot for her album. It's all in the finale stages so soon we'll be presenting a track list to the record heads for their approval.

By the time I was leaving out I was home alone. I lock up the house and hop in my car heading for the address set in my GPS. While waiting in front of the house I sat on my Instagram. I come across a picture of my wife from this morning. I haven't really paid much attention to her post like I usually do.

@BuymyBrand:#morningthoughts people aren't like clothes you can't change them whenever you want that change has to be in them don't miss out on your own blessings being so worked up in helping someone who doesn't want that help

"Morning sunshine." She got in smiling at me. "I'm so excited for today."

"Good I'm excited for you. So today is your first radio interview then the photo shoot for the new comers magazine. After we get the ok from the label they'll get some more singles out put you on a promo tour so this is good practice." I pull off towards the radio station direction.

"Thanks for coming with me I'm shitting bricks right now! Oh and thanks to for picking me up my car should be done by tomorrow."

"It's cool."

We rode in silence for a while until reaching the station. Once inside were taken to a room where the DJ and his co host are waiting. The show will be going on live.

"Hey thanks so much for coming in today. Your song with drake is a killer we play it all the time."

Robin blushed. "All praise really goes to this guy here he made that happen and has been personally helping me become something big." She looked back smiling at me.

"Yeah I've been hearing good things about this man here!" Me and the DJ go back to the middle school days. We were science lab partners. "How you been man?"

"Pretty good just been working my ass off."

The show started and was going smooth. They asked her about how she got started what her style is what brought her to Atlanta. This simple up coming artist questions. But then it took a slight turn when the co host started question her about us.

"I know Carlton is the producer for your up coming album but it seems you guys spend more than a lot of time together."

"Well yeah Carlton is like a mentor to me he's been teaching me about the business. He's taken me under his wing in a way."

"Mmhm and how does his wife feel about all this or do you just not care and only worry about you?"

"I wouldn't know when we are together it's just about us the outside world doesn't matter. If she had a problem I'm sure he would say something."

No no no no no no.

"It's not my fault if he rather work with me than be at home with his wife. I'm not forcing him we just enjoy out late nights together."

I'm so fucked.

The co host looked back at me shaking her head. "Late nights? You don't think it might look wrong how your so comfortable keeping a husband from his family. Any self respecting woman I know doesn't spend most of her time with married men. Rather he's not stopping it you should have some respect not only yourself but for his wife right? How would you feel if you were in her shoes?"

"I guess yeah but it's clear she's not doing something right and it's keeping him out. If anything someone needs to be telling her how to keep her husband home." She laughed looking back at me. "And if it were me being that I know how to keep my man happy this wouldn't be happening."

I signal to cut the interview and walk out. This bitch is about to get us both killed! I can't blame anyone but myself for that anyway.

"Hey why did you run out like that?" Robin came out looking worried.

"Really...what the hell was that!?"

"An interview you didn't think it went good?" She acting clueless right now.

"No you basically called out my wife that shit was way beyond unnecessary."

"She asked me a question and I answered!"

"That has to be the dumbest thing you've done. I told you before we even got here not to answer question like that ones that are clearly are a win for the host but a lose for you. What makes you think you have any right to speak on me and my wife?"

"Oh cry me a fucking river that bitch does nothing but stress you out just because she knows I can take you away in a heart beat. It's not my fault I'm more enjoyable to be around."

"Don't speak on my wife ever again you not about to take anybody a god damn place and if you call her out her name again you'll be dealing with me."

This bitch is crazy. Through the rest of the day between the photo shoot and car rides I said nothing to her. There nothing to say really. I had to stop by my office since I left my laptop.

"Carlton would you stop ignoring me. You are blowing this way bigger than it is." Robin followed me to my office.

"You cloned my wife on live radio...am I suppose to just let that go?" I unlock my door walking in the room.

"So what it's not like she's gonna do anything about it."

"You are so wrong to think that." My oh so beautiful smart and understanding wife smiled walking in sitting.

"Hey baby." I sat kissing her cheek.

"Hi...Robin I wanna talk to you."

Mona

Jumping out my sleep I squint at my door. I thought I heard someone call me but-

"Mona get up!" Mom came busting in my room.

"Ma I'm sleep why you gotta come up in here with all that." I whine laying back down.

"Because I'm telling you to get up."

"It's Sunday mommy let me sleep."

"No I need you and Stanley to watch the twins today. Their both already up and we about to leave."

After she left I went back under my warm comforter. As I'm getting back into my deep sleep a cold wind hits me.

"What the hell!?"

"Curse at me again I dare you." Dad looked at me blank. "I know your mother told you to get up. If I come back in here and you not up imma pull you out the bed myself." He left leaving my door open.

Smacking my teeth I get up stomping and slam my door. It wasn't on purpose per say but hey. As I'm heading in my bathroom my bedroom door flies open scaring the shit out of me.

"You lost your mind slamming my door like that!?"

"It was on accident!"

This is why I prefer to deal with mom she's more laid back and not as crazy as daddy. He is not afraid to get at us while mom would rather give a look and send us to our room or something. I know I get away with a lot with mom and try not to take advantage of that.

He looked at clenching his jaw. "Keep the damn door open and hurry up."

I shower and get dressed in something lazy. I could hear the twins already.

"Morning." Stanley smiled flipping her pancake. "I made oatmeal for them so can you feed one and I'll get the other."

I sigh picking up a bowl sitting in front of Morgan. "Open up runt." She smiled dropping her mouth.

"So what did you do last night."

"Nothing much. How was the celebration dinner?"

"Well it turned into something else for me and Julian. He called it a practice date."

"Oh ok grown self."

I think Julian and Stanley would be the cutest couple. She deserves that boyfriend privilege. Gifts for no reason being showered with compliments and kisses. Oh and can't forget that tingling feeling of your special someone calling you baby. It's simple but from the right person sounds like the greatest thing ever.

That's how things were when Sam and I were together. I remember the first time we kissed. It was at the junior high summer dance. We snuck off to the empty hallway. He put my back to the wall looked deep in my eyes giving my stomach butterflies. That was the best night of my life. I thought we would last for years honestly but sometime after we got to high school I didn't feel the spark anymore. Shawn gives me that spark and this rush feeling.

"We ate at this pizza place it was just us and the people that worked there. It was really nice." I noticed her blush. "After we got ice cream then he dropped me off."

"Did he kiss you?"

"No we decided to save that. I think I'm starting to really like him...it's kind of scary."

"Awwwww."

Laughing we finish feeding the girls. We cleaned them up and decided to walk to the park. We ran around the small playground until they found their own little friends. Sitting on a bench I pull out my phone.

Danger💉♥️:baby where u at I wanna see you

Me:the park around my neighborhood but don't be to noticeable I'm with my sisters

Danger💉♥️:yea yea I do what I want girl

"I saw you sneaking in last night."

"What?"

"Around one I got up to get some water and I heard something in your room and peaked. I saw you climb through the window. Why did you lie to me?"

Sighing I lock my phone. "Because what I do is my business. If you knew I wasn't actually home-"

"I wanted to see if you would lie to me." She looked at me sad. "All I'm trying to do is protect you Mona please...this can only end wrong."

"I don't need to be protected I'm not a child! Shawn makes me happy why isn't that enough!"

"Because this whole relationship is illegal! You are fourteen a minor in the eyes of the law if anyone gets wind of this Shawn is going to prison. How can you be with someone investing so much of your time and emotions knowing at any moment the could be taken away from you!?"

"You should be asking yourself that honey."

I didn't want to do this I really didn't. Stanley and I are closer than blood sisters. But she's over stepping her place and clearly I need to push her back.

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Julian...I'm sure the adoption people frown on in family relationships with kids they send into families."

She pouts looking at me shaking her head. "You know I'm even in a relationship with him."

"And yet you two just went on a date?"

"So that's how far your willing to go with this?"

"All I'm saying is you rat me out I rat you out and we both lose something important. Me a boyfriend and you a family."

It may have been a little harsh on my end....ok it was really harsh but she should've stayed out my business.

"Fine Mona you won I'll back off...for good."

As my phone vibrates in my hand she walked off with the diaper backpack calling the girls. Seeing his text I smiled looking around until I spot his car.

"Hey sexy get on in here." Shawn bites his lip as I slide in his car. "Where you wanna go?"

"Where you want baby."

Nodding he pressed on his gas making the car roar. As he's pulling up to the park exit Stanley walks across with the twins in the double stroller.

"Isn't that your sister? Damn she got ass."

"Shawn what the hell I'm right here you dick!" I shove him as he chuckled.

"Man be quiet. She got more ass than you."

"Seriously Shawn shut up that's my sister I'm your girlfriend that's some disrespectful shit!"

"Who told you that Mona I have a girlfriend already."

#Lil Fizz #kayla phillips #malutrevejo #officialreine #fanfiction #fanfic #fiction #chris brown fanfic #chris brown fanfiction #andele lara

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thotyssey · 7 years

Text

On Point With: DJ Brian Richards

This DJ is just as much at home spinning the big sexy parties, the neighborhood bar throwbacks and/or the drag shows. Meet one of NYC’s busiest music masters, Brian Richards!

Thotyssey: Brian, hello! DJ Brian Richards: Hi Jim! I just want to start by saying thanks so much for the interview. Thotyssey is one of my favorite blogs, and I've enjoyed reading it in the last year! Kudos to you.

Many thanks! So, we're getting into some nice weather, finally... are you enjoying it?

I am loving this weather... this is my favorite time of year. In fact, it was the spring of 2010, I believe, when I started getting inspired to becoming a serious DJ. What was specifically going on around that time that sparked the idea? Well, I seem to get more creative in the spring and the fall. That year specifically is when I discovered new mixing programs and more access to music; the more I dove into it I thought, “Wow I think I can actually DJ!” Plus, I was really loving the dance music that was out around that time. Remind us of an example of what was big that year. Well, the first song that comes to mind is "DJ Got Us Falling In Love" by Usher and Pitbulll. I was drawn to songs specifically made for the dancefloor, and aimed at just having fun. That was the trend then, and it sparked so many songs in that realm. And of course there was Kesha, Gaga, Rihanna and Queen Bee, and all the pop divas we've grown to love over the years. The classics!

So, where's your hometown?

I grew up in Woodbridge, NJ. And what were you into growing up there, like creatively or otherwise? My love for music dates as far back as I can remember. I also was a little comedian: I loved playing out skits with friends and imitating TV shows. Laughter and music then, and to this day, are my two loves.

My parents had given me a portable record player, and they had a collection of old 45's. I would spend hours playing that, probably more than any toys I had. One of my favorites as a kid was "The Monster Mash." They had the actual record. One day in probably 4th grade, I talked the teacher into bringing my record player in class for Halloween, and I played that record for all the kids in their Halloween costumes. They all danced around, and I just remember laughing hysterically. It was pure joy! So I guess I had the DJ gene in me from a little kid!

I would make [my friends] play with me that we were on the radio. We would make actual tapings of "shows," just being silly and pretending to put on a radio show. Hell, I did that into my early teens [laughs]! Sounds like the perfect DJ origin story!

When did you start to become exposed to NYC nightlife?

It goes back pretty far... farther then I admit sometimes [laughs]! I started going out in the early 90′s, if you can believe it! I made a friend in high school who was older then his years. He knew all the places in the city, and took me to them.

At that time, the places in the city we explored were the Dugout in the Village (now Rockbar), The Palladium... I think there was a place called "The Tool," if I'm not mistaken... Uncle Charlies... God, all these legendary places.

The first gay club I ever walked into was in New Jersey at the legendary Den, which sadly just closed last year. I spent the 90's in Jersey at a place called the Colosseum, and would venture to New York for the Roxy, the original XL, and G Lounge, to name a few. I was lucky enough in recent years to play at both the Den and G Lounge. What's your favorite environment to DJ in? You know, for me the environment isn't as important as the crowd. If it's a fun crowd that loves to sing and dance, then I'll play there! I've done everything from small bars to rooftop events, and they all have their share of great memories.

Do you have any strong opinions on who should or shouldn't be considered a "DJ" based on what they bring to the gigs, the tech they use, etc.? This has been an ongoing debate among nightlife professionals. I have so much admiration and respect for the old school DJs who learned it "the hard way" with turntables. I can only speak from my own experience using my Traktor Pro software on my laptop and a controller that, yes, may make it "easier" in the regard of mixing... but your talent must still be on point. You still must know how to read the crowd, know who you are playing for, and have the chops to deal with all the rejection and ups and downs that come with this business. The bottom line is how you left that crowd feeling. So anyone who has staying power in nightlife, it did not come easy, regardless of the medium they choose.

I do get annoyed by the jokes that "anyone can DJ", etc. Okay, then give it a try and see how easy it is! I dare ya.

It obviously sucks, for a pro like yourself, to see big venues throw money at a Kardashian to basically stand behind a laptop while someone else hits play on an iTunes playlist.

Well, of course. That is an ugly side to pop culture. If you can fill a club regardless of your talent, then money talks.

What advice would you give to someone who wants to break into DJing today? Know your music, know your crowd. Go to the clubs an bars and see what party speaks to you, and get to know the people who run it. And please DO NOT take a gig for little or no money. You are short-selling the rest of us, and lowering the bar!

You were on rotation DJing the Love Age Sundays day parties this spring, which just wrapped things up this past weekend. How did it go?

Yes! I was delighted to be a part of the regular rotation this year at Love Age. Shawn Paul Mazur and Matthew Gagnon had asked me to do the premiere back in February, and I was floored. I had worked with those guys last summer for Fly Sundays, and I have to say their parties are always a blast and I have great respect for them.

My music selections get a great response from their crowd. They love pop, dance and house, and go wild for the throwbacks, especially from the 90's, which has become my "signature" style at these parties.

Love Age wrapped up, but not to worry... we are gearing up for the 4th season of Fly Sundays on May 21st! Fly Sundays, I feel, gets bigger and better every season, and we are ready for the biggest season yet. Working with Shawn, Matthew and the whole gang has been such a thrill and I look forward to the summer!

The kids love Fly Sundays at the Monarch! Do you know when your first day is there this season? I will be the DJ for [there] for May 28th. That's Memorial Day Weekend!

And at a very different venue, you spin the Tyme Machine retro party at Ty's in the West Village monthly.

Yes, and I am proud to say next month our monthly "Tyme Machine" will be celebrating 3 years on Saturday, June 10th!

There is a little back story to how this all came about. When I first came to NYC scoping out places for gigs, by a fluke, POSH Bar was holding a DJ contest "So You Think You Can Spin" back in 2012. I entered the contest and played a 15 minute set, and by luck of the stars the crowd was eating it all up. The contest was supposed to run for a few weeks; they cut it short and granted me a residency on Sundays called "Retro Sundays." That is when I got my first taste of playing retro for the kids and I loved it. It lasted about 8 months. I had to work my day job early on Mondays and the late hours were killing me, so sadly I had to make the decision to leave.

Long story short: I missed my retro nights, and I went to John Steadman who owns Ty's [with the idea of bringing it them there] and he liked the idea. The rest is history.

There’s a lot of great, colorful characters in Ty’s. Bartender Julian is my Bar Crush!

I have made a lot of good friends at Ty's and I love working with Julian. We work so well together, and he makes the night fly by. The crowd can be so much fun, singing along to the disco or 80s classics. I even met one of my idols at Ty's, Elvis Duran, was just hanging out at the bar when I walked in! That was a thrill for me. I have looked up to him for years listening to his morning show on Z-100.

And I understand that you have a new Fire Island Pines gig coming up. I made my debut in the Summer of 2014 DJ-ing for the pool deck, which was amazing. I met so many great people that summer, DJs and drag queens alike. I am however, making my debut at Sip-N-Twirl on Friday, May 12th, and I am elated!

You have a busy and fun summer to look forward to, Mr. DJ. Final question: what is one thing the world may not know about Brian Richards, but should?

Hmm. Well I must say, as social as I have been all these years, I feel like I am constantly on a journey to find a place to fit in! I think I have come close in recent years, though. You've come far indeed! Thanks Brian!

Brian Richards will be on DJ Rotation for FLY Sundays beginning May 28th (3-11pm). He spins “Tyme Machine” at Ty’s monthly, usually second Saturdays (10pm). Check here for other upcoming scheduled gigs. Brian can be followed on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

#djbrianrichards #onpointwith

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kiss-my-freckle · 5 years

Text

Dialogues

A collection for you, @moreryanandjames

1x1

Red: You got rid of your highlights. You look much less … Baltimore.

1x3

Red: So, you went with the gray?

1x4

Red: That’s a pretty blouse.

1x7

Red: Agent Keen, I have a tip. You’re a winter, not an autumn. Stop wearing olive.

1x7

Red: You’d look positively radiant in a Guayabera dress. I know a little shop in Reston. We could stop before our flight.

1x7

Red: I brought you a souvenir. What’s your feeling about guava? Liz: Anxiety. Red: Oh, you’re in for a treat.

1x8

Red: I find it so reassuring the movie stars, the pop singers they really are just like the rest of us.

1x8

Red: I don’t know how you do it. I had that done once. I couldn’t bear the tickling.

1x8

Maltz: Yeah, sure. Give us a minute, please? Ray, look at you. You look great. I mean, the elasticity is amazing. You been juicing? Red: Beets, mostly. Some celery, carrots, a lot of ginger. The kale makes me dyspeptic.

1x9

Red: Donald, never let it be said that I valued a Zegna Venticinque tie over a human life, even yours.

1x9

Red: Donald! Donald! Feeling any wittier yet? Any strange cravings for Beluga caviar or Marcel Proust?

1x12

Red: If I tell you, you have to promise me you’ll try the fertilized duck eggs. It’s a daring and unique dining experience. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to hell.

1x12

Red: We brought a little something for Julian – a care package. It’s a Tibetan singing bowl. What do we have here? Some jackfruit, vitamin D, kola nuts. But we’ve got to get him to eat more protein. He looks like hell. He isn’t vegan, is he? Anyway, I’ve also --included a couple of my favorite Richard Pryor records. I want to try and inject a little levity into the proceedings. I mean, Julian looks so crabby all the time. House arrest can be grueling. Borakove: Didn’t you spend, like, four months - in Phonthong? Red: Seven. Borakove: How did you survive? Red: Naps. Occasional calisthenics.

1x14

Red: Wow! And I like your clutch.

1x14

Red: Who decided on this paneling?

1x14

Red: You smell nice. Something new?

1x18

Red: I come bearing gifts - pimento cheese sandwiches, toasted with the crusts cut off. Eartha Kitt’s recipe. It’s a fantastic story.

2x1

Red: Hello, Harold. Please apologize to Charlene, your side gate may need a new lock. A get-well present. It looks so soft. Shea butter?

2x2

Red: Lizzy! I’d like to introduce you to my manicurist, Rosa Heredia.

2x12

Red: Oh, that’s a shame. Dendrobium? Ruth: My own hybrid. I call them “Snows of Everest.” Red: Lovely.

2x14

Red: You’ve changed your hair.

2x14

Red: Come on. I got to be worth as much as that fake Xuande Ming vessel was. Sorry, Santos, but those cat’s eye Chrysoberyls are brown, not green. An expensive forgery, but a forgery nonetheless.

3x1

Red: I must say, your hair, the way it frames your face is very becoming.

3x6

Red: I love mauve, but a soft creamy yellow will just open up the entire room. We also need to land on cabinet options and millwork today.

3x12

Liz: I’m pregnant. Red: Yes. I’ve known for some time. Liz: How? Red: Everything. Your body, your skin, a look in your eyes, different tastes for different foods, nausea, distracted, moody.

3x12

Red: Oh, I should probably mention, I booked a pregnancy massage for you. She’ll be here at 9:00. Her name’s Edwina, she’s a registered nurse, and she smells absolutely divine.

3x14

Red: I see your new home is a work in progress. What colors are you considering?

3x14

Lady: Who the hell are you? Red: Her fairy godmother. I hear it’s her birthday. We’ve come to celebrate.

3x17

Red: They went with ruby fringe tulips and pink peonies. You’d be impressed.

3x20

Red: As an adult, it’s easy to dismiss this stuff as girlish frivolity. You forget the wonder it creates, the light captured, secret wishes evoked. It renders even the darkest days sparkly.

3x20

Red: I’d imagine it to be a challenge, playing Rachmaninoff’s C-sharp minor “Prelude” without the benefit of C-sharp.

3x21

Red: What a garden. I love daffodils. They say gifting a bouquet of daffodils ensures happiness, while presenting just one means bad luck is on the horizon.

4x7

Red: What do you do to stay in such incredible shape? Calisthenics? Or Jazzercise?

4x7

Red: Maybe we should be workout partners.

4x7

Red: I’ll see you in dance class, Samar.

4x18

Red: Ah! Springtime in Vienna. The market’s are a bit crowded, but the flowers - oh, my gosh. A simple walk to the U-Bahn is full of glory.

5x1

Hawkins: Who are you? Red: Your Fairy Godmother.

5x2

5x2 Liz: What color is that, pumpkin? It looks like a pumpkin. Red: His wife says it’s Tuscan Sunset.

5x3

5x3 Red: Shh. You hear that? There it is again. A piping plover. Their breeding grounds are along coastal beaches and alkali marshes, so to hear that bell-like call from a shorebird this far inland - my gosh, poor little fella must be lost.

Red: I use Epsom salt baths.

5x4

Red: We were camping in the altogether under the most delightful autumn moon in the Forest of Dean when a wild pig came out of nowhere and gored my left flank, so to speak. And Melissa here not only slew the beast and salved my wound with a honey of - Dr. Lomay: Yarrow. Red: -yarrow compress, but also made the most scrumptious pork pie in the monarchy.

5x10

Paris: Shall I set a third place for lunch? Liz: No, thank you. Red: You may want to think twice. He’s making a turbot with a matsutake mushroom broth.

5x12

Red: I feel terrible, Mariko. I know it’s a small consolation, but I’ve made arrangements for you and Tadashi to stay in the hotel. A two-bedroom suite is yours until it’s safe for you to go back to your home. Room service, 24-hour spa, tickets to any of the shows in town. I hear there’s a revival of “The Music Man” that’s supposed to be marvelous.

5x12

Red: What makes her happy? Does she like a good foot massage?

5x15

Red: If only there were something you could do to help me think of a constructive way to develop the property. Any good ideas? Headmaster: No. Red: Really? Headmaster: Absolutely not. Red: Maybe a massage parlor. The athletes would love it!

5x16

5x18

Red: Excellent. I’ll be at the Louvre. When you’re done dotting your I’s and crossing your t’s, you can find me gazing in erotic wonder at the beauty and power of the Winged Victory of Samothrace.

5x19

Waters: You look awfully comfy. What kind of fabric is that? Red: Oh. A lightweight merino. Super 120, natural stretch. I swear by it. Waters: Marty, do you think you can do that same multi-colored puppy tooth in that collection?

5x19

6x1

Red: I’ve turned over a new leaf. Spinach. Steamed. No butter, no oil, no salt.And very, very little taste.

6x2

Liz: Have you lost weight? Red: Five pounds. Seven pounds when it’s in the morning.

6x1

Red: I recommend Cairo. Beautiful, historic. And thanks to a combination of the Muslim Brotherhood and international Islamophobia, completely abandoned by Western tourists. You and Picasso will have the pyramids to yourselves.

6x1

Red: I prefer to keep my nips and tucks to myself.

6x5

Red: The suit is actually a prunelle weave blue with a subtle overlay of red. So in the right light, it goes quite plum.

6x5

Red: A bulge at my waistline? I’d prefer that the witness leave my bulges out of this entirely. I want that struck from the record. It’s embarrassing.

6x7

Red: Okay, I will not be judged by anyone who likes Schumann. I refuse to be sent to my death by Philistines. Judge Wilkins: I love Schumann. “Fantasie in C Major” was played at my mother’s funeral this past summer. Red: I’m sorry for your loss.

6x6

Red: For the love of - please tell me that’s not a Vermilion Flycatcher. Nurse: What are you talking about? Red: That little fella right there. What the hell are you people doing with a Flycatcher in your aviary? They’re endangered. That little guy should be in an open habitat or desert scrub, at the very least. Nurse: Look, I don’t know nothing about birds and desert scrub and all that. Red: You know what? Never mind. I am absolutely dead wrong. That is a Red Factor Canary. Probably domestically bred. He’s perfectly fine.

#dialogues

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letswritepod-blog · 6 years

Text

District 10

Story by:

Ryan Matsunaga

Alisha Grauso

Julian Bahmani

We open with a “found” montage, mixing scenes from the first film with new footage. News reports bring us up to speed:

It’s been 10 years since the alien ship departed and District 9 was closed. To this day, no one knows why the ship left, or if it will ever return.

Despite this, millions of “prawns” remain on Earth, practically all of whom have been moved to a far larger camp: District 10.

Over the past decade, a lot of progress has been made in human-alien relations. As living conditions in this new camp improved, culture, art, and science began to emerge from the alien community, and their own technological expertise lent itself to innovation and progress on the human side of things as well.

As the years go by, trust slowly begins to grow between the two species, and in recent years, the UN has been considering a motion that would allow the aliens to leave District 10 permanently, integrating freely into human populations.

This soon becomes the political talking point across the globe, driving deep ideological schisms into human populations.

The idea has been strongly opposed by Multi-National United, who legally maintain ownership over the District 10 encampment. The MNU is reportedly making record-shattering profits controlling the flow of technology and resources in and out of District 10; a process overseen by an MNU bureaucrat named Cunningham.

Over the past decade, they have grown to become the single largest arms and aerospace corporation in the world. Journalists report that the MNU has secret funding ties to anti-integration groups and politicians, likely in an attempt to keep their proprietary hold over these lucrative exports.

As the UN vote draws nearer, the tension goes from a simmer to an outright boil, as protests, demonstrations, and riots break out around the world. And just when things couldn’t get any more contentious, on the eve of this historic vote… an alien ship appears in the skies above Johannesburg.

In interview segments, we hear from various interviewees: a Johannesburg cop, an ER nurse, etc. They’re all speaking of some kind of “incident,” an unimaginable disaster that’s left an indelible mark on these people.

A quote from a young woman wearing a news correspondent’s badge ends the segment:

“No one could have known what was about to happen. Not even those responsible.”

We begin the film proper in District 10 itself, just as the sun is setting.

It’s not an ideal living situation, but it’s a far cry from the abject poverty of District 9. There are human guards posted at regular intervals, and carrying assault weapons, but despite this, there’s actually the semblance of everyday life here. Prawns are closing up their storefronts for the evening, food stalls are bustling with activity, children are playing in the dirt streets.

At the corner of one such street, a prawn is interacting with a group of kids, selling them something from his cart. They’re excited, jumping up and down to jockey for a position in line.

Through a gap in the diminutive crowd, we can see that the proprietor is selling candy. It doesn’t look like the freshest merchandise, the packages look dated, but the children don’t seem to mind.

As he wraps up with his last customer and the group disperses. The prawn notices a dropped candy wrapper on the ground, and reaches to pick it up. He unfolds it, delicately, before refolding it into a little paper bird.

After all these years, it seems, WIKUS has found a new life amongst the people of District 10. He seems content enough as he rolls his cart home, stopping to pal around a bit with a few younger-looking prawns dancing to music from an old, beat up boombox.

As he rounds a corner, though, the ground shakes. The “city” suddenly springs to life. Crowds gather in the streets, chattering a mix of fear, excitement, confusion. All eyes are on the sky, as a massive alien ship enters the skyline.

As the ship slowly descends through the clouds, what seems to be debris appears to fall off the sides. As they drop, their descents slow, revealing them to be smaller craft.

Panic ensues in the streets.

Wikus is bumped and jostled as prawns scramble for safety from whatever is coming.

Something hits him from behind, hard, and Wikus goes down. He stumbles a few steps, his vision blurring before he passes out. The last thing he sees is a tall prawn wearing strange, unfamiliar clothing.

When Wikus awakens, he’s being dragged through a dark corridor. He’s still groggy, his vision blurring. He looks to his left and right to see a pair of large figures wearing that same clothing.

“What’s happening, where are you taking me?”

Don’t worry, they reply in prawn, we know who you are, we are going to help you.

They bring him to a chamber filled with what appears to be medical equipment.

A TALL PRAWN approaches. His hands are outstretched, he seems almost conciliatory.

“We were lucky to find you Wikus, you were struck, almost trampled.”

He’s distracted as other prawns approach him, holding devices and gesturing. Something in the room is being put together or powered on.

“How do you know my name?” Wikus asks, but isn’t heard.

Wikus is pulled, gently but firmly, into a sort of pod-like enclosure, where he’s placed on what looks like a medical gurney. His limbs are strapped in.

The tall prawn puts a hand on Wikus’s shoulder. “See you on the other side, my friend.”

A needle is plunged into Wikus’s neck, injecting him with a viscous black liquid, and his vision fades away.

Wikus awakens, disoriented. He’s on the same gurney, but he’s no longer restrained. He hears muffled voices in the next room.

Wikus rises unsteadily and follows the voices. Through a crack in the door, he can hear two distinct people: one prawn and one presumably human.

The human speaks with a condescending tone. He has a posh, polished cadence in his voice that only accentuates an air of malice around his words. He’s an asshole.

The prawn refers to this man as CUNNINGHAM. They’re negotiating something, and the prawn seems to be getting the worse end of it.

They seem to be talking around something to do with the prawns leaving District 10, an “exodus protocol” that needs to be enforced. We learn that the MNU, for all practical purposes, legally owns the prawns living in District 10. They won’t be permitted to leave in any way until they’ve paid off a collective debt, trillions in housing, food, and construction, signed when the prawns were relocated to the new camp.

The prawn counters that this can’t possibly be legal. Cunningham laughs this off. They’re not humans. Laws aren’t designed to protect them.

Cunningham has clearly “won” this exchange. Wikus peeks through the door to see him and several armed members of MNU security preparing to depart.

“Stay. Leave. I don’t give a shit where that piece of garbage in the sky goes. But these prawns,” Cunningham says, gesturing broadly around him. “They belong To Me.”

Trying to get a better look, Wikus trips over a loose cable, barely catching himself.

Cunningham inquires, curious: “What do you have back there, anyways?”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” the prawn replies, ending the conversation.

Cunningham shrugs, and leaves.

As the humans exit, the prawn turns to where Wikus is hiding, gently opening the door.

He gestures for Wikus to enter the room, gently, like he’s trying to console a frightened animal.

“Welcome back Wikus, welcome back my friend.”

Wikus asks what happened, where he is. As he moves from the darkness of the medical bay to this well lit room, he sees his hands… human hands.

“I am sorry I am so late,” the prawn tells him. He seems genuinely ashamed.

Wikus stares at his hands in disbelief, then up at the tall prawn.

He stammers: “…Christopher?”

It is Christopher, after all these years. They embrace.

As they part, Wikus asks Christopher where the “little one” is.

Christopher clasps Wikus on the shoulder: “He is safe, thanks to you.”

He gestures to Wikus’s now human frame. Christopher tells him that the process is not complete. He will need to undergo a final gene therapy in a few days, and there may be side effects in the meantime.

They step out into the sun together. They’ve exited an alien craft of some kind, like the command module from the first movie, but much, much bigger. Above them, the massive mothership hovers.

Christopher walks Wikus home, to no shortage of strange looks. The streets are buzzing with energy. Some prawns can be seen packing up their belongings. In one corner, a group appears to be praying in front of a statue depicting two prawns pointing upwards towards the stars. Many others though are just carrying on as if it’s business as usual.

Wikus also spots other humans in the District. They’re not in uniforms, but they are wearing lanyards of some kind, and appear to be guiding prawns in an official capacity.

Wikus is realizing that this probably isn’t the next morning, so much has happened. He asks Christopher how long he was out. Christopher replies that Wikus has been recovering for nearly three weeks.

Christopher elaborates that those humans are volunteers, helping to organize the prawns that want to depart. The prawns that accompanied Christopher to Earth do not understand the concept of possessions and property, complicating the process.

Wikus sees a group of these human volunteers leaving the District, and tells Christopher that he needs to go do something. Christopher understands, but says that he needs Wikus’s help, and asks to meet tomorrow. Wikus readily agrees, and joins the human group as they’re leaving through a busy MNU checkpoint.

It’s dusk and Wikus has returned home. Not his home in District 10, but where he and his wife lived nearly a decade ago.

Through a ground floor window, he sees his wife, and a man, both playing with a small child.

Wikus stares just out of sight. He should be crushed, but he almost looks, at peace? It’s as if a weight has been lifted from him, a burden he had been living with for so long.

He turns to leave, and in the distance, we see he’s being followed.

An EXPLOSION. Gunfire. There’s flames and wreckage in the streets, people running for their lives. Bullets are whizzing, and a giant metal foot crushes down on a parked car. It’s a prawn mech suit, firing indiscriminately into the fleeing crowd.

Wikus awakens suddenly, back in his home in District 10. He’s covered in a cold, sticky sweat.

“You’re disconnecting from the prawn hive mind. For obvious reasons, you’re the first. I’d be willing to bet though that’s it’s going to get pretty weird before all is said and done.”

A figure is sitting at the foot of Wikus’s bed. It’s the reporter from the opening montage. She introduces herself as MELINA, an investigative journalist for Johannesburg's News24.

Melina reveals that she knows who Wikus is, what he was a decade ago. She’s been investigating the return of the prawn ship, and if he has anything to do with it. She wants to talk, but Wikus is wary, uncertain. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to safely trust a human.

She offers a business card, but Wikus doesn’t take it, so she places it at the foot of his bed instead, and leaves.

The next morning, Wikus goes to meet Christopher at the command module. He’s told that Christopher is on the outskirts of District 10, alone.

Wikus finds Christopher finishing his work, brushing dirt from his hands. He’s standing above a mound of fresh dirt.

Wikus approaches to see that on top of the mound lies a piece of clothing. It’s a red vest; Christopher Johnson's vest from the first film.

It dawns on Wikus who has actually returned. They stand in silence over the grave for a few moments.

“Your father… is he?” Wikus asks.

Christopher shakes his head.

“He died on that ship. ”

Wikus opens his mouth to offer condolences, but “Christopher” puts up his hand. He tells Wikus that he’s had his time to grieve, and that his father’s sacrifice will always be with him, he’s taken his name after all.

Christopher looks up to the monolith in the sky.

“What you and my father did here 10 years ago. You didn’t just save my life, you gave me something far more valuable: Clarity. Purpose. He wanted to save our people.”

Christopher puts a hand on Wikus’s shoulder.

“And we will.”

The two spend the afternoon touring Wikus’s neighborhood. Wikus shows Christopher his favorite spots as they talk.

Wikus excitedly points out his favorite food stall, greeting the owner enthusiastically. The stall’s owner seems confused, very hesitant. He’s an older prawn, he’s probably lived through the worst years of District 9.

Wikus clicks something at him in very crude prawn. The older prawn pauses, there’s a moment of silence. Then, if prawns could smile, he’d certainly be smiling as he embraces Wikus. Wikus is clearly well liked, the prawns in his community have accepted him as one of their own.

Wikus and Christopher continue their walk. Seeing more of the human volunteers hustling about, Wikus asks why they’re going through this, why they don’t just return better equipped, force the MNU to let them leave.

Christopher explains that there will never be a third trip. That vessel in the sky is their people’s very last “homeship.”

Far from a paradise, the prawn’s home planet has been experiencing a slow decay. The “leader” class of prawns strained the planet’s resources to the brink, forcing them to send out more and more homeships in a desperate pursuit of new supplies; while the “worker” class has grown increasingly more unhinged and violent.

If Christopher cannot bring the millions of prawns on Earth back, and with them, an infusion of fresh resources and labor, their planet will almost certainly expire in a generation or less.

At the moment though, no one but Christopher and his inner circle know about the MNU’s demands. If Christopher cannot find a solution, he is certain there will be blood in the streets as the prawns turn to violence. It is an arrangement that neither the prawns that want to leave, nor the ones who want to stay, would accept without a fight.

To make matters worse, the MNU might not know it yet, but Christopher’s forces are themselves depleted. They are far too few, and far too underequipped to mount a resistance if things go bad.

Wikus stops to see a group of Christopher’s prawns making their rounds through District 10 neighborhoods. They are going door to door trying to get the inhabitants to leave their homes and make their way to the evacuation points to prepare for the departure. The District 10 prawns are being asked to give up many of their belongings in the process, a point of contention that is causing a lot of unrest.

In front of one such household, Christopher’s prawns get into an argument with the residents when one tries to pull a suitcase out of their hands. A scuffle ensues. No one is hurt, but there is a palpable tension in the air. The scene is eerily reminiscent of the relocation process in District 9.

Christopher is shaking his head. He knows what Wikus is about to say.

Christopher pauses in front a statue, the same one we saw prawns huddled in front of earlier: two prawns holding hands and pointing upwards, towards the stars.

“So long as there is even the possibility that we can leave, our people will find no peace here. If we let this linger, it will tear us in two, if the humans do not destroy us first. It is a decision we make together, or not at all.”

We see news footage of rioting on the border wall of District 10. Outside there is a growing crowd of human protesters carrying signs saying things like “GO HOME PRAWNS” and “OVERSTAYED YOUR WELCOME”.

We learn that rumors have gotten out about the MNU’s demands for repatriations. The news anchor adds that some believe the MNU purposefully leaked financial documents disclosing the huge amounts of taxpayer money used to subsidize the building and maintaining of the camps, turning public sentiment against the prawns.

The MNU is now openly seizing prawn businesses and property, sparking a huge spike in violent crimes within the District.

And suddenly, Wikus is in the footage. He’s lost and stumbling in the midst of a nighttime riot. From an unseen vantage, machine gun fire begins to mow down prawns as they scramble for cover. Wikus stumbles towards an alleyway as bullets whiz past, and into… a room?

Wikus is somehow in the command module again. He is watching a conversation between Christopher and Cunningham. The two are arguing.

Cunningham: "I don't know what you're playing at you slimy fuck, but as soon as I find out, we're coming for you. Their blood is going to be on your ha-"

The environment shifts again, and Wikus is standing beside Christopher as he leans over a metal table. He looks tired, but determined. On the table lies a prawn body.

Just as suddenly, Wikus back on the rioting street, barely managing to dive out of the way of a falling prawn mech, bullet hole riddling the armor. A dead prawn pilot is inside, staring up at nothing.

Above, a squadron of fighter jets fly at a low approach, rattling windows. Wikus glances up to see that the homeship is burning.

He wakes again, stumbling to the bathroom to throw up. In the bathroom mirror, he sees that one of his eyes is yellow. He shakes his head a few times and the color is back to normal.

There’s a knock at his door. It’s Christopher.

“Wikus, my friend, I am sorry to come to you at this hour, but we need to talk.”

Christopher opens computer-like display on Wikus’s kitchen table. Lines of prawn language stream across the image before it opens what looks like low-quality security camera footage.

Christopher explains the footage: “The past three nights, unmarked helicopters have been making passes around the homeship. Last night, figures were seen on the hull. I know it is the MNU, I know they are planning something. Wikus, I need your help to figure out what. Please.”

Christopher elaborates that he’s secured for Wikus an MNU uniform and security badge. It’s risky, there’s always a possibility he would be recognized, even after all these years, but it’s their best shot at stopping whatever the MNU has planned.”

Wikus agrees to do what he can. As Christopher leaves, Wikus opens a drawer to retrieve the reporter’s business card.

Wikus and Melina convene to plan out their infiltration. Melina has managed to get the MNU to agree to a small TV segment concerning the prawn repatriation process, allowing her to tour the facility’s ground floor.

Wikus will pose as Melina’s cameraman, and when he gets the opportunity, will break away to investigate on his own. Melina reminds him that he has promised her complete and total honesty in an interview when this is all over.

Wikus and Melina arrive at the MNU facility. They conduct a short, very PR-friendly interview with an MNU rep. Wikus makes sure to cover as much of his face as possible with the camera.

There’s a moment where Melina notices that Wikus’s eye is drooping unnaturally, as if it doesn’t quite fit his face. Wikus quickly hides it by moving the camera in front of him.

At the end of the interview, Wikus asks to use the bathroom, and makes a break for it, changing into the MNU uniform and using the badge to go deeper into the facility.

Wikus narrowly avoids going down a corridor as Cunningham approaches, MNU retinue in tow. He’s shouting, visibly angry.

Slipping into a nearby garage bay, Wikus finds stacks of crates that are being prepared to be loaded. The manifests mark them as general medical supplies to be helicoptered into District 10, but when he opens one, he finds a huge volume of military-grade explosives.

Wikus quickly captures it all on video, just as a group of MNU employees comes through the door. Wikus hides what he’s been doing, but he’s been spotted.

One of the employees approaches him and asks him what he’s doing here. Wikus attempts to play it off. He reaches into his pocket for the ID badge, but realizes that his hand has turned claw-like, as if he’s reverting into a prawn again. He awkwardly retrieves the ID with his other hand.

The MNU employee seems suspicious. Wikus starts losing his cool when he briefly hallucinates that the employee’s eyes are yellow like a prawn’s. Wikus clears his head, revealing that his “claw hand” was just a hallucination as well. Whatever’s happening to him is clearly getting worse.

Despite this, he maintains his cool and seems to be talking his way out of the situation.

The MNU employee stares at him for a second, assessing, then shrugs, and taps Wikus on his badge as he walks past him. “See ya around.”

Wikus returns to Christopher with the news. Those crates were being requisitioned to the helicopter pads. The MNU is planting explosives on the homeship. They mean to strand the prawns here, to make sure their cash cow never leaves.

Christopher tells him that earlier that night, a huge MNU force took control of the command module, quarantining off the area around it. Knowing what he knows now, Christopher understands why.

The command module can send the power-up signal to the homeship, and if explosives were to be detonated during that sequence, the results would be catastrophic. The ship would be utterly destroyed, and with it, any hope of returning home.

The pair form a plan of attack. They have to stop this, but as quietly as possible. If word gets out about it, the chaos that would ensue would leave thousands dead.

Christopher gives Wikus a weapon. He tells him that it should still work; until the procedure is completed, Wikus is still part prawn.

Wikus prepares an envelope with the video evidence and photos he collected from the MNU facility. He calls Melina, she doesn’t pick up. He calls the News24 headquarters, they tell him no one by that name works here. Wikus is flustered, his head is a mess.

Christopher urges him to hurry. Wikus sends a text, and leaves his phone next to the materials as they leave the house.

Prawns gather en masse outside of the MNU’s barricades. They’ve been evicted from their homes, and they’re pissed. They’re throwing rocks and molotov cocktails, shoving against the riot shields of the MNU security forces.

Suddenly, gunfire breaks out, and all hell breaks loose. Hundreds of prawns swarm over the MNU guards, as more gunfire and small explosions can be heard.

Under this cover of chaos, Wikus and Christopher push past the barricade lines and into the quarantined area.

Wikus and Christopher make it to the command module, but it’s too heavily guarded. They’re not going to get any further without being detected.

The two know what has to be done, and they go LOUD. Alien weapons blasting, Wikus and Christopher fight their way through the MNU forces, side by side again. It’s awesome.

They battle their way towards the control room, but there’s just so many guards pursuing them. Christopher holds them off while Wikus continues to the central room.

He enters the room and sees a central console. On top of it, several human laptops are open. Some are displaying security camera footage of the chaos outside. One is displaying what looks like a countdown sequence with just a few minutes to go.

Suddenly, Wikus is SHOT, a ferocious blast that takes off his arm in a shower of gore.

Wikus falls to the floor. He looks up to see Cunningham holding a combat shotgun.

“You idiot,” he spits. “You fucking idiot. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Look at this shit,” he gestures towards the security feeds. “This is you. This is what you creatures do, isn’t it? You just can’t help yourselves.”

Wikus shouts back that the MNU brought this on themselves, stealing from the prawns, evicting them from their homes.

Cunningham seems genuinely taken aback. “Evicting? This is an evacuation. What exactly are you playing a-”

He’s cut off mid-sentence by the sound of an alien weapon powering up. Cunningham turns just in time to be evaporated into a mist of viscera by a bloody, but still alive Christopher.

Wikus’s arm has been nearly completely severed. He falls to the ground clutching the bloody stump. He’s breathing heavily, but he’s relieved. It’s over.

He gestures towards the laptop. “Christopher, the computer, there’s still time.”

Christopher moves towards the computer, his hand hovering above the keys. He’s hesitating, but why?

Wikus is growing more frantic. “Christopher! What are you waiting for?”

Still staring at the glowing countdown sequence, he replies to Wikus.

“I spent a long time on that ship, alone with the memories of a dying planet. But still, I didn’t know until just now if I would be ready, when the time came, to do what I have to.”

“Christopher, what are you doing? Think of your people!”

“Wikus, I have known you nearly all my life. When the time comes, I know you too will do what needs to be done. Our people, they will survive this.”

Christopher shuts the laptop.

Wikus looks up in horror to see a series of violent explosions rock the side of the mothership. Huge pieces of debris fall from the damaged vessel, crushing buildings beneath them.

The massive ship veers downward, angling awkwardly in its descent. It’s crashing, and it’s clear thousands are about to die.

Wikus is in disbelief.

“This story isn’t over my friend. One day, you will understand why I did this. Just as you are realizing now the role you must play in what’s to come.”

Behind Christopher, we see the “transformation” pod.

The ship comes crashing down in the distance, sending a shockwave that violently shakes the walls.

Epilogue:

A montage of news clips reveals that in the months that followed the disaster, public sentiment towards the prawns has turned sympathetic.

An extensive investigation revealed the extent of the MNU conspiracy, not just the terrorist attack that downed the ship, but also illegal arms trading, inhumane experimentation, etc.

In response to the public outcry, the UN has granted the prawns their own territory to self-govern around the site of the crash, effectively creating a “prawn nation.”

The immense ruins of the ship itself still lay half-buried in the ground, a towering monument to the disaster, and the legacy of District 9.

Some of the interviewees from before add their thoughts. Many are relieved that the horrifying past of the Districts are behind them. Some however are worried that the prawns’ memory will not be so short, that they will not forgive what was done to them.

Melina finishes her own interview segment. She asks if they are done. Before the camera cuts we see her removing contacts from her eyes. It may just be a trick of the light, but are her eyes… yellow?

Further footage reveals that the prawn population has seemingly reunited in the pursuit of rebuilding this land into a home for themselves and their descendants.

At one such construction site, Christopher stands above his fellow prawns, surveying the progress. From behind him, a one armed prawn approaches to stand by his side.

“Let’s Write” is a Villainy project. You can find all of our work at www.Villainy.media

You can listen to Let’s Write on Apple, Stitcher, Spotify, and Google Play

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isaiahmax-blog · 6 years

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☠

O N E.

isaiah turned the corner, to find the guys who had given naomi a hard time- at a god damn halloween party. maybe his anger is already a little bit spiked, because of that. he’s already a little annoyed, because of how shitty people can be, and because elijah is drunkenly stumbling all over the place. isaiah is stuck on dad duty, and honestly... he isn’t feeling this party as a whole. so of course, that’s when he turns the corner, pushing past a few bodies that are dancing, only to see... ashley. isaiah’s mouth turns up, into a smile, his mouth opening to call out to her. he can see she’s talking to someone, and smiling at them. that special ashley cohen smile. and that’s what gives him pause. isaiah stumbles slightly, closing his mouth, just as more of the crowd clears, and he sees who ashley is smiling at like that. julian. there’s a roar within isaiah’s head, suddenly, as he hears nothing but his own blood, rushing. they’re just talking. calm down, isaiah instructs himself. he doesn’t move from the spot though, not even as others bump into him. he can’t tear his eyes away from the way they’re leaning into each other, and laughing. and then... isaiah feels something within him DROP to the floor, right to his feet, because ashley is moving forward and kissing julian, hard. isaiah feels a bit like a pervert for watching, but he’s so surprised, and shell shocked, that he can’t move. ashley kissing julian is bad, but julian kissing ashley back suddenly, with a great gusto... that’s what makes isaiah feel his breath catch in his throat. the pair are kissing, and kissing. and it feels like the longest kiss in the world.

“ISAIAH! MY MAN!” one of the lacrosse players slaps isaiah on the back suddenly, pulling isaiah out of his reverie. his eyes pull away from the sight of two of his best friends kissing, only to glare at the player, who recoils slightly. “yo, man. your cup’s broken.” the player points out, slightly hesitantly. isaiah looks down, to where he’s spilled the whole glass of alcohol. isaiah hadn’t even really noticed, but as he glances down, he realises his hands have clenched into fists, turning his knuckles a stark white. isaiah breathes out, sharply, and ignores the player, only to look up and see ashley leading julian away, and into a bedroom. isaiah sees red, yet again, because he KNOWS what that means, and he god damn hates it. in that moment, he hates julian vega.

T W O .

the knocking on isaiah’s door is so persistent, and he can hear julian making a stupid frozen joke. isaiah is angry at the world. he’s angry at being arrested, he’s angry at himself for hiding out. he’s angry for being kicked off the lacrosse team. he’s angry because gina is dead. he’s angry because he saw julian and ashley kissing, then walk into another private room. he’s so pissed off, and now julian is here- as if trying to piss him off even more. go away, isaiah fights to urge to snap it out. his hands curl into fists again, his breathing deepens. just the thought of seeing julian with his stupid smile, and knowing that those lips kissed ashley ... that’s enough to make isaiah want to open the door, just to punch him, right across that mouth, over and over. he inhales, then exhales. isaiah knows his anger is sorely misplaced. he’s upset with julian, sure, but as a whole- he doesn’t want to punch him. he just wants to hit SOMETHING, because he feels so supremely pissed off with the world. and julian just so happens to be there. but no. instead... isaiah swallows hard. he swallows that anger. and he keeps the door closed between them.

T H R E E.

normally, isaiah would never step into a starbucks. he doesn’t drink coffee, and he doesn’t like going to places where he knows he’ll be recognised, especially of late. ( since his arrest. ) but, he wanted to get damaris one of those silly pumpkin spice latte’s people seemed to like so much, just to say thank you for her putting up with him, and being such a good friend, and even better house mate. she’d supported him, silently, when she had been going through her own stuff too. isaiah truly didn’t deserve her. as he pushes open the door to the busy cafe, he steps into the line immediately. it’s moving slowly, but isaiah truly doesn’t mind waiting. he’s feeling a lot better these days, if he’s being honest. he misses lacrosse a lot, sure, but... at least it feels nice to know people are fighting to get him back on the team, and fighting to show the press and media that he’s not some murderous maniac. nobody seems to believe the police, and for that isaiah just feels relieved. the mark will always be on his record, but at least people aren’t treating him that differently.

isaiah pulls out his phone, thinking briefly back to ashley, as always. he considers texting her, just to see how she’s going. it’s his mind that plays tricks on him, he’s sure of it- because he’s certain he can hear ashley’s laugh from one of the occupied tables. isaiah unlocks his phone, just as he hears her laugh, and then her VOICE. he could tell his voice from a mile away. it’s really her. as the line moves once again, isaiah slides his phone into his pocket, and glances around, a smile sneaking onto his face at the idea of surprising ashley here. he’s just glad to hear her laughing, and being herself again.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me.” isaiah can’t stop the words from falling from his mouth, as his eyes find ashley’s dirty blonde head, sitting with... julian. again. laughing. the two are leaning in over a table together, speaking. and... it’s like they’re in their own little world. like it’s just them two. isaiah’s heart plummets, and the smile on his face is quickly wiped. right. of course she’d be with julian. of course she’d be laughing and talking with him. julian was an awesome guy. isaiah would testify that anywhere, and to anyone, but right now... that fact just pisses him off. he doesn’t need a reminder that julian is smarter, and overall just good to get along with. especially not from ashley. the pair haven’t even noticed isaiah, and why would they? his breathing comes out slightly shallowly, as he pulls his eyes away. he feels such a tight pressure in his chest, once again. not just sad...but annoyed at how public they’re being with each other. he doesn’t know why, but it’s just... the Worst. “NEXT PLEASE!” the starbucks barista glares at isaiah, as he realises he’s been holding up the line. “oh.” he swallows, uncurling his hands he hadn’t even realised had turned into fists. “shit. sorry.”

F O U R.

“-but up until... you know...” the lacrosse team goes slightly quiet, sombre, at the unspoken mention of gina. isaiah keeps his head down, even though it’s him that the team is surrounding themselves around. he’s glad for their company, but isaiah really doesn’t want to think about that party. or that night. mike nudges cassidy, obviously to tell him to change the subject. isaiah shoots mike a grateful glance, and the energy picks up in the group once again.

“but yo, man, let me tell you. mike got totally WRECKED at beer pong.” cassidy and the rest of the guys are laughing, and it’s just such a common feeling that isaiah can’t help bark out a small laugh too, his mouth upturning. cassidy must find that encouraging, because he continues. “and what else? oh yeah, art was on the banned list, so he didn’t even get an invite to the party.” that DOES brighten isaiah’s mood, as he grins, remembering how good it had felt to finally kick art off the team. he’s glad the other team mates agree. “OH! and man, julian vega and ashley cohen? i heard they totally did it in the parents room. they were in there for a little.” cassidy is grinning, as if sharing the juiciest, best news in the world- but all it does is making isaiah’s smle vanish. “i heard that they’ve been sneaking off in between classes too, man!” isaiah feels a sickening lurch in his stomach at the idea. his mind goes back again, to the memory of ashley and julian at the starbucks, just a few days ago. he doesn’t know if cassidy is telling the truth, because there’s always a LOT of hearsay with ashley, which isaiah tries his best to ignore, or tell the guys to not participate in. “who knew? julian vega. getting his dick wet in ashley cohen.” cassidy shakes his head, as if in awe, only a few of the other guys chuckle, although there’s definitely a tension now. all eyes seem to be on isaiah. isaiah’s mind reels back to the idea of julian, playing the role of doting friend, then hooking up with ashley behind his back. it doesn’t seem like a julian-thing to do, but isaiah’s mind can’t stop itself from thinking it. isaiah slams his textbook closed, a bit too hard. silence falls over the group.

“yo, isaiah... you uh, want us to have a word with vega?” mike asks. isaiah almost wants to laugh, because it feels like they’re in a MOB MEETING almost, and they’re asking for isaiah’s permission to take julian out. he briefly does consider it though... but really, in the end, he knows he couldn’t do that to julian. or ashley. they’re his friends. no matter what.

F I V E .

“- man, when are you going to believe us, huh?” julian is jogging to keep up with isaiah, who resolutely stares ahead, still ignoring him. “we kissed! we were drunk! it was a mistake! everyone knows you and ashley are basically in love with each other!” julian’s insistent, and isaiah wants to believe it. he really does, because he misses having julian as a friend, and he hates having to ignore anyone. julian gives up on jogging after isaiah, staying put on the spot now, as isaiah continues walking. it seems, finally, julian is fed up. “i can’t believe how immature and petty you’re acting!” he calls out, and that’s what causes isaiah to swing around, so suddenly.

“alright, man, if it was nothing then why were you and ashley sitting together at a table in starbucks, practically swapping spit, a week ago?” it’s an exaggeration, but isaiah is HEATED. julian blinks, in surprise, and then... he LAUGHS. isaiah’s temper rises, his hands curling into fists. “what- that’s funny? it this all a joke to you? tell me this shit to my face then act completely differently behind my back? i don’t care if you’re into ashley.” a lie. “but don’t fucking lie to my face. if you’re meant to be a friend, then you don’t insist we like each other, and then go kiss her and go on cute little dates with her. leave me the fuck outta it, alright?” isaiah’s voice is getting harder, more snappy, with each word. julian’s still smiling, as if in disbelief, and he shakes his head at isaiah, as if thinking ‘poor, stupid isaiah maxwell’. isaiah’s head swirls with his own fury, and his hands curl into fists, tightly, by his side. “stop fucking LOOKING at me like that, you asshole.” isaiah’s words are harsh, harsher then they’ve probably ever been in his life. julian looks surprised, for a moment, just as isaiah turns to walk away.

“WAIT-” a hand goes to isaiah’s bicep, and isaiah just... s n a p s. as he spins around, his fist is raised, and sinks right into julian’s face, just as he’s briefly imagined doing. only this time it’s real. it connects with julian’s cheek, hard, staggering the other boy back, and as soon as it happens- isaiah knows he’s fucked up. the anger all leaves him at once, and his eyes are wide open, in shock at his own actions. he punched julian. he punched his friend.

“oh fuck. fuck. fuck.” he breathes out, already taking steps closer, in alarm. “i’m sorry. shit. julian, fuck. i’m- i’m so sorry.” isaiah’s hands go to his hair, as if about to pull it out. “i shouldn’t have done that, i- wasn’t thinking. are you alright? let me take you to the nurse. please. oh god, i’m sorry.”

#✩ ❝ on each others team. ❞「julian」#that tag could not be more irrelevant rn #anyways i know its meant to be five times plus one more #but it was too distressing to write all of this #and its so ridiculously long and terribly written #JUST TAKE IT OK #JUST TAKE IT.#julicnsv

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