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avengers-age-of-fanfics · 3 years

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just for you, honeybee (4/?)

pairings: steve rogers x fem!reader (platonic), bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: characters death, swearing, flirting with colonel phillips, guns, plane crash

word count: 4,327

a/n: holy crap this one is long! i really enjoyed writing this chapter just because i got to watch CA:TFA all over again and i cried like a little baby. hope you guys enjoy this! btw, next chapter is going to be very short - probably the shortest one yet, just a heads up!

“Johann Schmidt belongs in a bughouse,” Colonel Phillips started, “he thinks he’s a god and he’s willing to blow up half the world to prove it, starting with the U.S.A.”

You tensed up next to Steve as Howard moved behind you, taking a seat to your right, “Schmidt’s working with powers beyond our capabilities. He gets across the Atlantic, he will wipe out the entire Eastern Seaboard in an hour.”

Peggy’s eyes met yours before they drifted to Steve who tossed a pile of papers on the table in front of him. One of the Howling Commandos spoke up, “how much time we got?”

Colonel Phillips sorted through some files, “according to my new best friend, under 24 hours.”

You spoke up, “where is he now?”

The Colonel presented the group with a photo, “Hydra’s last base is here. In the Alps, 500 feet below the surface.”

Another Howling Commando spoke up, “so what are we supposed to do? I mean, it’s not like we can just knock on the front door.”

“Why not?” And just like that, Steve captured everyone’s attention in the room, including yours. You knew this was going to be a suicide mission, especially if he continued with this idea, “that’s exactly what we’re gonna do.”

Everyone looked at Steve with wide eyes, except for you and Peggy. Schmidt was in for a rude awakening.

Grabbing a motorcycle alongside Steve, the two of you headed into the snowy forest towards the base. Glancing over at Steve, you noticed he kept the design on the shield, joy sparking in your chest, “you kept it!”

Steve barely heard you over the sound of the motorcycles but he smiled, “not too shabby for your first Captain America design.”

You chuckled, about to respond until you glanced back, seeing six motorcycles behind you, “we got company, Cap!”

Quickly swerving back and forth to avoid whatever-the-hell they were shooting at you, Cap glanced back once more before he pushed a button on the pad attached to his motorcycle, two hooks with strings attached latching onto two trees. Right away, two guys on motorcycles failed to avoid the trap, sending them flying forward.

Cap yelled over to you, “get next to me!”

Speeding up a bit on your bike, you ended up next to Steve as he pressed another button, fire immediately covering two of the cyclists. You gave Steve a look, “that was so badass!”

On your left, you saw two Hydra motorcycles race ahead of you before you looked to Steve, “I got an idea! Move quickly!” Racing ahead, you quickly picked a pin from their motorcycles, making sure Steve was nowhere near them. Looking back, you sent a smirk his way as he sped up next to you, hearing and feeling the explosion of the motorcycles.

Riding towards the base, a tank was placed right before the entrance. Steve yelled, “stay right behind me,” just as the tank started shooting at you. Racing behind Cap, you both saw the tank explode as Steve shot at it from his motorcycle, riding up the cement barrier of the base.

Jumping over the barriers with your bikes, both you and Steve were met with Hydra soldiers with guns pointed right at you. Continuing your ride, you saw Steve jump off his, watching it explode the first wall of the base. Riding through the base, you quickly took down any soldier in your way, shooting them with your new best friend – StG 44.

Running a few fellas over with your bike, you looked over at Steve who was taking multiple soldiers down with the shield. Turning your attention back towards the fight, you continued to take down more men – but you noticed their numbers were growing bigger by the second.

In a spare glance, you turned to Steve who was now surrounded by two men holding flamethrowers, making it unable for him to move. You came to a stop, noticing a line of men pointing their guns at you. With a sigh, you hopped off your bike – but not before shooting one more guy by your feet.

You saw Cap look around for you worriedly until he met your eyes; you nodded at him, telling him to not put up a fight, at least not yet. He nodded back, allowing the Hydra soldiers to take both your weapons and leading you down the halls of the base and into a room that had it not hold one of the world’s most dangerous men, you’d say it had a beautiful view.

You and Steve stopped side-by-side with the Hydra soldiers as Johann Schmidt started talking, “arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait, but I must say, you do it better than anybody.”

This was not what you expected Johann Schmidt to look like.

He glanced at you, “seems you have no limits, Captain, bringing a woman into this.”

You glared at the red-faced monster, “I came here on my own accord, just to clarify, Schmidt.”

Johann hummed as he turned away from you, “however, even you have limits as to what you can do, Captain. Or did Erskine tell you otherwise?”

Steve spoke up beside you, “he told me you were insane.”

Schmidt seemed unsurprised, looking down to the floor and back to Steve, “ah…he resented my genius and tried to deny what was rightfully mine. But he gave you everything. So, what made you so special?”

Steve chuckled, “nothin’. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

Schmidt turned to you, “how about you, little one? What makes you so special?”

You swallowed thickly, “good looks?”

You nor Steve really aren’t sure what exactly set Johann off, but a switch had flipped, and his face grew into a frown before he slapped you across the face twice, doing the same to Cap while also kneeing him in the stomach. Both you and Steve were put on your knees as all three of you breathed heavily.

With a slight grin, Steve looked up at Johann, “I can do this all day.”

Johann was not amused, “oh, of course you can, of course.” He paused before he continued, pulling a gun out from the side of his uniform, “but unfortunately, I am on a tight schedule.” He pointed the gun to Steve’s head just as the Howling Commandos began to zip line towards the base.

You growled towards Schmidt, “so are we.”

Once Schmidt realized what was happening, you and Steve quickly grabbed the guards behind you, pulling them in front as Johann fired his gun at them, their bodies disappearing in thin air. You gave Steve a look as the Howling Commandos flew in through the windows, firing at the enemy as Schmidt took off.

Quickly getting up off your feet, you scurried towards the hall where Schmidt took off, a Howling Commando yelling behind you, “Rogers! You might need this!”

Hearing the shield pass through the air, you knew Steve caught it as he yelled back, “thanks,” then hearing his footsteps take after yours.

Hydra troops marched down the halls of the base, guns ready to fire at any moment. With your heightened sense of hearing, you knew the rest of the platoon was taking over the Hydra base, gunfire slowly taking over your senses. Explosions filled the base as smoke and fire entered your senses; Steve ran beside you, sensing the same things.

You saw Schmidt turn down a corridor, yelling over to Steve, “this way!” Quickly, Schmidt retaliated, sending bolts of his gun your way, making you narrowly avoid being disintegrated. Steve ran beside you, shield blocking the gunfire as you chased after the madman.

With a lucky throw, Steve threw the shield, catching it between metal doors where Schmidt narrowly escaped. Cap let out a sigh, rushing towards the shield as you quirked an eyebrow, “lucky throw?”

Before he could answer, a Hydra Agent came around the corner with two flamethrowers, making Steve push you against the wall as he ran opposite of you; you both were trapped as fire encapsulated your vision. Glancing towards the fire welder, you tried coming up with a plan before, lo and behold, Peggy Carter shot at the man, his flaming body falling to the ground.

Both you and Steve looked around the corner, spotting Peggy as soldiers ran by; Steve smirked at Peg, “you’re late.”

Your eyes shifted towards the ceiling as you tried to avoid the awkward moment; Peggy spoke up, “weren’t you about to –“ Steve nodded, “right, yeah – y/n.” With that, you and Steve took off towards the door where the shield held its place. Grabbing your hand, Steve pulled the shield and quickly took off.

You spotted men from the 107th shooting at the giant airship, Hydra agents lying about the floor. Turning to Steve, who was a few steps behind you, you nodded your head, “we got a problem.” The ship’s engines had already started, and it seemed Schmidt was, understandably, in a rush to complete his plan. The ship turned, wheels screeching against the floor as you and Cap slowed down, watching it slowly make its way to the exit.

Steve glanced around, watching as Hydra forces and your own fought one another. With a nod towards you, both you and Steve took off, running headfirst into battle, making sure to avoid trouble along the way; that, and, well, Steve also wanted to get some hits in.

You noticed where Cap was headed as you two ran in battle, “how do you plan on fitting us both on that?”

Steve glanced back at you, “think you can hold on, kid?”

You grumbled, “yeah! But I’m literally older than you by like, 4 months…”

Quickly, Steve jumped over huddled bodies until he reached a box of supplies lying right beneath a chain; with a jump, Steve latched onto the chain as you skipped a step, latching onto his waist mid-flight. Reaching a safe zone, you jumped first, meeting Steve in a mid-run as you headed towards the ship Johann Schmidt was currently about to fly.

You and Steve ran beside one another, pushing to reach Schmidt even as fire from the engines burnt your face. You yelled over to Steve, “c’mon, Steve! We’re – we’re almost there!” Your last sentence turned into a scream, your body yelling at you for pushing itself to the limits.

The fans from the ship sped up as you and Steve struggled to catch up with Schmidt, your hopes slowly fading as he seemed to get further and further away. Steve pulled you to a slow jog, about to crash until Peggy Carter and Colonel Phillips pulled up beside you in one of Schmidt’s cars.

Colonel Phillips yelled at you both, “get in!” Before you even settled down beside the Colonel and Steve beside Peggy, you took off, hair flying behind you. You turned to the Colonel with a smirk on your face, “nice ride, Phillips!”

The Colonel glanced a look at you as he sped up, “figured I might keep this once we’re done here!” You let out a laugh that soon died off as you recognized the light from the sun and a runway – right where Schmidt currently was.

You looked to the Colonel, a worried look on your face, as he pressed a button beside the steering wheel; right away, the car you were seated in blasted off, hair wildly being thrown behind you as the Colonel grasped onto the wheel. You held onto the door handle, eyes wide as you were reaching the ship, “remind me to never drive with you again, Colonel!”

With shaky legs, you began standing up as Steve did the same mid-ride, reaching the back end of the ship. You and Steve yelled to the Colonel, “keep it steady!”

Peggy shouted over the sounds of the ship and car engines, “wait!” Steve looked back to Peggy as she pulled him into a kiss.

You looked to the Colonel with a shrug; he shook his head at you, “I ain’t kissin’ you!” You gave a laugh as you blew him a kiss, leaning on the hood of the car to avoid getting chopped up by the propellers on the ship. Steve followed right behind you, shield meeting the propellers only once, sparks flying.

You glanced at Steve quickly before you jumped towards the ship’s wheel, grabbing onto the metal support beam as Steve flew right below you, catching onto the lasting part of the wheel. Looking down, you tried steadying your breath as you realized how high up you were; grasping Steve’s hand, you pulled him up alongside you as the wheel you two stood on was slowly pulled into the ship.

With a shaky hand, you reached into your shirt and grabbed Bucky’s dog tags, holding them tight against your scolding skin, even though it was blistering cold in the Alps.

Once inside the lower level of the ship, you and Steve quietly made your way along the metal floors, looking below you as you saw a horrifying sight; bombs with names of major cities written on them, including Chicago and New York.

With a slight gasp, you turned to Steve who looked just as distraught as you were. As his eyes met the New York bomb, footsteps echoed above you, Hydra agents making their ways across the metal landings. With stealth, Steve jumped up, grabbing onto the railing, and kicking an agent over the ledge. Jumping just as high, you landed on the landing and met with the remaining three agents.

With a slight run, you met one agent halfway as he immediately threw a punch your way. You narrowly avoided it, ducking to the side and elbowing him in the face, hearing a nice crunch beneath your elbow. Steve made his way around you, kicking another agent in the chest as he flew backwards. Kicking your opponent over the ledge, you grabbed a knife holstered onto your thigh and threw it at the third and final agent running away, hiding him in the back of the neck; with a grunt, he fell against the side of the landing.

Somehow, Steve’s agent escaped during a quick moment of distraction, climbing on top of the Chicago bomb. Cap ran towards the control panel, pressing the red escape button before the poor guy could even make it inside the capsule, hearing him scream as he fell thousands of feet.

You took a quick breath, “I don’t feel guilty about that…is that bad?”

Steve shrugged, “I – I don’t think so…no, yeah, no, definitely not.”

Less than a second later, two Hydra agents ambushed you and Steve, punching you in the side as you let out a grunt. Avoiding another punch, you grabbed a knife from your thigh and stabbed your opponent in the chest, flipping him over just for good measure. Steve had already disposed of his guy as you kicked yours down towards the opening where Steve’s own guy had just gone down.

You wiped off the blood from your knife on your suit as Steve grimaced, “what, waste a perfectly good knife? Sorry I don’t have a shield, Stevie.”

Steve just shivered, “that’s just…gross, y/n.”

You rolled your eyes, “so overdramatic. C’mon, let’s go.”

Before you could continue on within the ship, however, Steve and you heard someone get into one of the bombs, closing the lid. Steve immediately jumped onto the window, another agent jumping on top of him. Without thinking, you threw your knife at the agent, hitting him in the shoulder as the bomb, along with Steve on it, dropped into the sky.

You screamed, “Steve! No – no!”

Grabbing at your hair, you held back tears as you watched Steve fly around, narrowly avoiding the tiny ship’s propellers. With careful steps, you saw the scene unfold as the agent you had stabbed was shoved into the propellers, blood flowing from the sky; you gagged, “jesus, Steve – that was disgusting.”

Stepping away from the platform, you trusted Steve and continued your way through the ship, trying to find Schmidt. Grabbing Cap’s shield from where it had been discarded before the bomb was dropped, you made your way to the cockpit where you realized it was quiet – too quiet.

At some point, you felt the ship shake and loud bangs filled the air as you hoped it was Steve – back in one piece. Slowly walking down the stairs, the shield protecting you, you quietly walked upon the metal grates of the ship until reaching the pilot’s seat; leaning to the side, you realized Schmidt was no longer there.

“What the –“ Before you could finish, you heard the sounds of a gun preparing to fire, and in a split second, you used the shield to protect yourself from Schmidt’s laser, the shot hitting the window of the ship.

Harsh winds forced itself into the ship, your hair blowing wildly as Schmidt stood before you, “you don’t give up, do you? Where’s Mr. Rogers, little one?”

Just then, Steve decided to make his grand entrance as you glared at Schmidt, “kids from Brooklyn aren’t exactly known for givin’ up, Johann.” With a flick of your arm, you threw the shield to Steve as Schmidt fired, forcing you to jump to the side. Steve caught the shield, blocking another hit from Schmidt’s laser as it hit the window again.

Cap ran towards Schmidt, blocking more hits as he fought with the red-skulled man, avoiding yet also receiving some hits. Once Cap was kicked to the ground, you jumped behind Schmidt, kicking his hind legs and kneeing his lower spine, hearing him grunt in pain in response. Steve stood up, pushing Schmidt against a wall before being slammed to the ground.

You ran towards Johann, arm going around his neck, choking him as he tried grabbing at anything for leverage. With a quick glance to the table lying in the middle of the room, glowing blue, you threw yourself on top of it, pulling Schmidt with you and onto the floor. Steve had then pulled Schmidt up, hitting him with his shield until Schmidt fought back, hitting Cap with his own weapon before Steve headbutted him.

Steve leaned back before he grabbed onto Schmidt’s uniform, throwing him towards the pilot seat, sparks immediately flying through the air. With a yell, you realized the ship was tipped downwards, heading straight towards, what looked like, an icy landscape. Flying to the ceiling alongside Schmidt and Steve, you flew towards Johann, punching him in the stomach as he did you, trying to gain some type of balance.

As the three of you fought in the air, you gave your best kicks and punches, watching Steve be thrown to the side of the ship. In the short time, Schmidt flew over and pulled up the steering stick of the ship, pressing a few buttons as you all three fell to the floor, the ship back to normal altitude.

Landing on the metal grates harshly, you groaned as Steve stood up, pulling you alongside him as he held his shield in front of you both. Schmidt turned towards you, gun in hand as he stumbled down the stairs, “you could have the power of the gods! Both of you!”

Schmidt shot towards you and Steve as you ducked, feeling the heat of the gunfire pass over your head, “yet you wear a flag on your chest, and think you fight a battle of nations!” He kept firing at you, Steve pulling you along as Schmidt continued, “I have seen the future, Captain, little one! There are no flags!”

Another shot fired over your head as Steve analyzed his next steps, yelling back, “not my future!” Leaping forward, Steve rolled and protected himself from another shot from Schmidt as you kneeled by the side, ready to step in.

With a grunt, Steve threw the shield at Johann, forcing him to hit the glowing table, the item inside slowly coming out of its container. You narrowed your eyes, “what the hell is that?” Its bright light captured your attention as Schmidt stood beside it, “what have you done?”

The bright blue box was now outside its container, off to the side from the force of Johann’s body; Schmidt grabbed it, and after a few seconds, bright lights flew around the ship and the universe seemed to open up above him. Your brain could not comprehend what you were seeing – millions of stars and planets littered the space above as Schmidt stood below, arms beside him as he looked up.

Slowly, Schmidt’s body began to deteriorate, his screams of pain echoing throughout the ship, rainbow flashes coloring your vision as both you and Steve looked away. Then, in a split second, the blue cube fell to the ground and Schmidt was gone.

You looked at Cap, “what…what just happened?”

Steve shook his head, leaning down to grab his shield before nodding towards the pilot’s seat, “we gotta figure this out.”

Sitting beside him as co-pilot, you turned on the radio as Steve tried to figure out how exactly to land the aircraft. He looked down at the map, noticing the ship was on its way to New York. Looking at one another, you pressed on the intercom button beside you, “come in! This is y/n l/n, alongside Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”

Right away, someone responded, “Y/N, L/N, what is your –“

Quickly, Peggy interrupted him, “y/n! Is that you? Is Steve with you? Are you both alright?”

You sighed at the sound of Peggy’s voice as Steve smiled, “Peggy! Schmidt’s dead and – and –“

Peggy calmed you down, “what about the plane?”

You looked to Steve for help as he talked for you, “that’s a little bit tougher to explain.” You raised an eyebrow at Steve as you grasped onto Bucky’s dog tags around your neck, trying to help the conversation. Peggy continued, “give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”

With solemn eyes, you looked at Steve who was trying his best to possibly fix something, anything, “there’s not gonna be a safe landing…but I can try and force it down.”

Peggy stumbled, “I – I’ll get Howard on the line. He’ll know what to do.”

Steve shouted back, “there’s not enough time. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.”

The sky ahead of you looked beautiful. It was orange, mixed with bits of yellow and blue. Your nose had grown quite cold and your hair whipped your face as you still grasped onto the dog tags.

Steve breathed heavily, “I gotta put her in the water.”

You knew this was coming. You just knew it.

Peggy responded, “please, don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out.”

You called out to Peggy, “Peg…we’re in the middle of nowhere. If we wait any longer, a lot of people are going to die.” Steve glanced at you with worry in his eyes; you nodded to him as he continued, “Peggy… this is our choice. We’re okay.”

Steve reached into his pocket, pulling out a compass with a picture of Peg in the middle of it, placing it on one of the meters. With a grunt, Steve pushed the level down, the airship leaning towards the ocean in no time. You looked at Steve, your heart racing as tears raced your cheeks; not in fear, but in sadness.

Sadness that you never got to have your dance with Bucky at your wedding, nor see his smile once again or feel his lips against your own. You wouldn’t get to hear his gravelly voice in the morning right after a good night’s sleep, or get to hold his hand as he pulled you along at fairs. You wouldn’t be able to smell him or feel his hair against your fingertips as he cuddled into your chest. You wouldn’t be able to be with him before you died.

The altitude was dropping fast and Steve continued to look at the picture of Peggy, the sun glaring in his eyes, “Peggy?”

With a whisper, Peggy responded, “I’m here.”

Steve stared at the glaciers that were coming into view, “I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

Your lips quivered as the glaciers came closer and closer to you. Peggy let her tears fall as she whispered back, “all right. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club. And I expect you there, too, y/n. You hear me?”

You and Steve let out a breath as Steve responded, “you got it.” Steve reached beside himself and grabbed for your hand, holding it tightly. The tears came faster as did the glaciers and the cold water.

Peggy continued, “8 o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. You two understand?”

You swallowed, tears clouding your vision, “yes ma’am.”

Steve stared at the oncoming landscape, “you know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

Peggy whispered as Steve’s hand gripped yours tight, “I’ll show you how. Just be there.”

Steve had his own tears running down his cheeks as you sobbed quietly, hand gripping his tight, “we’ll have the band play something slow.”

Steve turned back towards you, eyes sad as he saw your cheeks, “I am so sorry, honeybee. I’m so sorry.”

With your remaining hand, you held onto Bucky’s dog tags tightly, alongside Steve’s hand, as he turned back to the radio, “I’d hate to step on your…”

The last thing you saw was your James Barnes standing right in front of you, arms wide as he yelled, “my honeybee! There she is – looking gorgeous as ever, honey.” With a kiss to your lips, it almost felt real as you responded, “hi, Jamie.”

honeybee taglist:

@clownerlyluv @ginger-swag-rapunzel

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lilacyennefer · 3 years

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The One

A/N: So, I had the inspiration for this little fic while I was listening to "The 1" by Taylor Swift. Forgive me if there's any mistakes. Feedback is always appreciated :)

WARNING: smut, angst

It started as a summer romance, that evolved into mad love, and ended in a heartbreak.

You were 23, and he was 25 when the two of you met.

Your grandmother lived in a small town in California, and you decided to visit her for the summer, spend some time with her while you can.

That’s when you met with Jax Teller, a handsome, young, local biker.

It started on a rainy day, it was rare to rain during the summer in California, but it decided to rain on a day when you were wearing a thin top, and a short, and you were walking home.

You were on the streets when it started raining, it was pouring rain, like nature decided to let months worthy of rain go in a few hours.

You tried to pull yourself together as much as you could, but it didn’t work at all as you were walking home now in the empty streets of Charming.

That’s when you heard the roaring of a motorcycle, that you learned to ignore since you arrived in town. You ignored it, until you heard someone constantly yell words at you.

You stop in your tracks as you look up, you’re completely soaked at this point, when you look at the young biker standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry, you said something?” you asked the blonde man sitting on his bike.

“I asked if you would like me to give you a ride?” he says with a smile, a smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re hesitating, not sure what to answer. A part of you really wanted to run away from him, he had a reputation, his motorcycle club had a reputation, you heard that they were dangerous. But your other part, the bigger part, wanted to hop on his bike, and run away with this handsome man.

“I’d like that, thank you.” you smile back at him when the bigger part of you won.

You walked closer to the blonde biker, he unbuckled his helmet and handed it over to you, before you sat behind him, wrapping your arms around his body tightly.

------

Your first date happened a week ago, at the local diner.

It was an old diner, when you walked in, it looked like you dropped into the 60s, it was your typical american diner.

Jax picked you up on his bike, he was wearing his kutte, and his trademark smirk, that made your heart jump every time.

Jax was the handsomest, you’d dare to say that the most beautiful man that you’ve ever seen, and besides that, he was fun, smart, charismatic, and dangerous.

You spent your date talking about everything, you told Jax about your life, your studies, everything, and he listened, drank in every word of yours, his curious eyes never leaving you.

You caught him several times, looking at your lips, especially when you wrapped them around the straw in your strawberry milkshake.

At the end of your date, Jax took you home on his bike.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.” he said when both of you got off of his bike, standing in front of each other.

“Me, too.” you smiled, looking down at your feet from the nervousness that you suddenly feel.

You feel Jax’s rough hands on your chin, lifting your head up so you would look at him.

“May I kiss you?” he asks softly, licking his lips as he waits for your answer.

You mimic his action, tongue slipping over your bottom lip, wetting your lips before you whisper a “yes”.

Jax looks deeply into your eyes, his blue orbs burn into yours, mischief tingling in them. The young biker took your face in his hands, he licked his lips one more time before he leaned closer to you, pressing his lips to yours.

The first thing that you noticed is how soft his lips are, and how deliciously his light stubble tickles your skin.

But you don’t have much time to think about all these, the moment he moves his lips against yours, you get lost in the feeling, in feeling him.

Jax swore he never felt anything this perfect ever, and when you let out a tiny moan against his lips, he could feel his cock twitch in response, and he couldn't wait to make you moan some more.

Your sweet moan against Jax’s lips guaranteed access to your mouth, making it easy for Jax to slip his tongue in, massaging your tongue with his.

You only pulled away to break the kiss when your lungs were burning for air, but even when you pulled away, your hands were gasping Jax’s arms tightly.

“Let me take you out to another date.” Jax says in a hoarse voice, but you, being unsure to speak yet, just nodded with a smile.

------

Jax looked down at you as he pounded into you hard.

You were laying on his bed in his dorm, your eyes were closed from the pleasure that he’s causing to you as he pounds into you, making you moan and scream from the ecstasy that he makes you feel, with every thrust, every kiss, and every bite.

Jax can’t take his eyes away from you, the pleasure is written all over your face, your skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat, making you glow, and your boobs are bouncing every time he slams his dick inside you.

Jax has been with many women before, but there was something in you that made him feel things that he didn’t feel since Tara left, since he was a teenager, and it scared him.

“Jax!” the sweet moan of his name snapped the biker out of his thoughts, he looked down at your squirming body, felt you tighten around him, until you screamed his name in ecstasy.

He hid his face in your neck as you pulsated around him, making Jax bite down on his lips to keep him from cumming.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Jax murmurs into your neck before he pulled out from you.

“Hmm, you didn’t come.” you note, still breathless from your orgasm.

Jax licks a drop of sweat from between your boobs, making you giggle, and tangle your fingers in his long, golden hair.

“I want to cum in your mouth.” Jax murmurs against your lips, his thumb stroking your flushed cheek.

You place your hand on his chest, gently pushing him down back on the bed, and he obligates, laying down on the bed with his signature smirk on his lips.

You kiss Jax sweetly before you move into a comfortable position on the bed, between his spread legs.

You take his glistening cock in your hand, wrapping your fingers around him, just the way he likes it, your hand is easily slipping up and down around him, making a small noise that is caused solely by your own wetness on him.

You look up at Jax with a smirk on your lips, his blue eyes are intensely watching your every more.

You wrap your swollen lips around his leaking tip, tasting the mixture of your wetness, and his precum as you slowly swirled your tongue around him, moaning from the taste.

“C’mon baby, don’t tease.” Jax says through gritted teeth, he was already close when he was inside of you, and now feeling your lips wrapped around him, and your tongue teasing him, pushed Jax closer and closer to his pleasure.

You don’t tease him more, you started bobbing your head, lips wrapped tightly around him as you suck him in your mouth, pushing Jax closer to release.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum!” Jax groans, pushing his hips up, his cock slips deeper down in your throat until you feel his hot cum fill your mouth, making you swallow every drop of him.

------

Your summer romance started going downhill when Jax started to distance himself from you. He was spending more time at the club, on runs, and more time with croweaters.

You don’t know what you did, or didn’t do, that made Jax act like this, but you were sure that he would break your heart.

Jax hated himself, he hated himself because what was supposed to be a summer romance, a fling, made him feel things he buried deep down inside of him, so no one would break his heart again.

He hated himself because he didn’t have the nerves to tell you face to face that he doesn’t want to continue this anymore, which he also knew it was a lie, but he hoped that if he ignores you, you’ll leave him alone, and leave the town eventually.

When you had enough of his silence, you went to the clubhouse, where you knew he was staying.

SAMCRO had a party that night, which you absolutely didn’t know anything about.

You walked into the crowded clubhouse, looking for Jax, only to find him sitting on a couch, with a croweater in his lap.

Your heart dropped from the view in front of you, Jax didn’t see you, he was busy whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

You take a deep breath, trying to swallow your pain, and hold back your tears, as you step up to Jax.

“You know” you start, making the woman and Jax look at you, his expression fades quickly “I’d think that you’re a man enough to tell me face to face that you don’t want to be with me anymore, but I guess, you are not a real man.” you spit, grabbing the open beer bottle from the table and spilling it all over Jax and the woman.

You don’t wait for their reply, or reactions, as you storm out of the clubhouse, never going back.

The next day, you left Charming.

------

It took you more than a year until you visited Charming again, more than a year until you saw Jax again.

You were walking out of the grocery store, you grabbed a few things for your dinner to cook with your grandma, when you bumped into a strong body.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you say quickly, before you look up to see Jax standing in front of you.

You feel your stomach drop from the sight of him, your mouth a small ‘oh’.

“I didn’t know you were in town again.” Jax said, just as surprised as you.

“I’m visiting my grandma.” you state.

You take a few seconds to look at Jax, his blonde hair is still long, he still doesn’t have a beard, only a light stubble. He didn’t change at all.

“Y/N, I’m..” Jax sighs, and you wait for him to continue “I’m sorry what I did to you, and how I treated you. You were right, I should have broken up with you face to face.”

“I just want to know, Jax.” you say firmly “Why did you do it?” you asked the question that has been haunting you in the past year.

You see Jax hesitate, he shifts his weight from one leg to another, his gaze avoids yours.

“I was scared.” he confesses “I started catching feelings, and that scared the shit out of me.”

You take a deep breath, thinking about what he just said.

“You know, I always thought that you were the One.” you say shyly.

During your time with Jax, you were convinced that he was the one you’re going to spend your life with, until the moment he broke your heart.

Your confession made Jax smirk a little.

“It would’ve been sweet.” he says “You’re a really nice girl, and you deserve someone better than me.”

You nod “That’s true.” you agree with Jax, to his surprise.

“I hope you find your match.” you say, then walk away from him.

Taglist: @innerpaperexpertcloud @lady-evans @claudiahxrdy @oldstuffnewstuff @keithseabrook27 @alexa-rae-dreamz @rocketqueen @woahitslucyylu @de-profundis-ad-astra @mylifeliterally @happyhenners @rosieposie0624 @hotdamnhunnam @palaiasaurus64 @phoenixhalliwell @witching-hour @starrynite7114 @gemini0410 @rebelwrites

#Charlie Hunnam #Jax Teller #jax teller x reader

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introvertguide · 3 years

Text

Easy Rider (1969); AFI# 84

The current movie under review from the AFI top 100 is the counterculture road film, Easy Rider (1969). As a note for anybody looking for screen captures, this is also the title of a magazine with many scantily dressed women next to vehicles, so be specific with your google image search. The film combines the hippie lifestyle with the beatnik concept of being free from "the man." It spoke to a lot of Americans at the time who were fighting back against government restrictions on one hand and the freedom of Civil Rights on the other. The film ended up making almost 100x the budget and was one of the first super performing, low budget indie films. The film was written by Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, and Terry Southern. It was produced by Fonda and directed by Hopper. It is funny to think about now, but it was basically Peter Fonda's hippie son and some of his buddies getting together and making a movie about a road trip. Well done! Before we go any further, let's get the normal warning out of the way...

SPOILER WARNING!!! I AM GOING TO SPOIL THE MOVIE THAT DOESN'T REALLY HAVE A MAJOR PLOT!!! WHAT STORY THERE IS I HAVE SPOILED SO WATCH THE FILM FIRST IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO RUIN IT FOR YOU!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

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Wyatt (Peter Fonda) and Billy (Dennis Hopper) are freewheeling motorcyclists. After smuggling cocaine from Mexico to Los Angeles, they sell their haul and receive a large sum of money. With the cash stuffed into a plastic tube hidden inside the Stars & Stripes-painted fuel tank of Wyatt's California-style chopper, they ride eastward aiming to reach New Orleans, Louisiana, in time for the Mardi Gras festival. This all happens either in silence, in Spanish, or beneath the in-coming planes at an airport, so there really isn't any dialogue. It truly is exposition at the most basic level. What the director is basically communicating is "two guys got some money, here's how, now don't worry about it and enjoy the travel montage."

During their trip, Wyatt and Billy stop to repair a flat tire on Wyatt's bike at a farmstead in Arizona and have a meal with the farmer and his family. It is kind of interesting because Wyatt talks later about nobody being willing to help him, yet he is invited to use the barn and tools and then invited to have dinner with the whole family. Later, Wyatt picks up a hippie hitch-hiker, and he invites them to visit his commune, where they stay for the rest of the day. The notion of "free love" appears to be practiced, with two of the women, Lisa and Sarah, seemingly sharing the affections of the hitch-hiking commune member before turning their attention to Wyatt and Billy. The people at the commune seem to like Wyatt and want him to stay, but Billy doesn't seem to fit in and he is antsy to get back on the road. As the bikers leave, the hitch-hiker gives Wyatt some LSD for him to share with "the right people".

Further down the road, the two see a parade and playfully join the back. The pair are immediately arrested for "parading without a permit" and thrown in jail. There, they befriend lawyer George Hanson (Jack Nicholson), who has spent the night in jail after overindulging in alcohol. After the mention of having done work for the ACLU along with other conversation, George helps them get out of jail and decides to travel with Wyatt and Billy to New Orleans. As they camp that night, Wyatt and Billy introduce George to marijuana. As an alcoholic and a "square", George is reluctant to try it due to his fear of becoming "hooked" and it leading to worse drugs but he quickly relents. It is funny when Wyatt calls it "grass" and George doesn't know what that means. I don't know about other areas, but any 13-year-old where I live would most likely know what Wyatt was talking about.

Stopping to eat at a small-town Louisiana diner, the trio attract the attention of the locals. There is a booth packed with young girls next to a booth packed with what I can best describe as hicks. The girls in the restaurant think the trio are exciting, but the local men and a police officer make degrading comments and taunts. Wyatt, Billy, and George decide to leave without any fuss. They make camp outside town and talk about how their freedom scares a lot of people. In the middle of the night, a group of locals attack the sleeping trio, beating them with clubs. Billy screams and brandishes a knife, and the attackers leave. Wyatt and Billy suffer minor injuries, but George has been bludgeoned to death. Wyatt and Billy wrap George's body in his sleeping bag, gather his belongings, and vow to return the items to his family. This happens really fast and I wasn't really sure what had occurred or that George was dead. First time I saw this, I was looking at something else for 30 seconds and turned back to see Wyatt and Billy going through a wallet. I rewatched and the time between George going to sleep and the duo going through his wallet after death was about 37 seconds.

Wyatt and Billy continue to New Orleans and find a brothel that George had told them about. Taking prostitutes Karen (Karen Black) and Mary (Toni Basil) with them, Wyatt and Billy wander the parade-filled streets of the Mardi Gras celebration. They end up in a French Quarter cemetery, where all four ingest the LSD the hitch-hiker had given to Wyatt and experience a bad trip. I had to double check the name, but it is the same Toni Basil of "Oh Mickey, You're so fine, You're so fine you blow my mind, Hey Mickey!" fame.

The next morning, as they are overtaken on a two-lane country road by two local men in an older pickup truck, the passenger in the truck reaches for a shotgun, saying he will scare them. As they pass Billy, the passenger fires, and Billy has a lowside crash. The truck passes Wyatt who has stopped, and Wyatt rides back to Billy, finding him lying flat on the side of the road and covered in blood. Wyatt tells Billy he's going to get help and covers Billy's wound with his own leather jacket. Wyatt then rides down the road toward the pickup as it makes a U-turn.

Passing in the opposite direction, the passenger fires the shotgun again, this time through the driver's-side window. Wyatt's riderless motorcycle flies through the air and comes apart before landing and becoming engulfed in flames. A helicopter shot shows the carnage as the truck drives away and the credits roll.

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This movie is not what I would call my personal favorite, but many critics have praised it for the dialogue, visuals, and story. I am assuming when mention is made of the dialogue, it is in reference to Jack Nicholson, because the two lead characters are that mix of uncomfortable and annoying that you get with sometimes who is inebriated in some way. They repeat themselves, say phrases that make no sense and then laugh about it, and constantly say "what?" so the line is just repeated. The actors were often high during the making of the film and that is not at all surprising.

It seems funny to me that Dennis Hopper acted, directed, and partly wrote the script for the film, yet he gave himself the part of basically the third wheel. The character of Billy seems like he wants to be rich and have nice things but has fallen into the hippie lifestyle. He seems uncomfortable with the drug deal at the beginning. He doesn't want to pick up the hitcher. He wants to leave the commune and get back on the road. He insults George and has to apologize. He is the first to talk about the girls at the diner. He wants to go get prostitutes at the place that George talked about. He is the one that flips off the guys in the truck. Billy is the driving force of everything that goes wrong.

We can't talk about this film without mentioning the soundtrack, because it is kind of what the movie is famous for. Songs on the sound track include: "The Pusher" and "Born to Be Wild" (Steppenwolf), "The Weight" (The Band), "If 6 Was 9" (Jimi Hendrix), and "It's Alright, Ma" (Bob Dylan). Try putting this soundtrack on while driving and you will realize how perfect it is for a road trip. I don't think there has been a better grouping of driving songs.

So does this movie belong on the Top 100 American movies? Well, I guess. It was a watershed independent film during a time of major change in America and the world. It caught the interest of many in a generation and that is interesting enough to experience. Now would I recommend it? Not really. The film was kind of boring and the end is not satisfying. It is fascinating on many levels and I thought that the conversations that involved the character of George were good, but all lot of the movie is kind of slog. The campfire conversation between Wyatt, Billy and the hippie is just painful. It is maybe ironic, but this is a road trip movie that doesn't really move. It is worth watching if you are interested in the time period.

#easy rider #peter fonda #dennis hopper #jack nicholson #indie films #road trip #60s #hippies #introvert #introverts

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sirius · 4 years

Note

Could I get an imagine where the reader is a muggle American and she’s on vacation in London with her family and she somehow lost her family and she’s like freaking out and then she runs into Sirius on the streets and he like helps calm her down and helps her find her family? Sorry if this is a weird request

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader, James Potter x Lily Evans (mentioned)

Warnings: Swearing, stranger danger too, I guess.

A/N: so sorry this took so long! I loved the idea and I hope I did it justice. I might add to it later on or revamp it bc I love the idea but it’s a big maybe at the moment bc I’m so busy with uni and work and also my other wips. I hope you enjoy this though. Also I changed the request quite a bit bc I forgot what you originally wanted! So sorry!!

just want to add that I did something o probably shouldn’t and included my real life friends! With their permission, ofc. I also made a modern reference even tho it’s supposed to be the seventies but I liked it too much so I left it in ha ha. Also…pls don’t talk to strangers. This is fanfiction people not an advice column.

****

It’s another uncharacteristically warm day in London.

The sun showers blankets of warm golden light over the city, guilding skyscrapers and warming the sweet, honeyed breeze. Sparrows are chirping sweet, morning songs, dancing in the air with surprising grace. Squirrels scamper across lush green grounds in a park nearby, happily bidding you a good morning.

And not one of these motherfuckers are going to help you find your friends.

You wander aimlessly past the same park monument you saw just half an hour ago. Your legs are already aching, your feet are forming blisters that hurt the more you think about them, and the sun is slowly drilling into your soul.

You think you might die of thirst before you find your friends.

In retrospect, it wasn’t entirely Sophie’s fault. While it was her dumb shit idea to tag along with the sexy British tour guide, you, Matt, Aaron, Riley and Reuben had been far more interested in touring the British Museum. So it wasn’t at all surprising when Sophie rushed off with knockoff Colin Firth to have a jolly high tea or whatever it is British people do on dates. Still, it gave you an opportunity to visit the museum.

You hadn’t even walked through the front gates when Matt, Aaron and Riley wandered off to have a deep and meaningful (you had warned Riley that coming on the trip with Aaron would cause some tension between your group. Thing between you and Aaron were a lot more complicated than the five-night-stand you’d shared last year). Reuben, being his usual womanising self, started flirting with the hot receptionist and not wanting any part of that (last time you wing-womaned for Reuben, the chick thought you were seeking a third), you stepped out for some air.

Now, you’re trying to navigate through the urban maze that is London by yourself, struggling to find your friends who are scattered all over the city.

Slumping against a park chair, you take a deep breath and study your map again. A part of you is screaming at you to swallow your pride and ask for directions but you’re a stubborn New Yorker and if you can effortlessly find your way through the Big Apple, you can tackle London.

“You’re not from around here…” says a masculine voice behind you. You sit up straight, whipping around in the direction of the voice.

Holy fucking cucumber sandwich.

The most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes on leans against the trunk of an old oak tree, observing you with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. He looks like he chomps down magical donuts that grant him sexy powers. You stare.

A cigarette hangs from his kissable, smirking lips. His hair falls gracefully around his face, framing glinting gray-blue eyes, high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He’s wearing a leather jacket and exudes all types mysterious-sexy-bad boy vibes. You’d bet a hundred bucks that he rides a motorcycle too.

Boys with motorcycles are usually trouble.

Your mouth goes a little bit dry.

“Please don’t be a serial killer,” you mutter and the stranger cocks a perfect eyebrow.

“What was that?”

You shake your head, “I mean — Is it that obvious?”

Sexy bad boy stranger shrugs, “I know a lost tourist when I see one.”

“Is this what you do, then? Lurk around parks waiting for lost tourists?”

Bad boy chuckles — a deep growling sound that rumbles at the back of his throat, “Maybe. Maybe I was just walking past and thought I’d help out a pretty girl in need.”

It takes all of your willpower not to blush now.

“So you’re just a Good Samaritan, then.”

“I’m whatever you want me to be.”

“What if I want you to go away?”

The handsome, young motorbike guy takes a deliberate step forward, “I think we both know that’s not true.”

You swallow. He’s good at this game. Something tells you that you’re not the first victim of his play-boy charms.

Desperately trying to reclaim your composure, you fold your arms across your chest and glare at him.

“What makes you think I need your help?”

British James Dean thinks for one attractive moment, “Well, you don’t have to accept my help but something tells me that if you don’t ask for directions soon, you’re going to end up wandering around London forever.”

He makes a good point.

You stand up from your seat, arms still folded across your chest, “Hypothetically speaking, If I were to accept your help, how would I know that you’re not a perverted serial killer who wants to collect my spleen and leave me in a ditch or something?”

Sexy stranger takes another step forward, “That’d be a shame. You’re too beautiful to kill, and I’m just beginning to like you.”

“That’s exactly what a perverted serial killer would say.”

“Touché. Alright, how about this: I drop you off at your hotel straight away, no detours and no taxi fees that you have to fork out to greedy muggl— erm, I mean, drivers.”

You consider this. He certainly doesn’t seem like a serial killer. Still, it’s hard to trust a charming stranger, especially one as handsome as he is. Then again, if he’s smart — which he definitely is — he’d never kill you in broad daylight in the middle of London.

You uncross your arms and hold one out for him to shake, “Alright, deal.”

Sexy stranger takes your hand and shakes it. His hand is strong and firm and electricity sparks in the warm space where your hands are clasped together.

“Sirius.”

“What?”

“Sirius.”

You blink at him, “Is that some kind of fungal STI that I need to be aware of?”

Sexy stranger chuckles again, “My name is Sirius.”

Sirius? Who the fuck calls their kid Sirius? You have to admit that the name suits him, and the way he says it — in a husky, velvety murmur — gives the name an alluring sex appeal, which sums him up completely.

You consider giving him a fake name but ultimately decide against it. That’s just weird and you can’t lie for shit.

“I’m (Y/N).”

Sirius repeats your name, tasting it on his lips. A more carnal part of you wishes he’d say it in a completely different context.

“Alright, (Y/N),” Sirius smiles, and he practically glows with charisma, “Lets get you home.”

***

You were right, of course. About the motorcycle.

Sirius’ carefully-polished motorbike is almost as sexy as it’s owner; gleaming in the sunlight and flaunting a sleek black paint job with plush leather seats. Several passerby’s stop to admire it (or Sirius, you can’t exactly tell), though Sirius doesn’t pay them any mind. One dudebro with a repugnantly bright tank top gawks at the motorbike while his girlfriend stares hungrily at Sirius.

“I’ve…never ridden a motorcycle before,” you bleat nervously.

Sirius hands you a helmet and smiles.

“Just hold onto me and you’ll be fine.”

Sirius mounts his motorbike and you awkwardly slide in behind him. You’re not sure where to put your hands so you place them on his shoulders. You think you hear Sirius laugh behind his helmet.

Sirius turns the ignition, revs the engine, and kicks the bike into gear.

“You alright back there?” He calls over the roar of the bike.

“Uh—yeah.”

“Hold onto my waist,” he orders, “You’ll be more secure.”

You’re about to protest but then Sirius takes off and you find your arms flying to his waist, gripping on tightly.

It’s exhilarating. Liberating. Intoxicating.

As Sirius weaves between London traffic, you feel a rush of adrenaline pulse through your veins. The air whips past, fluttering around the ruffled trim of your dress. Your hands soak in the warmth of Sirius’ body, his muscles firm beneath your touch.

You pass familiar landmarks and stores you passed when you and your friends took the double-decker bus from your hotel room. You recognise the buildings around you and realise the hotel is just a few kilometres down the street, on the right.

Suddenly, Sirius veers off to the left and zooms down a street you don’t recognise.

“What are you doing? The hotel is up that way!”

“I just have to make a quick stop,” he shouts over his shoulder.

“That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

You clutch onto him, apprehension beginning to claw away at your lower belly. Where is he taking you? How could you have been so stupid to trust an extremely attractive stranger to follow through with a deal?

Sirius slows the bike down until it rolls to a stop and flicks the engine off, climbing off sexily. He helps you clamber awkwardly off the bike and you tear your helmet off, taking in your surroundings for the first time.

You’re next to a footpath with a view of the The Thames, lined with large ornamental pear trees. Its quite a romantic spot with a view of the entire city sitting pretty behind the flowing River Thames.

Sirius tells you to wait by the motorbike and stalks away, rushing toward a boy who looks about your age. He’s tall, has messy black hair, and half-frame glasses. He looks like a sexy professor with the body of an Olympic swimmer that all the girls have crushes on.

Why are all the men here so insanely attractive?

You’re just about to sink into a delightful fantasy of sexy Professor feeding you grapes when Sirius comes up behind you.

“Ready to go?”

You ignore his question, “Who was the god — I mean — guy that you saw?”

Sirius arches an eyebrow. You notice for the first time that there is a scar knitted into it, “That’s James. He’s a total prat, by the way.”

“Sounds like you two have that in common,” you quip and Sirius mocks offence.

“Anyone tell you that you’re cruel?”

“Everyday of my life.”

“Here I was thinking you were just another hot little American bird.”

For one half of a millisecond, your brain snags on the word ‘hot.’ Did he just call you hot? You heard that right? You recover with grace, grinning wickedly.

“You’ll get over it.”

A teasing smirk flirts around the corners of Sirius’ lips, a little crookedly, slanting lazily in a way that makes your cheeks warm. He looks amused by this verbal tug-of-war but also a little turned on.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way.

“You ever walk along the River Thames?” Sirius asks, sliding his strong, sexy hands into the pocket of his sexy leather jacket. He begins to follow the footpath, leading you past the knots of pigeons and moonstruck lovers.

“No,” you sigh, “Admittedly, I just came along for the underage drinking and the hot British guys.”

Sirius laughs, “How’s that working out for you?”

You shrug, teasing him with a flirtatious smile, “I’m still working on it.”

“If you want,” Sirius begins, clawing at the nape of his neck, “I can help you out with that.”

You quirk a carefully-manicured brow, “What, you know any hot guys like your buddy James?”

Sirius snorts, “I wouldn’t go saying that around his girlfriend.”

“Why, is she the jealous type?”

“No, she’s the ‘try-not-to-make-his-fat-Head-even-fatter’ type.”

You chuckle, intrigue plucking at your mind, “She’s my type of girl.”

“Lily is everyone’s type of girl.”

“Well now I just have to meet her.”

Sirius raises his brows, a spark of hope in his eyes, “Is that your way of telling me that you’re taking me up on the offer for free beer?”

“You never said it was free before.”

“I’m feeling generous.”

“Aw, and they say chivalry is dead.”

Sirius laughs easily in a way that is completely carefree, as though laughter bubbles just beneath his skin, itching to pour out. It’s mesmerising how he doesn’t seem to take life too seriously.

“You are something else,” he says, letting his eyes catch and linger on yours for a quiet, suspended moment.

A gust of warm, summer wind brings peach blossoms raining down. The gentle coo of a skylark echoes in the distance. Time slows to a stop to stare at the two of you.

He steps forward, like he’s about to kiss you.

You let him.

He tastes like liquor and rebellion, a little wild in a way you’ve never realised you’ve wanted, you’ve needed. His hands are strong as they wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Your fingers roam through his hair, tangling, tugging, earning a low groan from the back of his throat. You feel drunk on him, your head spinning and your heart thumping, as though it’s trying to tear through your chest and leap into his strong, capable hands. Suddenly, you realise how weird this is. He’s a stranger you’ve known for an hour or so yet now you’re kissing him. It’s as though you’re somehow drawn to him, to his energy, to the way he seems to know you intimately, in ways you hardly know about yourself. You break away, taking a step away from him. Sirius looks like he’s five again and has just had his favourite toy ripped away from him.

““Are you—?”

Slap

Before you even realise what you’re doing, you’re slapping him across the cheek, not hard but he feels it. You kissed a stranger. That is a thing you did. You also slapped said stranger, partly because of impulse and partly because you’re terrified of how quickly your feelings are beginning to stir for someone you hardly know. Sirius is stunned, silent, staring at you with shock and hurt that stings you more than it should. You stare back, drawn in by every fleck of colour in his eyes, suddenly aware that, sure, he may be a stranger but that doesn’t mean he has to stay one. Obviously, you have a connection.

So…connect.

You crash your lips against his again, throwing your arms around his neck.

Your friends can wait. You’ve found yourself a new tour guide.

#sirius black #harry potter #hp imagines #young sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #james potter #lily evans #jily #fanfiction #sirius black imagine #the marauders #the marauders imagine #remus lupin #georgie writes

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vfenrirsv · 3 years

Text

When I die, let the wolves enjoy my bones; When I die, let me go…

I couldn’t even begin to tell you when I last felt like I was myself; when I last felt proud of who I am, or where I came from, or of all the obstacles that I’ve had to overcome in order to get to where I am today.

I was born “Vanessa.” A Gemini, an Air sign, a Horse under Chinese astrology. Coyote is my Totem. Wolf is my Sacred Guide. In Greek the meaning of my name is “Butterfly,” also from Phanessa, the mystic goddess of an ancient Greek brotherhood bent on finding Truth. Various accounts offer the ideas that someone named “Vanessa” bears the qualities of beautiful and strong, and most importantly ‘always tough on the inside.’ To the latter, at least, I can attest.

My Mother, in my infancy, called me “‘Nessa” in affection and “Vanessa-Anne” in ire. If my Father ever called me by any name other than “Baby-girl;” I can’t remember. I don’t remember much about my Father before my early tweens, when I was forced by the courts to spend time with him in an attempt to foster some type of relationship with the man that my Mother had divorced.

In elementary school I was simply “Vanessa.” Straight-A student in all but mathematics, budding lover of arts and crafts, and defender of both my own and my Mother’s honor on the playground when kids teased me about acting like a tomboy, or not having a father.

Throughout secondary school I was largely invisible – called a number of racial slurs, though I never considered any of them my name, even when someone took the time to recognize me; to bully me. Being white in a community predominated by African American and Hispanic families didn’t grant me the illusionary honor of being called anything other than “Cracker” or, “Piglet” since my parents worked in law enforcement.

By then, I didn’t want to be “Vanessa.” I didn’t want to have a name at all. Silence and being invisible was better than being called out for all of the things that I had no control of. It wasn’t my fault that I was born white, or born into a broken home, or the product of two law enforcement officers who sought happiness outside of their careers. In a quickly emerging socio-economic climate where all three of those variables were prescribed as being abhorrent or fundamentally wrong, I was cast adrift to navigate those faults as if I had brought them upon myself by my own hand. “Dealt a bad hand,” as they say; but it didn’t matter. “She’s a tough little thing.”

When I die, you can push me out to sea; When I die, set me free…

I was in fifth grade when I thought about suicide for the first time. Those dark thoughts were the result of climbing onto an overly-full bus to go to school; only to find that the only available seat was being used to hold the book-bags for a trio of African American girls who took one look at me and sneered. I sat on the edge of the seat, careful not to disturb their property; but when the bus turned a corner, and one of their bags fell the floor; they immediately grabbed my hair, punched me in the stomach, and began to degrade me with every slur they could think of. I hated myself and my name for no other reason that it wasn’t socially acceptable to be who I was.

When my mother later confronted the counselor of the school, a robust African American woman herself; she was told something to the effect of “to take her whining child and leave.” The "counselor" never said my name, because to them, I was a nobody. I was invisible.

In high-school I was both “Van” and “’Ness,” depending on how close I was with the person calling my name. I fell into Art and Science, and always kept my nose in a book. I avoided most people like the plague. When I joined the marching band I wore long jackets even in the summer and did my best to ignore the jokes about me being shy, but for the first time in a long time I wasn’t invisible and I wasn’t nameless.

I wasn’t “Vanessa” anymore, I wasn’t the bullied and disgusting child of a single-parent officer. I clung to being “Van.” “Van” was the introverted Artist who hand-made t-shirts for several of her fellow marching band members, and who thrived in studying Marine Biology and Criminal Sciences. I cut my hair and dyed it bright colors. I played soccer in short shorts. I free dived the local haunts in brightly colored bathing suits, and learned to connect to my peers. I got piercings up both of my ears and a tattoo on my back. I stopped wearing clothing to hide within. I grew to trust and love a very small group of people that, to this day – even though I’ve hardly spoken to any of them in years – I still consider my family. “Van” was the antithesis to “Vanessa.” Where “Vanessa” was reclusive, anti-social, and forced to grow up fast, “Van” was vivacious, carefree, and youthful.

Just before my 19th Birthday I met M. Tall, dark, handsome, though 10 years my senior; everything a budding idiot of a young woman would look for in a man – minus the obvious red-flags of him being not-so-separated from his soon-to-be-ex-significant-other and going thru a messy divorce. I saw a man, deliciously off limits, and he saw a young woman unclaimed by any other. When we eventually came together he panted into the naked dip between my shoulders, and between his ragged breaths on the precipice of a climax, the name “Vanessa” – for the first time in years – didn’t make me flinch or shy away.

When I joined the military midway through my first year in college, I was only identified by my last name, as it was barked at me for eight weeks in Boot, and then used as the only true thing that I owned without cost, once I was sent to my duty stations. It was tacked onto my MOS and Rank each time I was reassigned or given a new task. It was efficient, neutral, and impersonal. I grew to be the same. My shipmates called me by rank in the office, and “Van” on shore leave.

Years after; after M’s successful divorce, a couple more of my birthdays, and a few new duty stations, I began to better understand who I was as “Van.” I cultivated myself and thought for sure that this is who I was meant to be, and that I was with the person that I was supposed to be with. I soon learned otherwise. M was man with the world at his feet, divorced, with a young virile military girlfriend, he could do anything his heart desired. He ended up desiring all options that were the opposite of my own. So, true to my name, I tempered the steel within me; handed him back the $10,000 engagement ring he had placed on my finger; and told him “I love you, but now I know that love – sometimes – isn’t enough;” and we separated.

When I die, let the sharks come 'round to feed; When I die, set me free…

When I was honorably discharged from the military I was left adrift to deal with my PTSD and clinical depression. No one called me by my last name anymore. I was a civilian now. I did my best to stay “Van” in all the ways that mattered. I clung to my confidence, my intelligence, my MOS skillset; but I was also now blunt, with a dark sense of humor, and didn’t associate well with people my own age. I was standoffish and curt, expecting the same manner of respect and accountability from my new civilian peers as I had grown accustomed to while in the service. I started asking people to simply call me “V.”

“It’s just easier,” I’d tell people with a smile, but the truth was that I didn’t know who I was anymore.

When I met S, I was still “V.” I was mysterious and adventurous. I was a vixen, a one night stand, a pirate queen who left a trail of broken hearts behind her, a woman out to see the world and maybe watch it burn. I was fun and brutal in equal measures. The military made me sharp, and S was more than rough around the edges. We fell for each other faster that might have been wise, took to one another like melodramatic lovers always do. There was carnal passion and dangerous motorcycle rides down highways at 3AM. There were nights when we wouldn’t speak at all, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t want to have a name, or that his name was all that I would whisper or scream for hours. There were risks of getting caught, of getting pregnant, of getting too attached. There were days when all we would do was talk, and yet for all of our words we would talk about nothing at all. There were days when I knew that I had fallen in love, and nights when I had convinced myself that I didn’t deserve a single bit of it.

When you don’t have a name and don’t care who you’re becoming; it doesn’t matter what happens next. So one day, I left. I made the excuse that I had been offered a job somewhere across the country, that I was going on a vacation, that I was interning with a university out in the desert. It didn’t matter what I said. I was already gone. Lying to myself about why I was cutting the strings became easier the further away I got. Years later, S and I ran into one another; and he fervently admitted that he had been in love with me and had been too stupid to say it. I admitted that I had felt much the same, but had been too broken to allow myself to believe it.

When I die, let the flames devour me; When I die, set me free…

I rounded out many of the sharp edges that the military had left me with by moving back home. I had found employment in the civilian sector that matched closely with my MOS in the military, and I had begun to try and make friends on my off days. Mostly, I spent my free-time outside. I’d kayak or free dive the freshwater rivers in my home region, hike the beach trails or brush-land. I’d camp on the beach some nights or lay in a hammock in the dark of the pinewood on others. My time in the isolation of wilderness taught me how to sit still with my own darkness, and I believed that I would be mentally equipped to handle it.

Then, I stopped looking for myself in nature and started dating. I felt that I was ready. Tough girls move forward, right? That’s how I met J: completely by accident. A friend of my brother’s from the same high school – we had crossed paths more than a few times; with him a football star and me Second Chair in marching band. He called me “Van” and it didn’t strike me as odd, knowing that he knew me from before; when being “Van” meant more than being “V.” We connected, and did well for a time. He got a job as a Deputy and I as a Dispatcher. Things seemed like they were beginning to align. I thought my future was in sight. He said my name with pride and affection when he introduced me to his parents. He breathed life back into the part of me that was both “Van” and “’Ness” and “Vanessa” in equal measures, fixing me with slivers of adoration, challenge, pride, hope, adventure, and affection. We had many of the same interests, he never once stopped showering me in affection, and J could make me feel like the most treasured woman in the room with nothing more than a wink.

Moving in together with his brother and brother’s girlfriend is what killed all of the fragile progress that had been made. I came home from a twelve hour shift one afternoon to his brother’s girlfriend screaming obscenities. I didn’t clean enough. I didn’t follow her rules enough. I wasn’t present enough, or friendly enough. I was too young at the time to understand that she was unhappy with more than just herself, that there were things going on in her life that had nothing to do with me; but all I heard was: “Vanessa” wasn’t good enough to be part of “this family” anymore. They didn’t want anything to do with “Van.” I fell apart, and I was too broken to accurately convey to J what her statements had done to me mentally, what his brother’s silence in the face of those blatantly vindictive statement had done to me. I wasn’t able to convey all of the damage that I believed was irrevocably done.

I closed in on myself and became “V” again. If they didn’t want “Van,” or “’Ness,” or “Vanessa” in their picture-perfect ideations of the familial future, then I’d do them all a favor and leave. So I ended it. Moved into my own place. Started over. “V” didn’t care if she left another broken heart to the surf; didn’t care if starting over caused more harm than good. “Van” began to have the same connotations as “Vanessa.” I was running out of nicknames and letters to remove from my name; as if parceling out portions of my appellation would allow me the illusion that I was – somehow – keeping it all together. I gathered what I had left of myself and pushed forward. If nothing else, I was ‘always tough on the inside,’ right?

When I die, throw my ashes to the breeze; When I die, scatter me…

Later, I met my ex-husband D, an Air Force veteran, and each step in our post-military journey together unknowingly brought us closer to our unavoidable divorce. We both had scars that weren’t truly healing over, and we both had been losing ourselves to our own different demons for years before we met. We both wanted a distraction, someone to fall into on the weekends. He didn’t mind that I wasn’t looking for more than a dalliance, and I was secure in the knowledge that I could use him to chase away the solitude while maintaining my independence. By the time we realized that we were mired in one another it was almost a surprise for both of us to find that our demons played well together. Everything seemed fine, until it wasn’t.

We were always on the move. Influenced by work or family or our own personal goals; we would set out to each new place with hope in our hearts and dreams of bright futures in our minds. We’d drag each other along with us; happy to be in the orbit of the other even if it meant more change. Florida, Georgia, Tennessee. Kentucky, Michigan, Colorado…Each move was a fresh start, right? Each move was a learning opportunity, an adventure, a chance to explore instead of putting down deep roots…

I cannot speak on his behalf, but in my reality, each move brought a new job that I needed to train for, understand, and master; with new titles that I needed to be worthy of, and new responsibilities that I needed to fulfill. Each new apartment complex would be a new contract and a new name that someone would call me by; “206B,” “Mrs. Vanessa,” “Miss Van,” or some hybrid combination of both my and his last name.

By Colorado we no longer wanted the same thing. I hated being “Mrs. Vanessa,” or some last name sphinx-crossbreed. “Mrs. Vanessa” had suddenly become a weekend step-mother to two young boys who neither wanted me or needed me in their lives; and was now the wife of a man who didn’t know what he wanted out of a career or a marriage. “Mrs. Vanessa” found herself far from any semblance of a home, in a relationship that was coming undone at the very seams.

D moved back to his childhood home in Michigan, and I stayed in Colorado. Alone. We were separated for several weeks; trying to figure out how to salvage what we had attempted to build together. Demons play well together until, unsurprisingly, they don’t. The time that we spent separated outnumbered the time that we had been factually married. The distance allowed us to say all of the things that we otherwise wouldn’t have said to each other’s faces. Full disclosure and transparency came at the cost of long distance calls and aggravated re-dials. We yelled. We cried. We drew the venom out of the wounds we’d inflicted upon each other and finally relented. We didn’t attempt marriage counseling.

When the years have torn me apart; Just Let me be…

In an attempt to patch the internal damage, I made friends outside of my job. We started game nights, hosted pot-lucks, explored Colorado, and I was able to truly find kinship in one of my new friends. A fellow Gemini, Air sign, military veteran, person who had lost their path but had managed to find their way. I connected with them, trusted them, and turned to them when I knew that the floundering of my marriage was inevitability going to result in failure. I was branching out, I told myself. It was healthy to make friends and not let myself wallow in the fact that I had failed at being a wife. I buckled down and filed for divorce. “Tough on the inside,” I reminded myself. Always. Tough. On. The. Inside.

Failure makes us vulnerable, and vulnerability leads to poor decisions. On New Year’s Eve in Colorado, leaning on the trust of friendship and the influence of alcohol, I was sexually assaulted by the very friend that I had turned to for support during my divorce. He called me “Vanessa.”

God, I hate that name.

I adopted a cat to quell the gathering dejection, violation, betrayal; the over-abundance of feeling everything and nothing at all, and requested an inter-agency job transfer out of state. I landed in Kansas. The divorce was finalized less than four months from the day I married my ex-husband. I was a newly-wed in August and a Divorcee in December. I forced myself forward and turned over a new page in January of that following year. ToughOnTheInsideGodDammit.

All the world is dark, and I've looked as far as I can see…

This time, I did not seek out friends outside of my job. I kept my relationships professional. I was more willing to hang out with someone from the office in a neutral setting, but would stay home elsewise. I stopped responding to the name “Vanessa” entirely.

Loneliness also makes us vulnerable, but in a different way; and that same vulnerability leads us to do one of two things: Cloister ourselves away and never interact with people again, or Muster up enough courage to try new things. I chose Option #2: I joined some dating websites. I met men and women alike, and I began to grow more confident in my skin. I was “Van” again and I liked who I was becoming. I was independent and I wasn’t allowing myself to crumble beneath the weight of everything that I had been through. As my namesake, I was determined to be tough on the inside.

Being strong and independent and courageous led me to J. He didn’t mind that I was imperfect, didn’t balk at my scars or my demons, and didn’t shy away from my past. J had a past of his own, had made mistakes of his own, had a life of lessons learned and adventures had of his own; so it didn’t seem so scary to open myself up again. To be someone more than “V.” He promised the world; a future with deep seated roots, the dream of a home, a family. I believed him. Like an idiot, I believed him. We married. We vowed to cleave to one another alone, to put each other before ourselves, to love each other unconditionally; to battle the world together. We swore to cherish and adore one another, to build a life together and never take each other for granted.

I try. I try so fucking hard. When I feel ignored, I buckle down and swallow it. When I feel stressed I keep it in to prevent stressing him out more than he claims he already is.

He calls me “Beautiful” and “The Best Thing to Ever Happen to Him,” but follows these hollow words with casual indifference and gentle disregard. He doesn’t abuse me, but he doesn’t cherish me either. He speaks of me with pride when he talks to his family; but does not stand up for or defend me when his Step-Mother disparages me and belittles my actions. “Babe,” he calls me “This is just how she is with everyone. You’re Amazing.” I am supposed to be content with that. I am supposed to be content with sitting in silence, hailed as “amazing,” or “beautiful,” or “the best.” Hollow words echo in silence. Distort. Sound false. Do not bear weight in their worthlessness.

I realize that I don’t even know the last time he has called me by name and meant it…Maybe it was the day we got married. Maybe it was the day he proposed. Maybe it was our second date...

I try harder. When I feel neglected I go out of my way to do things for him that would please him; I cook his favorite meals, I wear alluring lingerie, I clean the entire house and make sure that he doesn’t have to lift a finger after work. When all else fails I reach out to his best friend to ask for advice on what I can do to make things easier, better, for my husband. I set aside my own embarrassment at having to ask for insight from someone else, instead of getting the answers from my own husband’s mouth, as to why he doesn’t seem to want me anymore. “It’s not you, Babe,” he says. It’s difficult to stay tough on the inside when “It’s not you,” echoes hollow and sounds more like “I don’t have a reason.”

When we disagree, he calls me by my full name, tacking on his last name at the end, as if in joking-jest; as if calling me anything other than some form of dead endearment will lend seriousness to his statements. “I promise,” he says. “I love you,” he says. I am not angry that his words hold no meaning or value anymore. I am just angry that I can no longer trust anything he says. I am angry that more often than not there are no words at all, just furious silence.

When I die, just let me be…

I am angry that I have allowed myself to become this nameless, hopeless, loveless thing. I am not even “V,” at this point. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

The wife I have become is a meaningless thing. What communication can be had between a wife who tries best to express her feelings and desires to a husband who reacts with anger and frustration when faced with the truth? What future can be had when a husband will not be intimate with his wife? What value do a husband’s words have when each promise is broken, when there is no follow-through on simple tasks of keeping a home, fostering a relationship, or growing a friendship?

“Nessa” and “Vanessa-Anne” in equal measures, had been emotionally bruised by the divorce of her parents; learning early in life that sometimes letting go is the best option. “Vanessa” was poisoned by the realization that your name means nothing to those who take one look at you and refuse to learn who you truly are on the inside. Both “Van” and “’Ness” learned the fragile existence of friendship, and the aching stab of loneliness that comes after you open your heart to a select few only to grow apart from them for no other reason than life gets in the way. “Van” was sullied by the painful growth out of adolescence and the realization that love just isn’t enough. “V” was grown in cynicism, the desperate child of PTSD and depression, and knew the devastation and loss that comes with refusing to make bonds with other human beings.

When I die, let the wolves enjoy my bones; When I die, just let me go…

So who am I now? I’m not even sure the wolves would know.

Daylight is waiting for you…

_________________________

“Who Am I?” by Vann Fenrirs Volchitsa, Author

“Wolves” by Down Like Silver, Lyrics

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steamymeatbun · 4 years

Text

Soul Eater Height Chart

(guesstimation)

Before I start I just want to say that these are not canon and neither are the ages so I don’t know for sure. I just wanted to make one of these for a late fandom that I still love. Okay!

Maka Albarn:

Height: 163cm (5’3”)

She’s not that old meaning she’s probably going to grow more but I don’t think she’s 5’0”. She’s around the age of people starting freshman year (in America). She’s probably mixed between American and Japanese (depending on her mother) so she’s on the shorter end of the spectrum.

Soul “Eater” Evans:

Height: 173cm (5’7”)

He’s not that tall compared to Maka, and he’s around the same height as Kid. Lord Death is, obviously, very tall meaning Kid is probably tall. I would say Soul’s definitely older than Maka (since he rides a motorcycle) so he’s around 15-17. Probably in the final stretch of his growth. I took account his hair, which is always spiked upwards.

Black Star:

Height: 167cm (5’5”)

Black Star is around the same age as Maka, meaning he has a few more years to grow. He’s not the tallest of the bunch but he’s not the shortest either. And since he’s only a few inches taller then Maka, and a few inches shorter than Soul I just placed him at this spot. (He’s still growing so like, remember that).

Tsubaki:

Height: ~182cm (5’11”)

I placed her as taller, because canonically she’s taller. Even though she’s from Japanese decent she’s show to be above average height (consider her older brother, she’s almost his height). She’s also canonically older, in fact all the weapons are older then their Meisters. (I don’t even know why, it’s explained somewhere.) But I think 5’11” is a pretty good height for her, Liz and Blair which are all basically the same height.

Death The Kid:

Height: 176cm (5’8”)

Again, Kid is probably pretty tall because of who his father is (Lord Death is fucking tall, fight me). I think at the end of the manga he’s like 6’2” (at least from what I saw in a head canon) so I wanted to make him decently tall. Not too tall but definitely tall for someone his age. I guessed that he was probably around Soul’s age 15-17, because let’s face it, this kid didn’t need to be in school and has been hunting to the perfect symmetrical weapon, if I had to guess I would put him late 15, probably 16.

Patti:

Height: 176cm (5’8”)

There’s not much to say here, I think Patti is like maybe 16. Liz is most likely 18, because I like to think Liz and Patti are two years apart (it’s a good time frame, fight me). Since Liz and Patti are probably American, they’re most likely pretty tall. DTK and Patti appear to be the same height so that’s why she’s 5’8”. Still a cute smol bean.(edited- I forgot about her heeled boots)

Liz:

Height: ~182 (5’11”)

A QUEEN! She’s probably one of the oldest, right up there with Tsubaki. She and Tsubaki are pretty tall meaning they’re, QUEENS. I can’t say much except for the fact that she’s probably American and I rest my case. (American girls average height is around 5’5”-5’6” so I put her slightly above average). ‘Nough said. (edited- Again, I forgot her boots)

Crona:

Height: ~179 (5’9”)

This bean is taller than I would have thought, but they’re such a cutie either way. They look to be only slightly taller than DTK, but they could also be Kid’s height and it’s just their shoes. You never know. (Also I love Crona, they’re my favorite. Representing us gender fluid/non-binary kids).

Blair:

Height: ~182cm (5’11”)

Tall cat. Long cat. Cute cat. ‘Nough said.

Spirit:

Height: ~180-185 (6’0”- 6’1”)

First off, I love that one picture (y’all know which one, the one where he’s reading to Maka) what a hippie looking dad. So soft and pure, too bad he’s a player. Anyways I think he’s around this height because he doesn’t appear to be super tall compared to Tsubaki/Liz/Blair, you get the drill. But he’s also not that short so I couldn’t make up my mind between the two. Let’s be honest, anime has such a strange height chart and I’m comparing actual height charts, the creator of Soul Eater’s other series, BONES other series.

Stein:

Height: ~185-188cm (6’1”- 6’2”)

He’s not that much taller than Spirit/Death Scythe, so I couldn’t make up my mind about him either. Plus he’s sometimes slouching which makes it even harder to guess so I’m just putting that there and leaving it alone.

Death:

Height: ~213cm (6’11”-7’0”)

He’s a fucking God for crying out loud. Lord/God/Deity, whatever, my point is height and physics doesn’t apply to him. He could possibly be taller, I don’t even know. Point being he’s the tallest out of everyone here and you can fight me on this.

Asura:

Height: ~204cm (6’7”)

Again, can’t pin-point for sure because I don’t really remember much about him expect for that fact he creeped me out when I was younger. I know he’s pretty tall when he’s placed next to Lord Death, but not as tall. I just gave him the height thinking Lord Death is probably 210cm (7’0”) tall, which he might be.

#souleater #height #heightchart #headcanon #soul eater #maka albarn #soul eater evans #black star #tsubaki soul eater #tsubaki nakatsukasa #death the kid #patti thompson #patti #liz thompson #liz #fraken stein #stein #spirit #death scythe

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hellyeahomeland · 4 years

Photo

“Two Minutes” | Directed by Tucker Gates, Cinematography by Giorgio Scali

[This week remained hectic as heck so we are keeping the more casual format. --Sara]

Sara: Opening (or closing) with a Carrie mirror shot is classic Homeland and I love to see it! She looks very tired. I hope when the series is over, Carrie takes a long nap. But not, y’know, the LONG long nap.

Gail: If this shot is a look into her current emotional state, which I think it most definitely is, she looks tired but determined. She hasn’t been out of that rehab center for very long, you have to wonder how her medications are working, because it’s clear she isn’t getting enough sleep. But good God--Claire Danes is gorgeous!

Gail: When I watched this scene I had a few realizations. At first I thought the red thing in front of the water glass was a pill but when I zoomed in it looks like floss. Then it occurred to me that we haven’t seen Carrie taking her meds or listening to jazz this season. This version of Carrie seems very stripped down (no pun intended). No mentions of seeing her family or FaceTiming Franny either. I don’t know what any of this means yet, but pointing it out for future context.

Sara: Floss? Whoulda thunk? I love this very obviously photoshopped (or whatever the video equivalent of that is… CGI?) scene of “mourners” gathering outside the White House.

Gail: I loved this opening shot of Max with his back to us... much like the donkey at the end of the episode, he has the flight recorder strapped to his back via a backpack and he treks uphill. I love the pop of color from the flight recorder and Max’s backpack in this desert-like scene. The importance in this shot is all about knowing where the flight recorder is and less about who is carrying it. Although I’m sure everyone joined us in a sign of relief to see Max still alive!

Sara: Chekhov’s flight recorder! I’m thinking of other significant objects on the show (like Brody’s vest), but none have gotten the attention that this dang flight recorder is getting. Also, Max writing his name in sharpie on his backpack is big younger child energy.

Sara: As someone who wears glasses, I really admire that Max is always, without fail, wearing his. No matter how sweaty he is. I love you, Max!

Gail: It is very interesting how every time Saul is kidnapped, his glasses are taken from him, but Max gets to keep his (for now at least?). Maybe there is a metaphor there about how Max isn’t losing sight of the bigger picture?

Sara: IJLTP, and it’s the first of a few POV shots this week. Max really is like an audience stand-in and this makes it even more literal.

Gail: IJLTP too! Such a great shot.

Sara: They had a shot very similar to this in Keane’s speech from “Paean to the People.” I really love how you can see how very manufactured this all is. Not that any of us need to be reminded of that…

Gail: The focus of this scene starts with the people behind it. I love that, because while the President is what the people are watching, he’s getting his cues and information from everyone else. In “Chalk One Up” we saw the theater of the peace announcement. Here we see the theater of the new president making his first speech. It’s all just words until the intentions behind them are realized.

Sara: Some of the keywords here:

Bust

MARTA (the “mass” “transit” “system” in Atlanta… where my Atlanta homies at?)

Body scanner

Narcos

Influenza

Plot

Gail: If these keywords are a part of the search for Max, shouldn’t his name be on it? Or American? No wonder Carrie was pissed! Get with it, Lonnie!

Sara: I know this is a stunt double, but it’s still meant to be Carrie, and Carrie riding this motorcycle so awesomely is one of the most badass things about her. We have no choice but to stan.

Gail: What a cool payoff to all of the scenes and allusions of Carrie leaving the station undetected. Girl is resourceful, no doubt.

Sara: Are these wide shots so that Costa Ronin, who is apparently nine feet tall, and Claire Danes would both fit in the frame? Also, “I just like how he leans.”

Gail: I think the shot might be indicative of their power dynamic. But I agree with you, Yevgeny’s consistent nonchalance is such a great character detail.

Gail: Interesting that by the end of their scene, Yevgeny sits down, making his body language less threatening. He enjoys these games with Carrie a little too much for my liking.

Sara: That smirk…

Sara: The framing here is really interesting. G’ulom sitting casually while Saul and Scott Ryan stand stick straight, almost obediently (ironically), is really striking. G’ulom has these almost angelic white curtains behind him while Saul and Scott are cloaked in shadows.

Gail: This feels different from Yevgeny’s casual nonchalance. I get the sense here that G’ulom is sitting out of lack of respect for the people standing before him. G’ulom turned his back on platitudes the second he turned his back on Ambassador Gaeto in the opening of “Chalk Two Down.” He only stands at the end of the scene to exert his power over Saul and General Ryan.

Sara: And then this shot, which is incredible. Centering G’ulom in the frame really emphasizes his power.

Gail: Such a great POV shot to see Saul and General Ryan’s reactions to G’ulom.

Sara: ...and I love the specific choreography of Saul and Scott both exiting so that their bodies are hidden behind G’ulom. I feel like Homeland doesn’t do shots this stylized that often so when they do it feels all the more impactful.

Gail: I find it so interesting that G’ulom has turned his back on the audience too.

Gail: I love the glimpses of the relationship between Mike and Jenna. Is this how Saul and Carrie started out?

Sara: Oof, ya think? I didn’t even think about their relationship in that context (maybe because the age gap is not as great) but now that you say it... I find it a really interesting way to shoot this, almost like we’re eavesdropping on them eavesdropping on Carrie. I love when Homeland returns to themes of surveillance.

Sara: Why onions? Because we’re peeling the layers of this story. (I’ll see myself out.)

Gail: OMG, Sara! You are right, they are onions! I’m ashamed to say I thought they were beets. (Thanks, Dwight.)

Gail: When Fibrooz, Max’s captor, reaches for Max’s wrist in this scene, I thought he was going to unlock the cuffs. Doesn’t bode well for Max that this guy is all about making a buck.

Sara: Major Carrie in “Why Is This Night Different?” vibes. The framing is almost identical. This continues some of the role reversal of Carrie and Max this year.

Gail: I love the details in this shot and the one of the market shelves. It looks like a random assortment of remotes and calculators and jars on shelves, but it’s actually very organized.

Sara: Are they selling remote controls without the TVs that they control?

Sara: Chekhov’s flight recorder strikes again! Sorry, I have nothing intelligent to say about the device of this damn flight recorder because I find it so freaking hilarious.

Gail: I love how we are seeing the journey of this flight recorder and all of the different people who are getting their hands on it.

Sara: This show is really making me feel sympathy for Haqqani, which is completely wild. Look how he’s softly dressed in the light here. Total character rehab happening this season on all fronts. Numan Acar has infused him with a real weariness and softness that’s added so many new layers to what was once just a classic villain.

Gail: I agree, Numan Acar has done an outstanding job with his portrayal of Haqqani. The writers approach to softening him has paired wonderfully with the direction of the show and has led to great shots like this of Haqqani, the man and father.

Sara: Gail pointed this out on the podcast. As the conversation progresses and Hayes veers off script he literally turns away from Linus. Subtle but effective. The use of body language this season has been pretty great.

Gail: The choreography has been fantastic, I agree. Wellington has ditched his suit and has rolled up his sleeves. His calm demeanor and thoughtful counsel that we’ve come to know about him is clearly about to be tested.

Sara: IJLTP.

Gail: When one door (seemingly) closes, another one opens.

Sara: IJLTP.

Gail: The blue lights behind her are gorgeous.

Sara: “CATASTROPHIC ERROR”

Gail: The details! And much foreshadowing!

Gail: Things start out friendly and at a distance and then we rapidly move into tighter shots as Mike reveals to Saul just how bad the optics are for Carrie right now.

Sara: This is such a lovely shot and I love all Homeland rooftop scenes. Sometimes Carrie’s smoking, sometimes she’s having a panic attack, sometimes both things are happening at once. See how I turned this into a thing about Carrie?

Sara: I don’t know if this is a new choice by Claire, but recently I feel like Carrie has a habit of literally turning away from difficult conversations. Anyway, this Carrie/Saul scene was incredible.

Gail: There has been a subtle shift to her personality this season. It must be hard to face her new reality and looking at Saul has to be one of the more daunting reminders of what it used to be.

Sara: It struck my while watching (and rewatching and rewatching) that Saul is literally the only human on the planet who could have this conversation with her. He knows when to push and when to relent, when to raise his voice and when to lower it. He really does manage her. Likewise, she knows when and where to strike. It goes without saying that Claire and Mandy are incredible here. This scene is really a testament to how invaluable the foundation of watching two characters (and actors) develop a relationship, in real time, over ten years, is for the audience. It massively enhances the performances and the dramatic weight of the scene.

Gail: Sara!! You are buying into my Ivan/Saul convo theory (from “A False Glimmer”)!! I agree with everything you said and would add that with all of that being true, Saul can’t possibly think Carrie is getting on that plane back to rehab willingly.

(Sara: Guess he should have gotten the handcuffs then...)

Gail: What a stunning shot. I gasped when I saw it. Not because Haqqani was turning himself in. That I expected. But how Carrie witnesses it and reacts to it. The last time Carrie was that close to Haqqani she almost shot him. I Khan’t believe how much things have changed.

Sara: Gail, khan you not? Anyway, I agree, it’s a stunning shot. I can’t properly articulate why I love it so much so: IJLTP.

Sara: I know the show did something like when Carrie woke up from being drugged in “Why Is This Night Different?” I won’t check, because I don’t care to revisit that episode ever again. Gail, can you verify?

Gail: They did and it was eerily similar. Big difference though: Quinn was saving/protecting Carrie and Fibrooz is most definitely not doing the same for Max.

Gail: The bookend to the opening scene with Max. The flight recorder has made its way into another backpack, heading up a mountain. I LOVE the color in this scene and how the flight recorder is on a JOURNEY.

Sara: Quite possibly the funniest scene on this show ever.

Gail: This spy is heading into the cold...

Sara: “Carrie, no!” … “CARRIE YES!”

Gail: Yevgeny’s (partly faux) nonchalance (he sneaks a peek!) and Carrie’s focused stare say so much without saying a word. No looking out the window for Carrie this time, we know where her mind is at.

Sara: Carrie stares straight ahead. Yevgeny can’t help but turn and look at her. Truly iconic. I know I say that about everything, but this really is I-CON-IC!

#homeland #homelandedit #in the director's chair #two minutes #*#by: sara #by: gail

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allfathertoday · 5 years

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From the "Albuquerque Queer Resistance Collective" in response to their upcoming protest of the President being in Albuquerque.

I've also posted the "Oathkeepers" response below it.

PSA for ABQ comrades:

“Statement on the cancellation of Anti-Trump Protest: Rio Rancho, NM:

We understand many folk are confused and disappointed by the decision to cancel the Anti-Trump protest. It was not a decision that was made lightly. We spent many, many, many hours in meetings and discussions with other organizations over the past week trying to develop a plan that would allow our community to express it's dissent while still remaining safe. We gathered intelligence on the plans of the police, secret service, and far right. We scoped out the area within the Santa Ana Center complex and immediately surrounding it. We collected supplies and a bail fund and mobilized medical and legal support as well as evacuation rides (all of which will still be available) all in the hopes of providing a network of support for the folks we would be bringing in Rio Rancho. However at the end, we realized that we did not have capacity, even with all of that preparation, to ensure that folk would not face serious injury or death if they went. So we cancelled the event. We are not willing to bring folks to any action if we can not guarantee they will be not be seriously hurt or killed. Some factors that led to that decision:

- The Santa Ana center sits in the middle of a complex that is isolated from all surrounding civilization, completed surrounded by empty desert and mesa. Once within the complex, the only way back to an area with people on foot is an at least 30 minute walk through rough terrain in the dark. There are no street lights, there are no side walks, there are no shoulders, there are no businesses or occupied homes. There is no cover.

- The Rio Rancho Police Department is planning to cut off vehicle access to the entire complex that the Santa Ana Center sits in once parking spaces are full. See the black and yellow barred areas on this map for the points we believe the police will be using to cut off access. There are approximately 3500 spaces available for parking. Parking lots open at 6 AM and Trump supporters are planning to be their early to tailgate for the whole day. We anticipate that parking will be full and vehicle traffic will be cut off much, much earlier than the start time of Trump's rally. After that point, if you are within the center, ****no one in a car will be able to come in and get you**** and possibly no one on foot either.

- The designated protest area within the Santa Ana complex - which we'll refer to going forward as the "free speech zone" - is the blue area on this map. It was negoitated by Indivisible with the city of Rio Rancho. The city of Rio Rancho has been working with the US Secret Service and other police agencies in order to coordinate and prepare that space. The Secret Service would not have consented to that area unless they believed they could control what happens inside of it. Including with force if necessary.

- We have confirmed at least two far right paramilitary groups will be at the Santa Ana Center with the explicit purpose of "protecting" rally attendees from protestors: the OathKeepers and the Sons of Liberty motorcycle gang. They are recruiting to bring more people to this event. We expect them to be armed. We expect that there will be more far right than just these two groups armed. We do not expect police to protect our side from them. See this link on the OathKeepers website for more information:

- Any of our side who plans to park inside the complex will have to share parking with Trump supports and far right militia members. There is no plan for keeping those groups away from us prior to getting in the free speech zone. If you go, carpools are by far the best option to get there but:

- The last time we did reconnaissance at the site, we saw tall fencing around the designated free speech zone. This has the advantage of keeping people within it away from Trump supporters. It has the strong disadvantage of keeping folks within the zone trapped in the complex. In the event that police or far right attack, once access is cut off there is no way for support on the outside to make it into the complex. If protestors can make it out of the complex to the road, we will have support available. However, there is no guarantee that folks wil be able to make it out. It is a 15 minute run through rough terrain in the dark through an area that will be heavily patrolled by police agencies and the far right.

- The best gathering place we could find outside of the complex - Paseo de Volcan and Unser - is completely exposed to the road and to Trump supporters who will be on the road. There are again no shoulders and no sidewalks throughout the entire area and there is already a history of far right elements using vehicles to seriously harm protestors. We couldn't bring people there.

No matter how hard we looked, we could not find a winnable situation in this scenario. We are strongly urging community members to stay away for their own safety. We're not your parents though and we realize folks feel strongly that they need to be there. We strongly recommend *not* bringing children and that folks with mobility issues that would prevent them from running stay away. Do not expect white or elder privilege to protect you. If you go, be prepared for vigilante and police violence and be prepared for mass arrests. Make sure you bring a buddy and make sure you have *your own* escape plan.

As we mentioned: medical support, legal support, and supplies for people within the complex and a limited number of vehicles for emergency rides for folks who are able to make it out of the complex will still be available. The Albuquerque Center for Peace and Justice Center has allowed us to use their bail fund. Combined with what we were able to raise, that leaves about $1300 for bail. If one or two people get arrested, we can help them. If mass arrests happen that money will not cover everyone or even near everyone. If you're planning to go make sure your community can cover bail.

We'll post more updates with information about how to keep safe throughout the day.

We understand the unpopularity of the decision to cancel but we stand by it. We were not willing to risk casualties on our side.”

From Oathkeepers founder:

This is Stewart Rhodes, Founder of Oath Keepers.

The hyperbole of this post is both absurd and, frankly, sad.

In the ten years since I founded Oath Keepers, you cannot point to even one example of Oath Keepers assaulting anyone. I challenge you to find an example. Even one video. You can’t.

We never initiate force. Period. We never use unlawful force. We only act in self defense and defense of others. And we always scrupulously comply with local, state, and federal law.

And even when it comes to self defense and defense of others, we haven’t had to put our hands on anyone to any significant degree.

In our experience, even the most violent Antifa members decline to close with us, which is perfectly fine with us.

It’s a good day when we don’t have to actually use force to defend and can deter assault with our presence alone.

We have done just that on many occasions, including twice in Berkely, CA, where there is footage of all kinds of street brawls in the streets around the park, but none of any fights in the park where Oath Keepers maintained a perimeter around the actual event (we led a combined force team of Oath Keepers, Bikers, III% and other veterans, totaling 100 men, wirh 12 of them being Oath Keepers who were current serving or retired police).

Inside our perimeter, it was tranquil and peaceful. Outside it, on the street, it was chaos.

One reason is that Antifa chose not to try to close on us. They could have, but apparently didn’t want to.

But the other reason is we don’t attack people. We don’t aggress. We don’t yell, scream, cuss, and we don’t try to get in anyone’s face. We are quiet professionals who just defend.

And we respect the right to free speech and assembly of everyone, even people we disagree with.

In sharp contrast, there are hundreds of videos of Antifa and other leftists attacking Trump supporters.

And here in NM there is ample footage of protesters attacking the police in Albuquerque during the 2016 Trump rally - Throwing rocks, bottles, full soda cans at not just police officers but also their horses.

We also know, from talking to military veterans and LEO veterans in NM, that the protesters also assaulted Trump supporters after that rally got out.

That’s why we are here today. We are here because the left has a well documented track record of trying to shut down the free speech and assembly of other Americans.

It’s the same reason we were in Berkely, and in Boston, Portland (June 4, 2017), and in Washington DC (three times) and in dozens of other events nationwide.

And each time we were peaceful and successfully secured free speech and assembly without having to use any force, as we respected protesters right to protest.

Our track record is impeccable.

You would have been perfectly safe at the rally. And if we had witnessed anyone from the Trump side assaulting one of you, we would have stepped in to stop them.

I know the men of Sons of Liberty Riders hold themselves to the same standards, which is why we are standing next to them today.

Stewart Rhodes

Founder of Oath Keepers.

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gottaenjoythelittlethingzz · 5 years

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12/12/12

I wasn't tagged directly, but I saw @livvywrites create(?) this game over on their blog and I liked the idea so much I had to jump in! I’m going to be answering the questions you proposed and those I tag can feel free to answer these same questions as well!

Rules: answer 12 questions in character as an OC, ask 12 questions, & tag 12 people! (~ Answering for Schuyler)

1. What teachings from your parents still affect you to this day? Do you wish that they didn’t?

“Most people think I take after my dad, but the truth is I wouldn't be the person I am today without both of my parent’s influences. Eddie taught me about club life and family, but ma taught me how to be a good citizen. I wouldn’t trade a single lesson, even if they seemed unimportant on the day.”

2. Who is the person who has made the greatest impact (good OR bad) on you, and who you are today?

“Eddie, for sure. He taught me the good, the bad, and the really ugly. I’m living for him.”

3. If you could do anything, without strings or consequences attached, what would you do?

Schuyler laughs, “I kinda already live like that. Maybe steal a cop car. Jump out of a helicopter without a parachute.”

4. A genie gives you three wishes. What would you wish for?

“World peace, end to all suffering, and an electric powered motorcycle painted white.”

5. When you go to pack for something—whether it be as simple as tucking items in your pocket for a normal day, or an overnight trip—what are three or so items that you couldn’t live without?

“A phone, a lighter, and my throwing knives. I can survive anywhere with those things.”

6. Is there someone in your life you can’t live without? Who are they, and what is your relationship like?

“That’s pretty extreme. Maybe, ‘prefer not to live without’. After Eddie passed, I think I can loose anyone and wake up the next day. Maybe hungover, but that happens after really good days too.”

7. What do you think your childhood self would think of you now? How is your life different from what you pictured then?

“I never saw myself leaving Texas. At least not so permanently. But that’s also been the best decision I ever made. Other than that, I think I’m on the track I was always meant to trek.”

8. How do you feel about where you are now? About the person you are now? What, if anything, would you change about yourself?

“I wish I got here just a few years earlier, so I could enjoy it a little bit longer.”

9. What do you do to de-stress, and take your mind off of things?

“Go for a ride. Music in my ears and wind in my hair. No helmet, that’s when you know a ride is long overdo.”

10. What is the most ridiculous thing that you can recall doing? Do you remember why you did it?

“Do you have a few hours? Well, I think my favorite story to tell is the time I was south of the Mexican-American border trying to out run the local authorities, authorities might I add that didn’t have badges, and I jumped a train to avoid an early grave. It wasn’t a big one, but still, another foot lower and I would have ended up in that grave anyway. It ends with my getting a new motorcycle.”

11. If someone were to record what was happening to you, the story of your life, how would you want to be portrayed?

“As a vigilante. The Boondock Saints - style.”

12. What is your ideal future life like? When all is said & done, what does peace look like to you?

Schuyler turns serious and gets an introspective look on her face. “If I’m not there I’m damn close to it.”

Tagging: @disoriented-writer, @writingonesdreams, @nyxnevin, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, @shamelesswordcinnamonroll, @raevenlywrites, @aslanwrites, @nadiarexler, @missjanuarylily, @inexorableblob, & anyone else who happens to see this and wants to tag themselves in feel free to answer these same questions and tag me so I can see your answers. As always, feel free to ignore if you don’t have time/interest in playing along. This is just a friendly hello from me to you!

#writeblr #tag game #12/12/12 #ask me about schuyler #my ocs #trod #writer #writeblr games #sons of anarchy oc #fanfiction writer #12 12 12

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thekwanderer · 4 years

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November 27 2019

The ride to Agra was 3 hours. It was a little unclear though because google maps was giving estimates of 4 hours. It was a bit of a tight fit as a lot of cars are used to piling in tons of people with little space unlike us Americans who like spacious cars with big comfy seats. It was an uneventful ride and we went out into the countryside. There it consisted of big open plains with some short trees. The sun rose a blood red as most of the light was blotted out by the thick pollution. Along the way, we saw some tall towers with billowing black smoke. These were brick kilns as many of the people living outside of Delhi are brick makers. We stopped at a small rest stop and wandered a little to stretch our legs. There we ran into Anna's family! Anna stayed back because she had seen the Taj before, but her dad, cousins, and sisters were there. We keep seeing them everywhere so Bobby and I think it was fortuitous to see them outside of Delhi as well.

We pile back into the van, and it's another 45 minutes to the Taj. Mercifully Richard agreed to switch with me and sit in the last row with Debbie because I was sitting at an angle due to the slope in the seat. Driving through Agra feels very different from Delhi. It is a lot more rural with short houses with thick clay walls. There was also a lot more cows! I knew that cows were sacred in India, but I had yet to see any. Here the cows wreaked havoc just walking wherever they pleased with cars, motorcycles, and bikes maneuvering around them. There was also a thick dust that coated the ground as the sides of the road were unpaved dirt.

Dev is helpful since Ishan's dad knows him and I'm glad for a longer lasting relationship rather than a one off transaction if we had found a driver through other means. He drops us off by the parking lot and we are able to jump on a large golf cart with 5 rows. We had many people approach us trying to give us tours, but we were very wary since we read on the internet that many folks want to scam you since there are very few official government guides. The ride on the golf carts to the ticket counter is only 1 kilometer and it takes just a few minutes to pull up. Interestingly it was cheaper to buy our tickets via credit card than pay cash. Our foreigner tickets come with the entry fee, shoe covers to go into the mausoleum, and a bottle of water.

After we get through security, we walk down a tree lined corridor to a little red gate. When we walk through, we get our first glimpse of the Taj. It's a bit hazy, but it still is exciting to see the famous site through the doorway of this gate. I'm impressed that there aren't too many folks there. I was expecting throngs of people, but I am told that this is the off season for visitors and that it will pick up in a few months. This site is a famous destination not just for foreigners but also for locals. We see many women in beautiful bright saris because it looks especially stunning against the white background. We make it out of the gateway and slowly walk towards the Taj. We are lucky that we can see the building. Patrick said that one of his friends came a couple of weeks before and couldn't even see the building from the entranceway. The water is pretty mostly because the pools themselves have blue tile. It is amazing having a crew of 6. It made me feel safer that we had other trusted friends watching our backs and we got some great couple pictures and we took turns holding each other's stuff and took pictures of each other.

We bought tickets for the mausoleum and that allowed us to go into the building itself. That is where the shoe covers came in so we could walk around the white tiled floor with less impact. Inside the building its dark and a man gestures us forward. There was no photography allowed inside, so unfortunately we don't have photos. In the center was almost a screen made out of carved marble. Inside this octagon were two graves. The smaller one was in the center, and was for the queen, and then the larger one was off to the side for the king. The king originally built this building as a monument to his favorite wife and ended up being buried there as well. The carvings are so beautiful from Indian marble and the shapes were basically hearts. Also, there was inlaid flowers with 4 different types of flowers made from gemstones. When the guide placed his small flashlight against this flower, the whole stone glowed. It was quite beautiful and intricate.

I didn't realize that this king was Muslim and there was scripture from the Koran on the walls and the whole place had moorish architecture with archways and geometric patterns. Overall we spent 3 hours wandering the complex which was more than enough. We had our fill of touring and headed back to to the car. We headed back to Delhi without incident and even ran into some other guests from the wedding at our rest stop who had left Delhi at 3 am! We were happy with our choice of a later start.

When we got back from the hotel we were really tied. Debbie, Richard and Stephanie got coffee from the cafe, but they didn't have any gluten free options so we dragged them to eat food with us at the more casual cafe where Bobby had butter chicken and I got chicken biriyani. After we were fed, we were ready for bed and hit the pillow around 8 pm.

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roswellroamer · 5 years

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Nata Lodge to Tuuthebe Lodge, Letlhakane, Botswana. 320km. 5/2/19.

Today was a very memorable day. I rode so hard literally the wheel came off my bike! But first, I woke in the "foreigners" chalet rooming with my Aussie mates Andy & Jim. Great place with both toilet and shower placed in separate but outside rooms. Very nicely appointed with some sliding glass and screen doors out onto the back deck. The whole lodge had loads of sand around and after getting out of my kit the previous afternoon, I was barefoot the whole previous day as it felt like being at the beach. At least until you try to ride a motorcycle through it! Made to order breakfast at 7AM kitted up and I also need to mention that we had a bush baby looking over us last night at dinner. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galago 👀

We met some more Americans and some part time Americans who live 3 months out of the year in Cape Town. We were planning to make it today to the Makgadikgadi salt pan today. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Makgadikgadi_Pan

The tar road route there was about 400km but Gavin had scouted a path with the GPS and some locals, I don't think I can call it a road though it was, to cut the distance and to challenge the group to a bit of sand and exploration across Botswana. The first 40km or so were manageable for me. Not one vehicle seen all day on this path. There was some sand and some rutted river crossings (dry riverbed) and detours but we all made it. Apparently one of the rocks must've pinched the tire and tube pretty hard because during one stretch I could feel my front wheel not tracking as well and started to gear it making sound as it dies when losing air. So fortunate I was that within about a km or so the group stopped. By now my tire was properly flat. Gavin unstrapped his tools and he and Baz went to work. Within twenty minutes my tube was replaced. Very impressive. So my early comment 👆 about the wheel coming off may have been a bit misleading. But now with the wheel back on and tire inflated we continued along dirt, rock, sand, dry river beds, cows and fencing. Lots of elephant dung and trampled fences due to their presence but we saw none. A few hills and some wide open spaces. I hit one river crossing particularly hard and wasn't standing. I just find it tough to stand when my brain is telling me I am in imminent danger of being hurled from the bike... To this point I thought I was gonna lose it a couple times when I would lose the track through a deep rut and get tossed violently. The bike is really fantastic when you are confident enough to accelerate through so many obstacles. Massive holes, sand, huge bumps, etc. At this one spot, where I hit hard I immediately felt pain. I don't know what I did but I felt it the rest of the day and needed to stand more to keep it from hurting which was better for my riding technique. Now at the end of the day it has subsided and I suspect just a muscle strain. Phew. For the rest of this group with more off road experience they really enjoy this technical stuff. Most of the unpaved stuff is and has been fun for me. However the other 5% has been unnerving. I feel as if I have survived those stretches by will, and acceleration and by sheer good fortune. Two more guys laid it down in the sand today. 5 of the 7 bikes have been down. After that painful river hit I had to go even slower. One after another I would reach a technical river crossing and just shake my head. You can't stop to really dissect the terrain since your momentum is key to carrying you through the ever changing challenge of where your tires are gonna track. So in you go. Twist the throttle and pray that the seemingly 30° arcs both wheels are taking independently from each other don't cause you to do a tank slapper. After 50km we came to a flat area that didn't look too bad from afar. But the tracks had washed out and been replaced with lots of loose sand. I must admit I was swearing to myself a bit as I was tossed side to side unexpectedly through this section. Then I noticed 6 bikes on top of the next hill about a half km ahead. Both feet out pretending to my brain that it might help me from wrecking even though it would prolly only cause a fractured leg if serious calamity had arisen. I plodded through the thick stuff. Venturing far left of where the road was supposed to be at times. But I wobbled my way through with plenty of close calls and scaled the last hill to the welcome cheers of the group. I did feel good I hadn't laid it down as the guys said it was tough and technical to a man. But I don't feel I am mastering deep sand at all and I'm just feeling my mortality when I get in it. The last 15 km or so to the tar was fortunately not nearly as technical and we hit the tar aiming for Orapa. We had our second chat of the day with a veterinary guard who came over to talk with us and wish us a nice journey since we opted to stop just past her post. The other one was really personable (early in the day right where we started the dirt/sand road after leaving Nata) and was after us for conversation and sweets. 🍬

The next stop was at a crossroad. Right was towards the Makgadikgadi pan with the massive alluvial diamond mine looming a mile or so ahead of us. As a side note at one of these mines near here just 3 days ago the worlds second largest diamond was just discovered! 1761 carats. 💎 We needed fuel since it was about 70km each way to and from the pan, so we went left and maybe 10km into Letlhakane. First traffic we have seen in a while. Not a lot of cars, but a stop sign and everyone turning in somewhere and just slow. We got gas and for the fourth day in a row (at least) grabbed a bite at the gas station. There just are no decent places to stop for lunch. I grabbed an egg salad and tomato sandwich and some sort of green tea drink. This trip to the pan was always a question mark. Not much of a road to it. Perfect time of year to visit it as it is and has been dry. Like Bonneville, you could ride anywhere on the salt and there are some islands (as these flats fill with water in the rainy season) with big rocks and baobab trees. We waited about twenty minutes or so for the bakkie to meet us as they were restocking in town. After that we ran out of tar after maybe 20km of the 70 to the salt. We had to ask some folks how to go since it seemed most sandy trails were on someone's property last Kubu station. After about 2 km more the sand got deep. I really didn't think it was a good idea to try and make it. I stopped and took a pic of the sand. I told the guys in the bakkie that I was turning around. We set a place to meet back at the same crossroad and I slogged my way for a bit before finding some firmer sand then soon after on the tar. I was doing some reflection today. The deep stuff was over my head, at least figuratively. It is a fine line between adrenaline and fear when pushing yourself in unfamiliar areas and surfaces. I decided I didn't want to risk the rest of my ride to try and make it to the pan. I was just organizing my thoughts to pen this post thinking I would have at least a couple hours when I thought I heard a bike. Yep. Barry then the rest of the crew showed up not 15' behind me. They had reached a similar conclusion due to depth of sand and length of daylight since it was already pushing 4PM.

We rolled straight to the Tuuthebe lodge and were pleasantly surprised by the size and quality of our rooms. The guys had bought stuff for a braai and we had a great night outside with John grilling up sausages, ribs, and chicken. We also had baked beans and potato salad and plenty of beer. I streamed some decent music on Sean's Bluetooth speaker and the icing on the cake was when our neighbor Seabi who works for a diamond mine got down on one knee and proposed to his girlfriend Atlang. She said yes! 💍 And it's time for me to say goodnight. Well after midnight. 😴 Baz' word of the day is strafdop. It is a punishment drink required to be bought by the person that screws something up.

#motoadventure #botswana #africatwin #africatwinadventures

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sweetdollfromhell · 5 years

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Chilling tales of Riverdale, a crossover fic

Chapter 7 of a old fanfic but stil alive that is a mix of Riverdale, CAOS and Archie horror. Located in season 2 and will have differences with the canon for both shows.I'm more than happy to jump the whole fake love triangle between Betty, Jughead and Toni (because Bughead, Choni and the friendship between girl and boy exists). The same goes for the drama Betty and Veronica. But I give you friendship and sisterhood instead + Cameo surprise. Ps Don't worry, he won't have an Archie x Sabrina but I really liked the comparisons people made between Archie and Harvey, so I put him here. (I'm reserving another parring for Sabrina).Also because we have nothing of Toni's life except that she has a grandfather who is nice but who doesn't live with her and an uncle who is an asshole who locks her out sometimes, I hope the backstory that I will be okay for you. Warning: there is a cannibalism involvement in a scene but it's not graphic, very short and you're free to skip it if it bothers you (It's in Jughead's dream) and in my defense, it's canon in CAOS and a reference to one of Archie Horror's titles.)The creature for its is a mix between different native American monsters and the real form of witches in the CAOS comic book. Sorry to make my warnings so long.

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

The routine settled in with Jughead's new roommate; Sabrina kept the place clean, often cooked and was polite to everyone who showed up at the trailer. Jughead had to admit that his presence bothered him a little when Betty came, but Betty refused to do so when Sabrina had offered to spend the night outside for their privacy leashes. The rest of the day, Sabrina was usually away for most of the day, coming back exhausted in the late afternoon or evening and otherwise staying locked in her room even though she tried to be social with the guests. The cat, on the other hand, was a little more complicated: he and Hotdog hate each other or at least Salem didn't like him. If Jughead was honest, the dog would always growl in the presence of the cat, but rather than attempting the attack, the dog would show itself threatening, but back away as soon as the cat approached. If Hotdog had been a puppy or Salem a cat mastodon, he would have understood, but now... At least, like his mistress, Salem seemed to like to travel around the city and Jughead had been surprised to see him sometimes in incongruous places and often with human food in his mouth although he was probably as well fed as them. At least he had a necklace with his name on it, if not the rest of the information. He had also made progress in his Serpent initiation contrary to his investigation into the Blackhood. He had passed the test and was bitten by a snake from which his venom had previously been removed. He would not have a scar according to Toni (most of the others did not) and because Sabrina, despite having sworn many times not to know anything, had nevertheless prepared two bottles labelled respectively: antivenom and repairing cream.

At one point, Jugh had ended up asking:

-Are you still looking for a job?

-Do you have one for me? Because I admit that things are not going well, everyone asks me questions like why I'm not in school or comments on the numbers because it's southside.

-The only place I had found to close then...

-Don't worry, I'm not going to impose more than I expected, and I still have some reserve.

-That's not the problem. I was just thinking you shouldn't have to wait like this. I don't know, maybe ask the snakes to say you're someone's cousin or whatever so you can at least go to school.

-Mmm, the same school where you got beat up, where the drugs are flowing and/or my friends the ghoulies are going? I'll pass through. Far be it from me not to finish high school, but I can recover when everything is settled. And I feel bad about asking your...clan for favors? Say Sabrina hesitant.

-Clan? Repeated Jughead vaguely amused.

-It's more than a gang, I noticed that. I wouldn't call it a family, but....

She had a funny laugh without joy before saying:

- Would you find me strange if you told you that your Serpent remind me of my congregation?

-Actually, yes. Because unless your priest rides a motorcycle....

Sabrina laughed again and Jughead thought he might have some new crumbs of information about the girl.

-It's until... I don't know, the united side against all? Being a weirdness by the other side of town? That even younger members are encouraged to participate? The fact that like you I too have an important foot with this one?

Jughead understood that he would not have much chance of these questions not looking too sharp and just curious, but he tried anyway.

-I don't know that they had religious tensions in Greendales.

-Oh, that's so ridiculous. I shouldn't have compared myself to you, there are just two congregations: Protestants and we are a variant of Catholicism. It was bloody 300 years ago, but now nobody think about it except us unlike you, I recognize that it's to play the victim.

-What is your legacy in all this?

-My father was a priest before he defrocked to get me. And the rest of the family remained quite involved.

She smiled when she talked about her progenitor, before getting stuffed. As much as Jughead was skeptical as much as he was in comparison, he had a new path to explore.

-It's still a pretty thin link," said Jughead before asking:

-Is that who you want to find? Your father?

Sabrina seemed to realize that she had said too much and retorted:

-Is it that important to you? I would have thought you'd have handled worse right now.

-You live in my house," Jughead coldly recalled.

-I can leave, only on request. I was doing very well on my own.

-I'm trying to help and in case you haven't noticed, there's a killer who...

-I am clearly not his target and I know how to defend myself. In addition, I'm sure my safety is more questionable in a caravan without adult supervision, or members of gangs known for drug trafficking and the kidnapping of at least one teenager regularly come to hang out so LEAVE ME ALONE!

Jughead then heard a loud noise that brought them both back to reality. The young man rushed to the source of the noise, in the kitchen where plaster had begun to crack. Confused, Jughead had just enough time to hear you slam the door. Returning to the main room, he saw that Sabrina had taken off.

-Great, complains Jughead.

Betty didn't know what to do anymore. The black hood had promised her a clue if she cut off ties with her relatives, not to mention her threat on Polly. She probably thought she was protecting her unborn children, but because of Betty, she had a target drawn on her back, especially knowing that the serial killer had no problem getting out of town to find his prey. Not to mention the farm, which Betty didn't trust at all. A commune, my eye, a cult disguise yes! Archie and Kevin were already up to their necks in there, but she could at least protect Jughead and maybe Veronica. Yes, you had to see the threat of the black hood as a blessing in disguise. By pushing Ronnie away, she was keeping her safe, right?

Maybe if she repeats it enough, she'll believe it eventually.

Veronica couldn't be more excited; seeing her old friends in New York could only fill her with joy. She was still disappointed that the Cabots could not be there: according to the last email Alexandra sent, she and her brother had been detained by the university.

-You know us Ronnie darling, we'd come here with a snap of the fingers, but if Alex can finish 2 years before everyone else, he'll do it. And I must spend my classes or at least pretend to find me a young first in an Ivy league for Dad to let me go. But as soon as it's settled, we'll come: I have enough scandals and bottles worthy of the name for everyone (it will impress your country friends). Oh, and Alex says to send the demo of the three little kittens so he can see what he can do!

XOXO

Lexa

She will never change, Veronica thought as she read the message. Is that why she didn't tell him about Archie? Anyway, it was nice of Alex to be willing to help Josie, Valerie and Melody if he could.

At least Nick would be there, and she would die eager to introduce him to her Riverdale friends: Archie, Betty, Josie, Valerie, Melody, Kevin, Cheryl and Reggie. She had also invited Jughead who had refused to have anything planned already, Ethel who her mother would no longer let out because of the black hood (and even more if she knew it was to spend the evening at the Lodges') and the mysterious Sabrina who had politely declined to her frustration, really curious to know more about the girl. Looking back, maybe inviting her to a party full of people she didn't know wasn't the best idea, but she wouldn't give up. Her curiosity was piqued, and she wanted to know more.

How was he going to do that? Archie thought so. Betty had asked him to offer Jughead a break, trying not to hurt him. Why had he even accepted?

(You know why!) His unconsciousness screaming at him. It wasn't just because Betty was a good friend or he was worried about Jugh too. Since that summer, everything had become so complicated: with Betty, with Jughead, with Veronica, with her parents and many others. He didn't want to hurt anyone, and yet he felt like he was hurting everyone unintentionally. And probably was going to do it again because his trackreccod was deeply horrible in there.

He saw Jughead and several young Serpents, he felt angry. He didn't trust them: Joaquim could shout his love from the rooftops for Kevin, he had when he was manipulating when he left, FP loved his son no doubt about it, but it didn't give him a pass for everything he had put on Jugh or his best friend's shoulders: alcoholism, theft, kidnapping, drug trafficking, etc... The situation with Jellybean was not easy for anyone, but it didn't give anyone a pass (including Jughead's mother if it was up to him). Until now their acts of kindness had been rare and often interested... And yet Jughead had thrown himself into their arms without a look back for these former friends. Archie may not have been able to understand what Jughead was going through, but he would be there to help no matter what.

Jugh saw him too and rushed to his friend.

-Archie, you're just in time! I need you! I need you!

Surprisingly, Archie forgot both his primary mission and his resentment at the worried look.

-Of course, what is that...

-Sabrina is missing and I have no idea where she went! I don't have time to look for her, but she left all her things, so she can't be far away.

-Jughead...

-Please, I really can't, but I don't want her to do something stupid! I know Riverdale's is a big town, but she'll come home at least to get her things. At worst, stay by the trailer and tell her it's okay if she doesn't want to talk about it when she gets home? Jughead asked, looking worried.

And Archie Andrew aka Pureheart the mighty gave in.

-All right.

-Thank you again, Archie, I owe you one!

And he moved away to join the young Serpents to Archie's frustration.

Sabrina was lying on Pop's bench, occasionally sucking her milkshake for an hour before putting her head on the table. Focusing on these dark ideas, she did not see the person approaching her.

-What's going on?

-Huh? Says Sabrina surprised when she sees the owner, Pop approaching her. -Uh, yes, sorry, just... tired. I have enough to pay you, don't worry! She continued, searching through her pockets.

She had money in her pockets before she fled Jughead's house. We should go back at some point and choose what to do.

-I have no doubt about that. You can stay until closing if you need to. I'll refill your glass. More caramel?

-Yes, please," smiled Sabrina.

Pop comes back with his milkshake and when Sabrina still wanted to pay for the two milkshakes right away.

-The second one's on the house.

-What?

-It's a promotion, a second milkshake free for all those crazy enough to come back here after the incidents.

-Are you talking about the black hood attacks? Sabrina asked.

-One in the restaurant and another involving volunteer employers. It seems like this place is cursed," says Pop sadly.

Sabrina looked at him silently for a few seconds before answering:

-Or the opposite.

-Pardon?

-The opposite; they survived even if their injuries were extremely serious. No one is in a wheelchair or severely disabled. His other victim can't say the same. It's a chance to survive in such good conditions after such a close encounter with death.

Sabrina put her head on the bench before saying:

-So I don't think this place is cursed, I think it brings good luck, I feel it in my bones. Luck is powerful, but it can't make the bullets disappear. For example, it may result in serious injury rather than death.

Pop stared at the teenager with surprise before laughing and concluding:

-I think we'll have to find a better argument to encourage people to come back, but if someone orders a burger, the house could continue its promotion and offer him an extra ring onion in addition to the French fries.

-I'll think about it, thank you," smiled Sabrina.

The people of this city were definitely welcoming.

Suddenly she heard a noise against the restaurant window and turned around. Salem, sitting on the hood of a car with an obvious mewing and trying it, caught his attention.

(Not today) Sabrina decided, turning around and ignoring the cat. If she was honest, it was small and petty. Salem had it was her rock during her last weeks, but Sabrina was physically, mentally and especially emotionally exhausted. Now she wanted to be a normal teenager eating junk food and pretending everything was fine. Just like old times.

Salem meowed loudly as a sign of challenge before leaving.

Cheryl had continued to peel the box and more particularly the notebook. Written by a certain Narcisse Blossom (bravo for having succeeded in mixing the two favorite themes for first names in the Blossom clan: flowers and Greek mythology). The first Blossom arrived in America with his family and his servants straight from the old English nobility, nothing more than WASP. Understood the fact that he left his beloved England because of scandal.

Her notebook was not exactly a diary, but Cheryl found some interesting information in it. He seemed to have had a strong influence on the region even before the town of Riverdale was founded: an iron fist, charisma and an incredible business acumen. Once again, all the most common things he had about the Blossoms.

But that didn't prevent the misfortune of the strike and he almost lost control. It was at this point that two things began to come back more often: the village on the other side of the Sweet River that would become Greendale and the name Sara Spellman.

Spellman? Wasn't that the name on the wedding photo?

Before she could continue, Cheryl heard the sound of a door opening violently, making her jump.

Would it be paranoid of him to pass by and look for his bow before he saw who dared to disturb her?

Archie wondered what he was going to do: find another opportunity to carry Betty's message to Jughead, find Sabrina and find a way not to hit the first Serpent in the face that fell under his hand.

But one of his problems was going to be solved...

-MEOW!!!!!

Archie looked down at the black cat who was now at his feet.

-Hey, hello there," he said, bending over to confirm his suspicions.

Around the cat's neck, a red necklace with a medal or the name Salem was visible. If he was there, chances are Sabrina wasn't far away.

As Archie bent down to caress him, Salem moved a little further before reuniting him a little further.

-Hey, you don't have to be afraid.

These words were stupid because the cat must not have understood it and now that Archie was observing it, it didn't seem to scare him. More annoying and full of contempt...a normal cat look is enough. But Archie noticed that the cat stayed in sight and was waiting for him.

(He wants me to follow him?). A dog, Archie would have understood, but a cat? Maybe it was true that cats are as smart as dogs, they are just too proud to be trained.

Salem guided him to Pop's chocolate shop and started meowing again under one of the windows where he saw Sabrina. Of course, the cat couldn't come in. Archie bent over to flatter the cat who this time if he let it.

-Do you want her back outside? No problem, I must talk to her anyway.

It may have been a play of light, but Archie felt as if the cat rolled his eyes. He came home anyway, trying to silence the impression that he was running out of air. Remain calm, greeted Pop who was in no way responsible for the whole situation and suffers as much as he does before going to the table or eating blonde.

-Hi!

Sabrina jumped, almost choking.

-Archie? Oh, it's been a long time. I didn't think I'd see you here, but please sit down," she said, pushing her plate towards him.

-Thank you, I’m here because Jughead asked me for help to find you.

Sabrina then had an expression of discomfort that combed herself on her face:

-Ah. He is...

-Worried. I don't know what happened between you two....

-Nothing! Just... just a fight. I guess we both have our nerves on edge. I'm not going to act like I'm not a burden.

-The little I've seen, you don't seem to be a burden. Jughead wanted to look for you, but he couldn't have caused...

-From his initiation! Oh, that's right, it's today! Oh shit, I must get everyone ready! She said in a panic.

-Are you going to participate? ask shocked Archie.

-Unofficially, I have no idea what's going on in the past because it's only for members, but I'll just prepare a few things just in case. Never heard of an initiation genre that doesn't physically, mentally or emotionally destroy you, so I want to have a first aid kit, the complete series of twilight zone downloads and enough comfort food for an army.

Archie reprimanded himself, which made Sabrina feel obliged to ask:

-You don't have any plans, do you?

-What are you talking about?

-You and the red circle, you're not going to follow them or something like that?

-There is no more red circle, we had to dissolve.

-Oh, sorry.

-No problem. But I still can't believe Jughead decided to join them," Archie said with cold anger.

-He probably has his reasons. I'm not enthusiastic, but I don't trust any gang, brotherhood, commune, fraternity or anything that involves going through trials and following up on settlements.

-Are you including the American Scouts in this?

-Yes! 2nd organization with the most sexual assault on children reporter, laughs Sabrina. -Note that maybe I shouldn't be so judgmental; my decision making is far from being the best.

-Do you count the fact that you came to Riverdale?

-Only the period when I arrived, people are mostly nice here, I think.

-Including the Serpents?

-I didn't have a brunch with the whole gang. I saw maybe five, six if you count the dog and I didn't even interact with all of them. I tend to prefer to stay in the room when people come. In order: Hot dog, the dog is nice even if he and Salem hate each other. There's a kid who came 2 or 3 times to see a hot dog, I don't know his name anymore and I'm not sure he saw me. There's also a guy with a really original nickname, Tall Boy who was his father's right-hand man who didn't see me either. It's tense between him and Jughead, probably because as his right-hand man, he would have taken Mr. Jones' place, but many hope the son will be in charge until he returns. I'd be suspicious if I were him. And the three with whom I interacted....

Sabrina sighed before continuing:

-Toni is incredible and she really wants Jughead's good, I don't doubt it for a second, but I think we're too like get along ironically. And if she started, I am the one who burned any chance of progress when she tried to reconcile," she says with regret.

-Fang looks like a bully, but if you dig hard enough, there's something fluffy and pink that just wants to be loved and surprisingly cultivated. And finally, Sweet Peas, whose real name is Olivier, also looks like also looks like a shallow brute... but that's because he is, she said, smiling at Archie.

-Seriously, this guy is a mean fool! Admiring a serial killer and wanting to build a bomb? Oh don't worry, I doubt he can make a baking soda volcano without help, so a bomb, Sabrina mocked when she saw Archie's expression change.

-I'm starting to regret that I didn't give him more than one black eye. Gronda Archie

-So much was probably deserved in his case, didn't you have someone who claimed to have stabbed himself on your side? I'm not a pacifist, but I'm not sure this battle will help anyone. And then Jughead keeps an eye on things... I think that's one of Toni's motivations. Better a leader who can keep them on a leash, than a Caligula who will set the city on fire and to death. Or ghoulies. They seem to be more dangerous than expected.

-You have a lot of opinions about everyone for someone who doesn't want to get involved," Archie said.

-In my defense, what is happening in this city is more interesting than any TV show. It helps to relative.

-Relativize?

-I prefer the slightest hindrance to an imaginary happy ending.

-With help, maybe you can get your happy ending, Archie said with a smile. -Besides, your cat's outside Pop's door. I think he's worried too.

-Yeah, I saw it. But I had a moment without anyone including Salem.

-Do you still need it? Because if you're not ready yet, I can leave you alone or we can go somewhere else before we go home. At Betty's, at my house or even I don't know if you know, but my girlfriend Veronica is having a party at her house and she said you could come if you want tonight instead of waiting alone in the caravan.

Sabrina looked up at him and had a difficult expression explained giving him back his smile but having a look of someone ready to cry as she contemplated Archie.

-It's amazing how you remind me of my boy... my ex," she ends up saying.

-Did it end badly between you two?

-Yes, you could say that. He... he was great, and I miss him.

-If you're not together anymore, he probably wasn't that great.

-No, it's my fault. I wanted help, but.... hell is paved with good intentions and it exploded in my face.

At that moment all Archie was experiencing was Betty after her sister left, Jughead after her mother left and Jellybean, Veronica after learning the consequences of her father's actions, Kevin the manipulation of Joaquim and Cheryl that fateful day on the lake was freezing.

-We're going to pay and go for a walk, okay?

-Mommy? Nana Rose? Who is there? Who is there? Asked Cheryl suddenly regretting that she didn't have her bow with her.

-Hello, sweetheart," suddenly said a voice of an unknown woman.

Cheryl turned around to find a woman who must have been in her late thirties, small in stature with a round face and blond, curly hair. Everything about her feel like cookies from the oven and long hugs. Yet Cheryl still wanted her bow.

-Hello, person the police will arrest in ten minutes if they haven't left my house.

-Oh, am I scaring you? Sorry, your mommy brought me and my sister in. She's treating her, but we'll be able to see her soon if that's what you're worried about," replied the woman in the same tone as if Cheryl had been four years old rather than seventeen. -I'm Hilda and you're Cheryl, right?

-I don't care about...

-Cheryl, that's enough!

Penelope was standing there in much better shape...much too well. Only a few burns remain near his neck and one of his hands. She still seemed a little physically weak, which was the reason why the woman accompanying her seemed to support her. With the same expression as if Penelope were an open garbage bag, but still. Hilda's sister was much taller and had a pointed face, these hairs were Venetian blond and for her part, she released more of a schoolteacher expression ready to make you sink your exam.

-Zelda, you were quick!

-Of course, I was quick," replied this one in an icy tone. -It's not that difficult to fix.

Then his eyes crossed Cheryl's.

-Come here," said this one, as if Cheryl were a dog.

-Pardon? Who thought you were old-fashioned bi....

-CHERYL, you come here right now! Shouted his mother with a surprisingly nervous expression.

Cheryl hesitated before moving forward with no turtle to the point that Zelda called her moved forward to join her and without hesitation grabbed her face to force her to look at her.

Cheryl felt paralyzed, wanting to scream, but unable to do anything while the woman observed her pupils like two then bottomless wanting to swallow her soul.

-No," she said disappointed when she released her grip.

-Seriously, Zelda? How incompetent do you think I am? His sister got angry.

-Not incompetent, just naive. She must have had that from someone.

-Yes, from his mother! Hilda got angry.

Zelda had another expression of disgust before addressing Penelope.

-Don't forget the payment. You are on credit for the moment!

-You would have it, didn't worry.

Zelda had one last look of contempt as Hilda shakes her hand goodbye before leaving mother and daughter alone.

-Mommy, what is it...

-Listen to me, Cheryl! Your little crisis in the hospital was the last straw. One gesture, one gesture, and I send you to the sisters of quiet mercy, am I clear?

And Cheryl lost what little control she never had.

The cat meowed his displeasure when he finally saw Sabrina go out with Archie. She took him in her arms and rubbed his forehead against hers.

-Sorry, I needed some time for myself. Do you forgive me? I have leftovers!

The cat sniffed the bag before jumping out of his arms and without moving too far away, he stayed at a distance by shaking his tail and following them.

-Does he sulk at you? Archie asked.

-Yes, not that it's not deserved. So, you have an idea where to go? Sabrina asked, changing the subject.

-Well, I'll think we could go to my place....

-You remind me of my boyfriend, but not this ...

-Oh no, Archie cut it off by understanding his misunderstanding. - I wanted to go see my father. I'm worried about him after what happened, so I was saying we could pass.

-Oh of course, sorry I thought the worst. I tend to see the devil's tail everywhere, Sabrina apologized.

-It's okay, everyone's been paranoid lately. And besides, I admit that maybe I do have a favor to ask.

-Well, ask," said Sabrina amused. -Worse, I'd say no.

-Betty said you have talents with plants. Do you have any ideas for something that might help my father? It comes at the end of the prescription period and even if he says otherwise, he is not getting better. So, if you have any idea of anything that might help.

-Oh of course! You can show me what he was taking, and I'll see what I can do. I can't promise something that strong, but maybe I can find something that can help it work.

-Thank you, said Archie.

As they arrived at the Andrews' residence, Salem began to run and passed them to go directly into the yard.

-Salem? Salem's come back! Cries Sabrina.

The cat returns, but comfortably seated in Fred Andrew's arms, purring.

-Hello Arch, are you coming home already? And you brought a friend? Fred asked more curious than anything else.

-Yes, it was faster than expected with Betty.

-What about Jugh?

-Also, Archie answered a little quickly. -This is Sabrina

-Hello Mr. Andrew," said Sabrina nervous.

-You can call me Fred," said Fred kindly, freeing his hand to shake Sabrina's hand.

-Sorry about Salem, he has a strong personality.

-Is it yours? Says Fred surprised. -It doesn't matter, he's quite friendly except maybe with Vega. He's just asking for table scraps.

-Are you sure you can hold him with your allergy? Worried Archie.

-He must be hypoallergenic because I've seen him dragged around the house for a week and no symptoms.

-Probably, he's a bastard so it's that or having one of the cats with special hair in his genes, Sabrina said quickly. -Sorry again, he considers that he needs these eight daily meals and I refuse to serve him more than three, so he has got into the habit of begging," Sabrina mocked.

-It's nothing and then he actually paid the last time. I thought he had a dead bird or smile in his mouth and imagine my surprise when I found a $50 bill in his mouth.

-Uh... yeah, he brought back stuff he thinks people like like candy or money sometimes, you're lucky it wasn't Monopoly tickets, Sabrina laughs nervously as she looks at her cat.

Archie noticed his discomfort and tried to change the conversation.

-We just stopped by to pick up a few things for tonight's party and for Sabrina to get some rest too.

-I will also punish my cat by giving affection to your dog, Sabrina joked.

-Make yourself at home, Fred answered.

-There they are, said Archie once his father had left them alone to lie down.

If Fred tried to hide it, he was still weak from his attempted murder and as much as he tried to ration himself so much, Archie had understood that his father was more dependent on them than he wanted to show him.

-Oh dear," said Sabrina in shock. -This thing is strong, but the amount was ridiculous. Shit, the American health system sucks!

-Do you only believe in traditional medicine? Archie asked.

-No, I believe in modern medicine...in Canada and in the Scandinavian countries," she says with a little smile. -And a lot of traditional medicine is shit too. It's an in-between that would be necessary. But good for if I can reproduce what's in there, I doubt it... Not legally anyway. For example, maybe I can do something that would help you sleep and reduce your pain without causing you to become addicted. Does he drink herbal tea?

-He likes coffee more, but I've seen him take it before, Archie says.

-Perfect, give me three days and it'll be ready, Sabrina says with pleasure.

-Thank you again, said Archie.

-Nothing and I'm... I'm sorry about earlier with my ex. I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable and I'm not trying to hit on you....

-It's nothing, honestly. I'm just starting to think I have a very common face.

In front of Sabrina's questioning face, he explained:

- Mrs. Blossom saw her son through me. For a while, it even seemed like they were trying to get me to replace him.

Archie expected a sarcastic or disbelieving comment, but for a moment Sabrina's expression seemed a mixture of horror and disgust before answering:

-It's twisted and disgusting even for them.

- I must admit that thinking about what Mr. Blossom did...

-His wife too, turn you into their sons for what next? To get you married to their daughter? What kink of fuck up you must be to even think about that, Sabrina continued, as she seemed to have trouble keeping her cool.

-Hey, it's okay, I think you read too much in there. And Cheryl has a good heart. If you change your mind, she'll be at the party, tried to calm her down Archie.

-Yeah, I'm not going to blame a child for their parents' crime. Thank you, but I'll pass. Maybe another one when he gets fewer people. I'd like to meet Veronica, Betty says a lot of good things. For the tea, like I said give me three days and it will be ready and... Thank you again for today.

-It made me happy. Are you ready to go home?

Betty felt like she was going to die. The black hood had ordered her to break off her relationship with Veronica at the risk of making Polly pay if she refused. He had also promised a clue to his identity, but sociopaths were not exactly known for respecting their words. She had already had to part with Jughead. And who knows who would follow: Archie? Kevin? Everyone until she was all his? It holds back a shiver of disgust.

For now, she had to concentrate to give a convincing performance. And to her great misfortune, she had a good idea of what would push Veronica to the limit: throwing her past in her face and comparing it to her father. Would only remain accumulated the anger she should release. All you have to do is look around her: see the others consumed by the jingle jingle as idiots when they knew the effects, Nick who seemed to him a pretentious idiot and who didn't miss a chance to rub Archie in the wrong direction, the loss of Jughead, his parents, Polly, to have missed Kevin's distress and finally his future treason. Forgive me, Ronnie, I don't want to lose you.

While Veronica, who had noticed Betty's coldness and her withdrawal from others, rang her phone.

(No please, not yet) thought Betty as she retired to be able to answer.

Hello? -Hello?

-Betty! I'm so happy to talk to you! Polly wrote on the other end of the line.

-Me too, Betty says, shares between the desire to hear from her sister and the fear of not respecting her contract with the black hood. -Why are you calling me so late? Is there something wrong?

-Oh, it's not much, I just needed to talk to you a little bit. It's probably my hormones that are screwing up, trying to rationalize her sister.

-You call me at almost 10:00, it must be important," Betty said against her best judgment.

Polly sighed, but eventually gave in:

-I think I think I feel and see things.

-Go on.... say Betty confused and worried.

-It's just a kind of discomfort, like sometimes I feel like we're watching, or I think I see something from the corner of my eye.

-Do you have someone watching you? Cries Betty horrify when she hears her words and remembers the threats of the black hood.

-No... probably not. Look, I just don't feel well, and I just wanted to call you.

-But did you see anyone? Insisted Betty.

-I saw something! But I don't think it was a person... it had the right size, but nobody moves like that, Polly continued.

-What do you mean, what do you mean? Betty continued confused.

-Oh, shoot, I think I woke up the others. I'll call you back when I can.

-Wait, you can go back to the...

She hung up.

-Home, Betty concludes, looking sadly at the phone in her hand.

-Betty," Archie shouted. -As soon as you saw Veronica?

Toni was helping Jughead as best he could, and he got into the caravan in the poor state he was in. Damn, Sweet Peas hadn't gone soft for him. It was better if he didn't go to bed right away to avoid the risk of a concussion.

As she opened the door and supported Jughead, she heard footsteps rushing to open it. She was wearing pink pajamas and a worn apron unknown to Toni.

-Oh, there you are! Sabrina wrote as she opened the door wide. -Back home, I have plenty of good food for you.

If Jughead's condition shocked her, she didn't show it. Psycho or hardened? Couldn't help but wonder, Toni asked herself.

-Glad to see you, whispered Jughead.

-Me too, even if I wish I had seen you in better shape. Sorry again about this morning and Toni? Good to see you too," Sabrina sincerely said. -Do you want to stay and eat?

-Of course, Toni stays," continued Jughead.

-Awesome!

Toni had to give her this: this girl could cook. The meal was delicious and despite her best judgment, she reserved herself. After that, she and Sabrina took care of Jughead. This was not the first time Toni had taken care of someone in a bad state, she even remembered having to take care of Joaquim when he had spent his initiation with his mother six months ago. Sabrina also seemed to have experience and Toni had decided to give her a pass for her strange products.

-More ice? Toni asked as she headed to the fridge to wrap it in the damp cloth.

-Please, say Jughead.

-It's impressive, but you shouldn't have a scar," says Sabrina admiring. -So, Serpent prince, what would please his royalty?

-Don't overdo it, it's not a monarchy, Toni replied.

-It's cool as long as Jugh doesn't order me to give him a bath and make him macaroons, that's fine with me.

-What?" Jugh asked.

-Who would ask that? Continued Toni

-A girl I know. For a festival in Greendale, we had to elect a queen and I had to take care of all her whims. And that's not the worst part, she even tried to organize an orgy in my room.

-Liar, said Toni.

-I swear," continued Sabrina, who seemed amused as she told the story. -Six people, it counts as one orgy, doesn't it? I mean, if I'm honest, by digging under the layers of badness, he had a pretty cool person. Or maybe Stockholm syndrome has finally started, Sabrina says with a sincere smile on her face.

-It's your ex?" Toni continued.

-What? No! Just sister-nemi, I suppose? Tempted Sabrina clumsily. -Not that it would be wrong, I consider myself as a fluid, but it's her as an individual, not as a girl that I...

-Hey, a simple no would have been enough. But whatever you decided to come out of the closet, I like both too. Even if I may lean a little more towards the girls, recognized Toni. -Are you Jugh?

-Oh, I'm going through it too?

Sabrina and Toni would nod in unison.

-Well then I love Betty, but I don't think I have a desire for other girls or guys for what it's worth," Jughead admitted.

A little lie, Jughead had had feelings for another person, but the sex itself? He hadn't wanted to watch playboys at puberty or had the same questions from others. Nothing until I fall in love. And even then, it was more the connection with Betty than the act itself that attracted him.

-Demisexual? Toni asked.

-Probably, said Jughead.

-I think I would go in that direction for myself too, Sabrina continued. -Finally, I have all my life to be sure," said Sabrina, looking a little sad. -Did you choose the episode you want to watch?

-I hesitate between Time Enough at Last or A World of His Own," says Jughead.

-Maybe, look at both, since I'd like you to stay up late in case you have a concussion, said Toni worried. -Besides, I asked Hack if he could fix the hole in the kitchen. You really have no idea what caused this?

-None, we were both in the main room when it happened.

-A mini earthquake or someone who sent an object against the caravan tried Sabrina.

-No, the ground didn't move, and the sound didn't come from outside. It looked like someone hit the wall with all their strength from the inside.

-I don't see what it could be like in this case.

Liar thought Jughead then. But before he could try to dig into the question, he heard Toni say while looking at his phone:

-Oh, shit.

Betty and Archie found Veronica pale and trembling with anger.

-Ronnie, are you okay? Asked Betty right away.

-I'm sorry, but the party is over, can you warn the others," replied this one, trying to control an adjacent anger.

-Ron, you worry me, what are you...

-Archiekind, please.

Archie reluctantly obeys, leaving her with Betty.

-Ronnie, what's wrong?

-Later, please. I'll explain later....

The dreaded ringing of the phone then began to play, forcing him to obey. She withdrew separately to answer.

-Evening.

-You disobeyed me! You didn't come.

-I was held back...

-I don't care! You should have listened to me, someone will have to pay for it, maybe your dear sister!

Suddenly, anger flowed through Betty's veins.

-You're not as good as you thought you were. Three of your victims survived and Polly saw you running around ready. She notified the police, she says defiantly.

-What?

His reaction took Betty to class; he seemed...surprised? That his sister saw him? Or... Oh, of course.

-I'm really a poor excuse of detective. That's not the real Black hood talking, is it?

The person at the other end of the phone was passing the surprise tried to regain control of the conversation, but it was too late.

-Of course, I'm the real Black....

-Oh, that's right. Who is really calling? Chuck? A ghoulie? You know what? I'll tell you what. It doesn't matter! You played with my nerves and tried to separate me from my loved ones. If I were you, I would get down on my knees and pray that I wouldn't find it, BECAUSE I WILL BE MY PLEASURE TO DESTROY YOU!

And she hung up without him, giving him time to answer with a surprising sense of satisfaction.

Toni couldn't go home tonight. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last time it would happen until she was eighteen. Her parents had died when she was four years old: during a battle in a bar, a guy hit her father with a glass still in his hand, seriously injuring him in the throat. His mother panicked, had tried to go to the hospital with him rather than wait for an ambulance that only arrived once in three times in time. Drives too fast and not exactly sober, killing them both. The person in charge had gone to prison, sentenced to five for assault and making only two for good conduct and blaming Mister Topaz.

After that, she had lived with her grandparents. It was perfect until Grandma got her fatal cancer and Grandpa became too sick to take care of her full time. Grandpa have to send her to live with his uncle Timothy. He was okay when he was taking his meds, the problem was that it only happens once in a blue moon. He was unstable, and nothing could cause him mood swings that often-had explosive results. Refusing to let Toni in the house was for a more or less long period was usually her reaction to punish her for whatever she thought was wrong. In this case, forget to buy orange juice.

Impossible to go to Grandpa's tonight, Joaquim was absent and she could not see her knocking on his mother's door who still blamed them for her son's situation without his presence, Fang's parents were nice, but with the uncle, aunt and their children being recently settled in their homes in addition to their already large family, they didn't even have a closet or install Toni and going to Sweet Pea meant facing the mad drunk who was his mother. So yeah, she was screwed.

-You can stay here says Jughead. -You only have to share the bed with Sabrina.

- Thank you, Jugh," said Toni, hugging him.

-Or you can have the bed and I'll take my sleeping bag to sleep somewhere else, Sabrina continued.

-Okay, seriously, what's your problem? Are you afraid I'll strangle you in your sleep or what? Toni got angry.

-It's not that! It's just... I have night terrors, okay? I thought you'd like to avoid it," said Sabrina embarrassed.

-So, what, you might kick him and whine in your sleep? Because I don't remember ever hearing you scream in your room," says Jughead.

-I'm not screaming, it's closer to paralyzing her from sleep. When I regain control of my body, yes I may kick and if I don't scream, I cry and mumble.

Toni sighed before saying:

-On the bench seat of a car into a metal scrap, under Sweet Pea's bed among her dirty socks and behind the Whyte Wym bar where I know for a fact that people have vomited, pissed, spat and fucked because I had to clean more than once. These are the three worst places I had to sleep and I had a lot of people with whom I had to share a bed or a room that snores, talks or moves in their sleep, I even shared a bed with Fang's little sister who regularly peed in bed while his other sister who slept in the room made her teeth for a month. I can survive to your worst trust me.

-Okay, fine then, but Salem is sleeping with us. He can sleep outside the bed....

-MEOW! Shouted the surprising cat Jugh and Toni, but not Sabrina.

-Okay, Salem has to sleep with us, but he won't move on my side," Sabrina said.

Everyone had left the party and Archie was taking Betty home.

-Veronica told you what happened? Asked the ginger.

-No, but she said she'd call me. Don't worry, I'm sure she just didn't want to talk to everyone around her.

-Her father's return stressed her out, Archie continued. -Maybe it's related to him.

-Maybe.

They continued walking in silence until Betty broke the silence again:

-I'm sorry for what I asked you. To break up with Jugh for me.

-Yeah, speaking of which... I couldn't do it, at the time I had the opportunity, an emergency arose and he was already gone.

Archie had expected a lot from Betty after telling her the truth, but certainly not that little nervous laugh.

-It's perfect, it's just perfect.

-What did I miss?

-Nothing. I think the guy who called me and said he was the Black hood was an impostor. Then it's just as well that you didn't say anything.

Jughead was dreaming. A dream without any real logic that seemed to place him in three places: running through the free and princely woods knowing that he was the master of the place, then sitting at a table eating a most exquisite buffet that never seemed to be finished and finally with Betty, beautiful and smiling, dressed in a white dress, flowers in his hair, he kissed her so happy. The fantasy changes every time he blinks until they start to mix: he runs into the woods with Betty, licks the sauce with his fingers and lips, stops in the woods to pick fresh fruit and eats the still warm flesh of a deer. He was free, he was strong, he was hungry, he was in love, he was controlled before he lost him. The images continued to melt and mix with each other. Until Jughead found himself in a forest above Betty lying in the grass with his hair spread like a halo around his head, his lips slightly ajar as if to sigh, these green eyes watching Jughead feast on the best meal of his life. Meal that found in Betty's abdomen.

Jughead woke up with horror and had just enough time to rush into the bathroom to vomit.

-What are you doing here? Says a voice in the woods.

-It's not your home, go home or the chance to be the meal of its real inhabitants," continued another.

Toni kept walking through the forest trying to ignore the voices that could have mixed with the sounds of nature yet seemed to scream in his ear. She continued to walk despite everything because backing away seems out of the question. Too close, too close, but to what?

The answer came quickly.

There's a... person in a clearing? So tall and thin with a skin too pale, almost off-white, but which seemed hard as a bark with hands where it was hard to know where the nails were finished, and fingers started giving him long black claws scraping something off the ground whose nature Toni has no desire to know. These fluorescent eyes shone behind her long grey hair and it has a mouth that stretched from ear to ear filled with sharp yellowish teeth that refuse to stay hidden. Finally, his legs seemed to be tucked in like those of a quadruped with a kind of long protuberance at the foot that held as much of a hoof as of a claw.

-What do you want? Asked the thing with a surprisingly feminine voice.

-I... I... I... I

-If you're here, it's because you want something, or can you be useful for free? I would be very happy to do so.

-Useful? Suddenly said Toni, whose word had finally brought her out of terror and brought her to anger.

The thing shook his head to confirm his words.

-This is not your land and you are not my race, I don't owe you anything. But maybe you want to change that?

She put her hand through her hair, cutting a handle with her claws: as she fell to the ground, they turned into snakes.

-Finally, be what you want to be: sure of your choices or why not be at the crossroads?

Immediately the snakes began to crawl towards Toni, she from disgust struck the nearest one so the sound of the shock woke her up!

Covering her eyes, another blow was heard, and Toni turned to the side of the bed that she discovered empty. Following the ground cover trail, she found Sabrina lying on the ground, her eyes wide open and a huge blue starting to appear on her forehead. Her cat rests against her trying her best to calm her down by rubbing against her.

-Sabrina, what happened? Says Toni while trying to get it up.

-I... I hit my head... and I fell, says this one flatly.

Toni then noticed with horror that she was bleeding from behind her head.

-Oh, shit. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.

As soon as they were out, Toni heard Jughead vomiting in the bathroom and left Sabrina on the couch to meet her.

-Jugh, what's going on? Do you need to go to the hospital?

Jughead turned around and tried to reassure her:

-It's nothing. I guess food too rich and blow to the head doesn't mix well. Did I wake you up?

-Han, miss albino did it. She managed to blow her head off in her sleep. Don't ask me how she did it. At three years old, I don't say, but at sixteen?

Jughead finished cleaning up and Toni took care of Sabrina's head. It was just a cut that, like all head injuries, had just bled a lot.

But after their respective nightmares, none of the Serpents wanted to go back to sleep right away and that also applied to Sabrina in case she had a concussion. Perhaps it was better to continue the twilight zone marathon.

-If you don't mind, I might do some laundry while I'm up.

-Are you sure that's a good idea? Asked Jughead. -Maybe it's worth sitting still.

-Oh, come on, just the towels. They're full of blood thanks to both of us and it's going to be awful to clean them if you wait too long. I will make a quick promise," she insisted.

-Just, if your head turns, you stop and come back.

Sabrina bought it and headed for the washing machine. She started to classify the different clothes and towels, throwing them in the machine before stopping at what she was looking for.

She checked that the other two were busy (more discussed the future of the snakes than looked at the screen) before turning her attention to the towel: it was the most stained of all and it had only Jughead's blood on her. In this state, claiming that it was too damaged to be washed and had to be thrown away might work. Discreetly, Sabrina took it and waited for Salem to approach. The cat knew exactly what to do and took the towel between his teeth to take him to the room to hide it while waiting for the right time. Hot dog wanted to follow the cat, but he emitted a rumble too low for the human ear, but cataphoric for the dog who immediately backed away. The cat seems to have an expression of satisfaction and Sabrina went to join the others.

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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years

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chapter 6 paragraph iv

I still saw him—just not as much. More and more he spent nights with Kotku and her mother at the Double R Apartments—a transient hotel really, a broken down motor court from the 1950s, on the highway between the airport and the Strip, where guys who looked like illegal immigrants stood around the courtyard by the empty swimming pool and argued over motorcycle parts. (“Double R?” said Hadley. “You know what that stands for, right? ‘Rats and Roaches.’ ”) Kotku, mercifully, didn’t accompany Boris to my house all that much, but even when she wasn’t around he talked about her constantly. Kotku had cool taste in music and had made him a mix CD with a bunch of smoking hot hip-hop that I really had to listen to. Kotku liked her pizza with green peppers and olives only. Kotku really really wanted an electronic keyboard— also a Siamese kitten, or maybe a ferret, but wasn’t allowed to have pets at the Double R. “Serious, you need to spend more time with her, Potter,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his. “You’ll like her.” “Oh come on,” I said, thinking of the smirky way she behaved around me —laughing at the wrong time, in a nasty way, always commanding me to go to the fridge to fetch her beers. “No! She likes you! She does! I mean, she thinks of you more as a little brother. That’s what she said.” “She never says a word to me.” “That’s because you don’t talk to her.” “Are you guys screwing?” Boris made an impatient noise, the sound he made when things didn’t go his way. “Dirty mind,” he said, tossing the hair out of his eyes, and then: “What? What do you think? Do you want me to make you a map?” “Draw you a map.” “Eh?” “That’s the phrase. ‘Do you want me to draw you a map.’ ” Boris rolled his eyes. Waving his hands around, he started in again about how intelligent Kotku was, how “crazy smart,” how wise she was and how much life she had lived and how unfair I was to judge her and look down on her without bothering to get to know her; but while I sat half listening to him talk, and half watching an old noir movie on television (Fallen Angel, Dana Andrews), I couldn’t help thinking about how he’d met Kotku in what was essentially Remedial Civics, the section for students who weren’t smart enough (even in our extremely non-demanding school) to pass without extra help. Boris—good at mathematics without trying and better in languages than anyone I’d ever met—had been forced into Civics for Dummies because he was a foreigner: a school requirement which he greatly resented. (“Because why? Am I likely to be someday voting for Congress?”) But Kotku— eighteen! born and raised in Clark County! American citizen, straight off of Cops!—had no such excuse. Over and over, I caught myself in mean-spirited thoughts like this, which I did my best to shake. What did I care? Yes, Kotku was a bitch; yes, she was too dumb to pass regular Civics and wore cheap hoop earrings from the drugstore that were always getting caught in things, and yes, even though she was only eighty-one pounds or whatever she still scared the hell out of me, like she might kick me to death with her pointy-toed boots if she got mad enough. (“She a little fighta nigga,” Boris himself had said boastfully at one point as he hopped around throwing out gang signs, or what he thought were gang signs, and regaling me with a story of how Kotku had pulled out a bloody chunk of some girl’s hair—this was another thing about Kotku, she was always getting in scary girl fights, mostly with other white trash girls like herself but occasionally with the real gangsta girls, who were Latina and black.) But who cared what crappy girl Boris liked? Weren’t we still friends? Best friends? Brothers practically?

Then again: there was not exactly a word for Boris and me. Until Kotku came along, I had never thought too much about it. It was just about drowsy air-conditioned afternoons, lazy and drunk, blinds closed against the glare, empty sugar packets and dried-up orange peels strewn on the carpet, “Dear Prudence” from the White Album (which Boris adored) or else the same mournful old Radiohead over and over: For a minute I lost myself, I lost myself… The glue we sniffed came on with a dark, mechanical roar, like the windy rush of propellers: engines on! We fell back on the bed into darkness, like sky divers tumbling backwards out of a plane, although—that high, that far gone —you had to be careful with the bag over your face or else you were picking dried blobs of glue out of your hair and off the end of your nose when you came to. Exhausted sleep, spine to spine, in dirty sheets that smelled of cigarette ash and dog, Popchik belly-up and snoring, subliminal whispers in the air blowing from the wall vents if you listened hard enough. Whole months passed where the wind never stopped, blown sand rattling against the windows, the surface of the swimming pool wrinkled and sinister-looking. Strong tea in the mornings, stolen chocolate. Boris yanking my hair by the handful and kicking me in the ribs. Wake up, Potter. Rise and shine. I told myself I didn’t miss him, but I did. I got stoned alone, watched Adult Access and the Playboy channel, read Grapes of Wrath and The House of the Seven Gables which seemed as if they had to be tied for the most boring book ever written, and for what felt like thousands of hours—time enough to learn Danish or play the guitar if I’d been trying—fooled around in the street with a fucked-up skateboard Boris and I had found in one of the foreclosed houses down the block. I went to swim-team parties with Hadley —no-drinking parties, with parents present—and, on the weekends, attended parents-away parties of kids I barely knew, Xanax bars and Jägermeister shots, riding home on the hissing CAT bus at two a.m. so fucked up that I had to hold the seat in front of me to keep from falling out in the aisle. After school, if I was bored, it was easy enough to go hang out with one of the big lackadaisical stoner crowds who floated around between Del Taco and the kiddie arcades on the Strip. But still I was lonely. It was Boris I missed, the whole impulsive mess of him: gloomy, reckless, hot-tempered, appallingly thoughtless. Boris pale and pasty, with his shoplifted apples and his Russian-language novels, gnaweddown fingernails and shoelaces dragging in the dust. Boris—budding alcoholic, fluent curser in four languages—who snatched food from my plate when he felt like it and nodded off drunk on the floor, face red like he’d been slapped. Even when he took things without asking, as he all too frequently did —little things were always disappearing, DVDs and school supplies from my locker, more than once I’d caught him going through my pockets for money —his own possessions meant so little to him that somehow it wasn’t stealing; whenever he came into cash himself, he split it with me down the middle and anything that belonged to him, he gave me gladly if I asked for it (and sometimes when I didn’t, as when Mr. Pavlikovsky’s gold lighter, which I’d admired in passing, turned up in the outside pocket of my backpack). The funny thing: I’d worried, if anything, that Boris was the one who was a little too affectionate, if affectionate is the right word. The first time he’d turned in bed and draped an arm over my waist, I lay there half-asleep for a moment, not knowing what to do: staring at my old socks on the floor, empty beer bottles, my paperbacked copy of The Red Badge of Courage. At last— embarrassed—I faked a yawn and tried to roll away, but instead he sighed and pulled me closer, with a sleepy, snuggling motion. Ssh, Potter, he whispered, into the back of my neck. Is only me.

It was weird. Was it weird? It was; and it wasn’t. I’d fallen back to sleep shortly after, lulled by his bitter, beery unwashed smell and his breath easy in my ear. I was aware I couldn’t explain it without making it sound like more than it was. On nights when I woke strangled with fear there he was, catching me when I started up terrified from the bed, pulling me back down in the covers beside him, muttering in nonsense Polish, his voice throaty and strange with sleep. We’d drowse off in each other’s arms, listening to music from my iPod (Thelonious Monk, the Velvet Underground, music my mother had liked) and sometimes wake clutching each other like castaways or much younger children. And yet (this was the murky part, this was what bothered me) there had also been other, way more confusing and fucked-up nights, grappling around half-dressed, weak light sliding in from the bathroom and everything haloed and unstable without my glasses: hands on each other, rough and fast, kickedover beers foaming on the carpet—fun and not that big of a deal when it was actually happening, more than worth it for the sharp gasp when my eyes rolled back and I forgot about everything; but when we woke the next morning stomach-down and groaning on opposite sides of the bed it receded into an incoherence of backlit flickers, choppy and poorly lit like some experimental film, the unfamiliar twist of Boris’s features fading from memory already and none of it with any more bearing on our actual lives than a dream. We never spoke of it; it wasn’t quite real; getting ready for school we threw shoes, splashed water at each other, chewed aspirin for our hangovers, laughed and joked around all the way to the bus stop. I knew people would think the wrong thing if they knew, I didn’t want anyone to find out and I knew Boris didn’t either, but all the same he seemed so completely untroubled by it that I was fairly sure it was just a laugh, nothing to take too seriously or get worked up about. And yet, more than once, I had wondered if I should step up my nerve and say something: draw some kind of line, make things clear, just to make absolutely sure he didn’t have the wrong idea. But the moment had never come. Now there was no point in speaking up and being awkward about the whole thing, though I scarcely took comfort in the fact. I hated how much I missed him. There was a lot of drinking going on at my house, on Xandra’s end anyway, a lot of slammed doors (“Well, if it wasn’t me, it had to be you,” I heard her yelling); and without Boris there (they were both more constrained with Boris in the house) it was harder. Part of the problem was that Xandra’s hours at the bar had changed—schedules at her work had been moved; she was under a lot of stress, people she’d worked with were gone, or on different shifts; on Wednesdays and Mondays when I got up for school, I often found her just in from work, sitting alone in front of her favorite morning show too wired to sleep and swigging Pepto-Bismol straight from the bottle.

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italicwatches · 6 years

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Laid-Back Camp - Episode 12

Alright, the last hurrah. One last camping trip with these girls. Let’s see how it goes. It’s Laid-Back Camp, episode 12! Here we GO!

-We begin…In a possible future. Rin’s camping ways have continued, and she’s taken more after her grandfather, with a cool motorcycle and sweet boots. She arrives to a campsite to find the others already waiting for her. Chiaki’s become the new Toba-sensei, treating all camping trips as an excuse to get her booze on…Well, I said the others, but Nadeshiko is a ways out still. In this fantasy, Nadeshiko didn’t just keep camping…She now owns a camping gear company, bringing American styled equipment to Japan. Also, Aoi still hasn’t lost her fang…

-And Nadeshiko arrives…On…

-Good.

-Fucking.

-God.

-She’s in the flying tent from the opening.

-So obviously this is our title-card shot. As much as I love all the other shots of the girls all grown up…I mean, come on.

-And this is all Nadeshiko’s idea of what it’ll be like when they’re all grown up. Which explains a lot. And Rin’s gotten back with stuff! Yayyyyy.

-Opening! So here’s the magic question for you: In Nadeshiko’s possible-future, did she imagine herself and Rin being married?

-Episode 12: Mount Fuji and the Laid-Back Camp Girls

-So doggo has to go. He’s picked up by Ena’s family to go back home to warm bed, while the others scrub their dishes and ask the question of who’s gonna take advantage of the actual baths first. Well, Toba-sensei is out.

-In the end, Aoi, Ena and Chiaki end up in the bath, in an actual proper hot bath no less. Which leaves Rin and Nadeshiko to stay warm around the fire, and they end up asking Toba-sensei if she doesn’t mind being out here all alone instead of with her lover…

-…That was her sister she was with, you dorks. Anyways, all of this gender and romance confusion has Nadeshiko so off-tilt that she ends up outright asking Chiaki if she’s a girl or not when the others get back. Do you want to die?

-So round two of the baths, chatting with Toba-sensei. Who has a camping history not entirely dissimilar to Rin’s, though hers is more group-oriented. Her dad was a huge outdoorsy type when she was a kid, so the whole family would practically be out every weekend in the summers. Her sister picked up the bug full-force, and she tags along.

-Also speaking of camping, Rin still doesn’t know what that thing she saw in the darkness was. It was your teacher. Aaanyways, by the time they get back from the bath, everyone’s done their hair up in a Shimarin Bun. Nadeshiko is surrounded by Shimarins and it’s wonderful! Rin is quietly a bit mad at that name.

-So Nadeshiko has enough hair that she gets the true Shimarin treatment: Having Ena do something ridiculous to her head. Which she doesn’t see until they take a selfie together. Alas, Nadeshiko. But now they’ve kind of used up their tasks, but it’s too early to sleep…

-So Chiaki has a treat. You know outdoor film festivals, and vintage American drive-ins, and all that? (GOD I wish I could justify using that shot of Anime To the Future) Well Chiaki just signed up for a data plan and streaming services for her tablet! It’s not quite a grand projector, but they can just dive deep until they forget what time is!

-Eventually they’re all tapped out…Until everyone else is asleep, and it’s just Nadeshiko and Rin with their heads poking out of Rin’s tent way off on their own, looking up at the stars. They end up talking about all the shows and stuff they watched, and possible journeys, and New Year’s plans, and just…just talking. I’m not sure if Rin will do these big group trips very often, but I think it’s clear she’ll be doing a lot of these little trips with Nadeshiko.

-And they doze right off, as quiet comes over the campsites…And all is peaceful…

-Until the first alarm goes off. It’s 5 AM Christmas day, and Rin wakes up next to Nadeshiko, just the two of them. I’m not saying they��re a few months at most away from one of them suddenly realizing “FUCK we’re a couple when did that happen crap crap crap what’s the anniversary is it the day we met WHAT DO I GET HER”, but it was aliens.

-Also Nadeshiko you promised to make breakfast so get out of that mummy bag and make with the grub.

-Of course, Rin ends up helping…And by the time the others gather, it’s a truly traditional meal. Some grilled salmon, a miso soup, rice, even natto. Exactly what a certain hungover teacher needs to clear her head. And as they all get their grub on…The sun tips over the horizon, and it is just magic. That first light, when your eyes have adjusted to the pre-dawn, is so overwhelming, and just…Amazing.

-Of course, then comes the end of the trip. The loading of gear, the packing up of campsites. Daily coming to pick various folks up, and of course, one last photo of them all together before they scatter.

-Cut to a new day at the bookstore. Rin’s just hanging out behind the counter…And she’s thinking she wants to go somewhere for New Year’s…Which is when Ena shows up, buying a magazine on winter camping.

-Over at school, Chiaki leads the crew on a full cleanup of their club room! …That took like two minutes. Until they get Rin or Ena to actually sign on, it’s the cramped storage room for another semester. And tragically, they’re both working through the New Year’s holiday, so they can’t even go camping together…Well, except for Nadeshiko, who can’t find work.

-Cue Rin texting with a PLAN. Ena got a temp job printing and delivering new year’s cards and they need more warm bodies. It’s only a week or two of work, but Nadeshiko’s super excited at getting some cash to turn into camping gear.

-And at last, the credits song plays, as we montage over a quiet calm for all involved with the sun low in the sky. Rin’s scooter dutifully parked by her humble home. Ena’s doggo wrapped up snug in his doggo bed. Nadeshiko’s sister after another road trip to a picturesque sight. Rin’s grampa watching the sun set from his latest campsite. Nadeshiko’s folks coming home with groceries. Toba-sensei’s sister setting up camp, and she herself wrapping up a day of teaching.

-And in that little storage hall, a few more photos added to Nadeshiko’s wall…Including the one magical shot that started the series, of them all together…

-Aftercredits! And not a skit, either. It’s post-New Years, the back end of winter turning into spring, and Nadeshiko’s pedaling her humble little bike, with its rack and her bag both full of kit, to a certain campground…It’s a hard ride, but she finally makes it, checks in, and finds herself nearly alone at a pristine lake. The very place where she met Rin, damn near the exact same spot, as she dutifully puts together her setup. Her tent, her little table…And her own little treat, the gas lantern she saw in the shop that day. It’s a perfect, gorgeous setup…

-When Rin texts asking if she’s working. She’s actually out on the road, and just got to her campsite! And thus they get talking, both of them out camping solo, as Nadeshiko hides where she’s gone, until she sends the photo…And Rin’s comes in…And she’s not even a hundred feet back. They both had the same idea and came to the same place. These adorable precious girls.

And that’s a wrap.

I…Damn, this one somehow feels way heavier than it should. The show’s just so warm and comfy that I don’t want to leave it. But there’s no more left(unless they do a second season COME ON YOU COWARDS), and thus there’s no choice.

I mean, except for the fact that I obviously have already made bookmarks for the manga to chew on.

It is no mistake that this show caused a lot of people to want to go camping. This was…Damn, this was real close to perfect for me, and quite frankly the only things that would’ve made it better would be trading some archetypes around to pander to my specific tastes, rather than actually doing anything objectively higher quality.

And that fucking ending. That last shot. That was just…Pretend your favorite meme image of a chef’s kiss is here, because that was perfect.

So what’s coming up now that we did that? A hard pivot to the exact opposite of this warm comfy slice-of-life stuff, and also me trying blatantly to build my presence Tumblr-side with a big-pop. You’ll see. Wait for it!

#where I watch #recap #anime #laid-back camp #yuru camp

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skylarmiller04-blog · 6 years

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James Dean- The Rebel With a Cause

In the past few years, Taylor Swift has become a well-recognized singer who appeals to young girls and teenagers. All six of her albums have had hit songs and one of her most recent albums, 1989, stayed the number one hit album for a record amount of time. That album happened to include Style, a song written about Harry Styles and their time together. The song used catchy lyrics, had a nice beat to it, and the words happened to stick in my head. In it, she compares Harry Styles to James Dean by making the reference, “you’ve got that James Dean daydream look in your eyes” (Swift 2014). Not many people can say that they have a look named after them, but James Dean can. As much as I don’t like to admit it, I didn’t really know who James Dean was until I heard Swift’s song. After listening to Style I was curious on who James Dean was and proceeded to research him. I found out that he was an actor in the fifties prior to his tragic death at the age of twenty-four. I don’t know if I could pinpoint what exactly it is that draws me in towards James Dean, but he certainly interests me and I hope to figure out why. Even though he died at a young age, James Dean is considered “a Cool original,” to many people, like Pountain and Robins, the authors of Cool Rules: Anatomy of an Attitude (70). Not only has he had songs written about him, like James Dean by the Eagles, but people, like James Franco, have styled themselves after him. Having managed to become an iconic actor after starring in only three movies, Dean’s level of influence is unprecedented. Something I have noticed about James Dean is that there is not just one thing that draws my attention towards him. Not only was he attractive, but he was also a rebel both on the screen and in real life. As sad as it is to admit it, I have not met a rebel and am starting to think that I haven’t met any rebels and cool people because the first thing they tend to do is drop out of school and I have been in school all of my life. Something that is essential to cool is dropping out of school, which Gwendolyn Brooks argued for in her poem, We Real Cool, by writing “we real cool. We left school” (1). It’s a known fact that cool people tend to drop out of school; just look at Rihanna, Charles Dickens, and Elton John. They chose to abandon the education system to pursue their passions. And let’s not forget that Marlon Brando was expelled for riding a motorcycle down his school’s hallway. The bottom line is that cool people do not stay in school. Whether they leave voluntarily or not, they are still leaving and that is what matters. So it is no surprise that in 1951, James Dean dropped out of the University of California, Los Angeles to pursue acting. That was a cool move on his behalf, and his acting career skyrocketed afterwards. If I were given the option to drop out, I don’t think I would take it. To me the surest path to success is by attending and graduating college. Sure I could drop out and become the next Steve Jobs or James Dean, but the odds of that happening are low. While this may not be the coolest move on my behalf, I am going to fully commit to school, not just cruise on by. I am going to take a rigorous course load, actually learn what is being taught and not just memorize information for tests, and I am going to be proud of graduating from college. School isn’t for everyone, that’s why people leave it when the opportunity arises, but others stay in school and that’s fine too. Despite what Brooks argued, I don’t necessarily think school is uncool. I think it has more to do with the amount of effort people put to their education. If one don’t want to put in the work, then he should drop out. But if he stays in the system, he should really commit to it and take control of his learning. After all, control plays an integral role in cool and if people have control over their education, then to me that makes it cool. As aforementioned, James Dean starred in three movies prior to his death- Rebel Without a Cause, East of Eden, and Giant. In Rebel Without a Cause, Dean took on the role of a high schooler named Jim Stark who recently moved to a new town and didn’t really start off on the right foot there. In fact, the film began with him passed out in the middle of a street where police officers found him and took him to the station (Ray 1955). If that doesn’t scream rebel, then I don’t know what does. James Dean perfected the role of being a rebel in Rebel Without a Cause. The title of the movie clearly speaks for itself and James Dean set the path for teenage rebels of future generations to come. James Dean was known for being one of the first teenagers in America. In the past, people were either boy or man, girl or woman. But, Dean managed to create this in-between space that didn’t really exist before. Of course people still went through the ages of thirteen to nineteen, but they took on more of an adult role. For instance, when my grandparents were nineteen, they were already married and my grandfather started a construction company. But at nineteen, James Dean was attending UCLA trying to figure out what he would do with his life, kind of like what I am currently doing. Right now, I am at UM trying to figure out what I want to major in, if I want to transfer universities, and what I want to do with my life. These are all major decisions to make in today’s world, but this was uncommon in the past. Teens prior to Dean, and myself, did not have that privilege, they had more responsibilities and had to take care of themselves and sometimes their families. Thus, James Dean created the American teenager. Something worth noting is that Dean didn’t only create the American teenager, he also created the rebel. While some people thought this teenage rebellion was a ploy for attention, and a phase angsty kids go through, others sympathized with Dean and saw him as “a rebel with a cause, and that cause was escape from the suffocating web of family ties, school, suburban respectability and labour discipline that the new ‘mass society’ imposed” (Pountain and Robins 70). In other words, he was rebelling against things I am drawn towards. Just because Dean got to live the life of a teenager doesn’t mean his life was easy. In fact, he was mostly raised by his aunt and uncle after his mother passed away when he was nine. The death of a parent deeply affects and influences a child and I’m sure Dean was no exception, perhaps this is where his fascination with the macabre came from. Also, let’s not forget that while he was living with his aunt and uncle, Dean was molested by Reverend James DeWeerd (“James Dean Biography”). This is another area where Dean and I differ. The most difficult thing I have had to deal with was my parents getting a divorce. Perhaps this was the event that triggered Dean to have sexual encounters with many people, like Marlon Brando, Marilyn Monroe, Steve McQueen, and Pier Angeli, or perhaps that abuse was part of what added to his broody, mysterious, and rebellious aura. Something I find it ironic is that James Dean wasn’t an advocate for teenage rebellion even though he symbolized it. In fact, he advocated for teens to do the opposite and follow the rules. For instance, during an interview with a sheriff Dean was asked how he felt about teenagers speeding. He responded by saying people shouldn’t drive fast because it’s not safe and is dangerous. But he seemed to be a into hypocrisy considering he died speeding in a Porsche. So, while Dean might not have verbally encouraged this kind of teenage rebellion, his actions made him the epitome of it. To me, this is uncool. His actions and words contradicted each other. I hate it when people, like my grandfather, tell me, “do as I say, not as I do.” If I am supposed to act in the way someone is telling me to, but they don’t act that way, then why should I? Perhaps that was why teens didn’t heed Dean’s advice on driving the speed limit. Maybe they figured that if he wouldn’t take his own advice, then why should we? In this instance, I think they were cooler than he was. I’m also fascinated that James Dean’s motto seemed to be “live fast, die young, [and] leave a good looking corpse,” which he did all of the above (“James Dean Quotes”). He was constantly involved in risky activities, like smoking, speeding, and racing, died at a young age, and was quite handsome at that time. It makes me wonder if his mindset made it inevitable that he would die young. If he didn’t die on September 30th, would he have died the next day, month, or year? Once again I don’t have an answer to this, no one does, but when one involve himself in activities like he did, death is a factor that needs to be acknowledged. Something cool that I think James Dean did was that he seemed to acknowledge the fact that life is about balancing living and dying. He, like many cool people, flirted with death. He acknowledged the fact that at some point he will die and there is no in acting like immortality is a thing. My father once told me there are two things you have do in life, pay taxes and die. So when you acknowledge death, you can dance and flirt with it by pushing the boundaries of living that border death. James Dean’s favorite way to flirt with death was by driving fast cars and breaking speed limits. This is portrayed in the Eagles song, James Dean, in which they wrote “along came a Spyder and picked up a rider” (Eagles). James Dean wasn’t nicknamed ‘One Speed Dean’ for no reason. His one speed was fast and that ended up costing him his life. He even received a speeding ticket hours before his death, but that didn’t slow him down. So sometimes flirting with death, means that death wins, but eventually everyone will die. It is an inevitable truth humans cannot escape. No matter how hard one tries, he cannot outrun death, even I am guilty of trying to avoid death. I go to Zumba classes and eat kale and quinoa salads somehow thinking that this will increase my chances of outrunning death, even though I know that’s impossible. This is uncool on my behalf seeing as humans cannot control when they die. But sometimes the unexpected happens and death comes earlier than expected. James Dean was no exception to this. In fact, Pountain and Robins argue that Dean’s “untimely death in a car crash sealed his status as Cool’s first martyr” (70). As aforementioned, James Dean died at the age of twenty-four. This makes me wonder, do we regard him as highly as we do because he died so young? James Dean only starred in three movies before he died. That isn’t a lot to base a movie career on. Think about it, Robert Redford and Clint Eastwood have both starred in over forty-five movies each. That shows that they are both actors have strong acting skills that make them sought after to star in movies, but James Dean doesn’t have that kind of track record, per se. The three movies he starred in, he received praise for, but if he didn’t crash his Porsche on September 30, 1955, would his career have continued to carry on the upward trend it was on or would it have plateaued or even plummeted? While no one knows the answer to this question, it is interesting to think about. Also, James Dean would’ve not only continued to act if he didn’t die, but he also would’ve continued to age. It would be interesting to see what he would’ve looked like as he grew older. I think one of the reasons people, like Pountain and Robins, regard James Dean as “a Cool original,” is because he was and is so attractive (70). Thanks to photography becoming more widespread in the twentieth century, James Dean was captured on film quite frequently, which wasn’t common in the past. These photos show what James Dean represents and why he is considered attractive to many people, including myself. In one of his many pictures, Dean is shown reading a large book, The Complete Poetical Works by James Whitcomb Riley, at a kitchen table while smoking at the same time (Farr). Not only is smoking an act of rebellion, but it is also wildly attractive, especially when caught on camera. The way Dean is holding the cigarette in his hand is almost as if he is dangling it between two fingers (Farr). In fact, he doesn’t really have a grip on it. He manages to hold the cigarette in a nonchalant and subtle way that if one were to glimpse at the picture, he might overlook it. Not only is the cigarette an attractive aspect of the picture, but the glasses he is wearing and the book he is holding are as well. As stereotypical as it may be, when I see someone reading a book, I think they are intellectual and that makes them attractive. And the round eyeglasses Dean is wearing give him a touch of geek chic. Something that is cool about James Dean in this photo is the fact that he isn’t smiling at the camera like most people do. In fact, he isn’t even looking at the camera- he’s reading his book (Farr). That’s a cool move, he’s not being cheesy and smiling like most people, including myself, would do. James Dean’s pose is not the only attractive part of him in the picture. He himself is attractive. He’s both young and handsome, and that essence is captured in this photo, like all James Dean photos considering he did not live past the age of twenty-four. Not only was his face wrinkle free, but his hair was still on his head and he was sporting the messy bed head (Farr). His hair wasn’t neat and gelled back, it was messy and unkempt, standing up in different directions, and yet he still looked attractive, maybe even more so. I think this James Dean is attractive in this picture because he managed to do so in an effortless way. But, I don’t think I would see him as attractive as I do if he lived to grow older seeing as some people do not age well. Another thing worth noting is that Dean lived and acted in the mid-fifties, which was roughly seventy-two years ago. A lot of things have happened in those seventy-two years. People have walked the moon, started carrying phones on them, and constantly use the Internet which was nonexistent in 1955. Society has changed drastically and while people, like myself, may not want to admit it, it affects who they are. If James Dean was born sixty years later than he was, I’m sure he would still be a rebel today, but it would be interesting to see society’s effect on him.

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