#Suburban Taxis

[northerntaxis]

The Ultimate Guide to North Suburban Taxis and Melbourne Airport Taxi Services

Navigating Melbourne can be a daunting task, especially if you’re unfamiliar with the city. When it comes to getting to and from the airport, stress can be even more important. That’s where the North Suburban Taxis and Melbourne airport taxi services come in, making it easy, comfortable and reliable. This guide will delve into why choosing these services can make your travel experience seamless and enjoyable.

Why Choose North Suburban Taxis?

North Suburban Taxis Serving the Melbourne area for many years, building a reputation for reliability and excellent customer service. Whether you are a local or a visitor, here are a few reasons why you should choose North Suburban Taxis:

1. Availability: A unique feature of North Suburban Taxis11 is their availability. They operate 24/7, ensuring that you can still get a ride whenever you need it, day or night.

2. Safety: Safety is paramount when it comes to taxi service. North Suburban Taxis Make sure all their drivers are properly vetted and trained. Their vehicles are regularly inspected and maintained to ensure safe travel.

3. Comfort: Provides a North Suburban Taxis comfortable ride with modern well-equipped vehicles. Whether you’re attending a business meeting or exploring the city, you can count on a smooth and enjoyable trip.

Melbourne airport taxi service: The Best Way to Travel

Getting to and from the airport can be stressful. Melbourne Airport taxi service is designed to alleviate that stress, and offers benefits that make it desirable to many travelers:

1. Time management: Time is everything when flying. Melbourne airport taxi service He prides himself on being punctual. Their drivers know the best roads and traffic, ensuring you reach the airport in plenty of time.

2. Convenience: Booking Melbourne airport taxi service is surprisingly convenient. If you have the option to book online or over the phone you can secure your car in advance, avoiding any last-minute hassles.

3. Fixed Rates: Unlike ride-sharing services whose prices can fluctuate, Melbourne airport taxi service usually offers fixed rates. This transparency ensures that you know exactly how much your trip will cost, and avoids any surprise fees.

They are not interrupted

For those unfamiliar with the city, getting to and from the airport can be a challenge. The options provided by Melbourne Airport Transport North Suburban Taxis are designed to provide you with a hassle-free experience. Melbourne airport transport here has a notable function:

1. Meet and Greet: Melbourne airport transport more functionality includes a meet and greet option. Your driver will be waiting for you at the arrivals desk, ready to help you with your luggage and guide you to your taxi town.

2. Customized Service: Whether you are traveling solo or with a group, it can be Melbourne airport transport customized to your specific needs. From sedans to luxury cars, it’s the perfect choice for every traveler.

3. Local Experts: Drivers offering Melbourne airport transport are often well-known in the area. This local knowledge can be invaluable, especially if you’re visiting Melbourne for the first time.

The Convenience of Booking

Booking North Suburban Taxis or Melbourne airport taxi service is easy. With user-friendly websites and apps, you can book your vehicle in just a few clicks. Here’s how it’s done.

1. Online Booking: Visit North Suburban Taxis or your favorite Melbourne airport taxi service's official website. Enter your details, select your vehicle and confirm your booking.

2. Mobile Apps: Melbourne airport transport Many businesses offer mobile apps, making it even easier to book while traveling. 

Selecting North Suburban Taxis or Melbourne Airport taxi service ensures a stress-free and comfortable travel experience. With a commitment to safety, punctuality and customer satisfaction, these services are the best way to travel to Melbourne. Next time you are planning to travel to or from the airport, consider booking the Melbourne airport transport service for easy travel.

[fazcinatingblog]

More like IF I come back amirite, also stop making me feel guilty, also learn to spell (paralegal? Parallel? ...never mind doesn't parramatta), also like it's my fault she hires 53 accountants that can only do accounting and 1 admin person to send out the tax returns and invoices and

[ohisms]

↪     𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , updated .     (  a  collection  of  various  settings  meant  to  inspire  drabbles  or  be  used  as  prompts .   )

001.   the seaside ,  as the sun is setting .

002.   a cabin in the middle of the woods .

003.   a picket-fenced home in the suburbs .

004.   a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .

005.   a private jet miles high in the sky .

006.   a funhouse’s room of mirrors .

007.   an office building ,  bustling and busy .

008.   the back row of an empty movie theater .

009.   a run - down motel room .

010.   a loud house party on a suburban street .

011.   a university lecture hall during a class .

012.   the rooftop of a very tall building .

013.   a great ballroom during an elegant party .

014.   the back of a wailing ambulance .

015.   the wine cellar of a large mansion .

016.   behind the school’s gymnasium .

017.   a boisterous bonfire at the lakeside .

018.   an otherwise empty parking lot .

019.   the shady bar of a noisy , dark club .

020.  the grounds of an empty summer camp .

021.   a large hedge maze ,  easy to get lost in .

022.   a neglected or derelict treehouse .

023.   a spacious ,  light-filled meadow .

024.   an underground illegal fighting club .

025.   an abandoned scrapyard .

026.   a large penthouse overlooking the city .

027.    an apple orchard in the middle of spring .

028.   an empty playground with squeaky swings .

029.   an extravagant greenhouse .

030.   the base of a large waterfall .

031.    a spacious walk - in closet full of lovely clothes .

032.   a solemnly quiet hospital room .

033.   the dark depths of an abandoned mine .

034.   the deck of a fishing boat at night .

035.   the thick crowd of an audience at a show .

036.   a long ,  winding road .

037.   the scene of a violent crime .

038.   a fork in a hiking trail deep in the wilderness .

039.   a cramped dressing room .

040.   a dusty antiques shop full of relics .

041.   the street of an unfamiliar city at night .

042.   between the tall shelves of a thrifted book shop .

043.   a building abandoned during construction .

044.   a house without power or running water .

045.   a mysterious trail found in the woods .

046.   the back of a taxi stuck in traffic .

047.    the inside of an elevator that won’t move .

048.   fairgrounds during a large event  (or after hours) .

049.   a garden bountiful with flowers or produce .

050.   a childhood home or bedroom .

+   30  more  setting  prompts :    1 / 3 / 2024

051. the site of a horrible accident .

052. a closed pool , after everyone has left .

053. a home holding horrific memories .

054. by the side of a dangerously quick river .

055. a private hotel room .

056. a police station in the middle of the night .

057. a ferris wheel carriage under a sky of fireworks .

058. a lavish , invite - only party .

059. a public transit stop as rain is pouring down .

060. the back of a taxi going in the wrong direction .

061. the underworld .

062. a dusty , forgotten attic .

063. on the set of a television show or movie .

064. a lighthouse overlooking the raging sea .

065. in a post - apocalyptic bunker .

066. on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest coast .

067. on the rooftop of a perilously tall building .

068. a tent pitched in the middle of the woods .

069. a crowded stadium during a football game .

070. the morgue during an identification .

071. an otherwise empty library during a late study session .

072. a place that feels familiar , yet you've never been here before .

073. a long hallway that seems to stretch on forever .

074. a signpost at the start of a hiking trail .

075. a bar or tavern bustling with life .

076. the dance floor of a masquerade ball .

077. inside of a car parked in a secluded area .

078. at the edge of a cliff overlooking a large lake .

079. inside a very old house with very old haunts .

080. the antiseptic interior of a space station .

[faithshouseofchaos]

Can you do a webber!reader x daniel fic? idk the plot I’ll leave that up to you

“Maybe you can be like my dad one day” — Daniel Ricciardo x fem!webber reader

Word count— 1065

Fluff

As Daniel emerged from the bustling airport, he paused to take a deep breath, letting the familiar scents of his hometown fill his lungs. The warmth of the sun greeted him, a stark contrast to the cold air from the plane he had just disembarked. He shifted his luggage to get more comfortable, glancing at his watch as he waited for you to arrive.

After a long and exhausting week filled with meetings and travel, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. The thought of home—his bed, his favorite meals, and the comforting routine of everyday life—made him smile.

As the taxi pulled into his suburban driveway, Daniel's heart quickened. He could already picture you waiting for him with a warm smile, and a welcoming embrace. He reached for his wallet, paid the driver, and stepped out onto the gravel.

His weary eyes scanned the front door as he made his way up the steps, anticipation building. The sound of cicadas and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, reminding him of countless summer evenings spent in the yard with you.

With each step, Daniel felt himself shedding the stress and exhaustion of his travels. As he reached the front door, he paused for a moment, steadying himself before turning the key and pushing it open.

The door creaked softly, and he was immediately enveloped in a familiar, welcoming warmth.

"I'm home," he called, his voice carrying an undertone of both weariness and eagerness.

He dropped his luggage on the floor, his eyes darting around the room, seeking your presence. The house was quiet, but he knew you were there somewhere—cooking, perhaps, or maybe curled up on the couch with a book, waiting for his arrival.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He could already sense the comfort that awaited him.

“I’m in the kitchen baby!” Daniel heard you call out to him. Daniel's smile widened as he heard your voice coming from the kitchen. He followed the sound, his steps light and quick.

As he entered the kitchen, his eyes found you immediately, and he felt his heart swell with affection. He took a moment to simply look at you, admiring the way your hair fell across your shoulders, the way the sunlight streamed in through the window, framing your face.

Without a word, he approached you, his arms enveloping you in a tight embrace. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of your skin, and let out a deep sigh of contentment. The exhaustion and stress of the week seemed to melt away with your touch.

"I missed you," he mumbled, his voice muffled against your neck. "God, I missed you."

He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping your face. His eyes roamed over your features, taking in every tiny detail as if reacquainting himself with a beloved landscape.

His thumb traced a gentle path across your cheek, then moved down to your lips, lightly caressing the soft skin. A mixture of tiredness and longing in his gaze. He gently rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he reveled in the comfort of your closeness. His fingers found their way into your hair, the soft strands slipping through them like silk.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stood there, holding you, breathing you in—like a man lost in the desert finally finding an oasis.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, referring to the fact that only the day before he had lost his F1 seat.

Daniel's shoulders tensed at the question. Talking about it would force him to confront the disappointment and uncertainty again. But at the same time, he longed to pour his heart out to you, to share his fears and frustrations.

He let out a heavy sigh, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes.

"It's been a rough day," he admitted, his voice laden with both exhaustion and resignation. "Losing my seat...it's not easy to digest."

He stepped back fully now, giving himself space. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as a shield, but his gaze remained fixed on you, seeking comfort and understanding.

"I just... I don't know what I'm going to do now. I've given my life to racing, and now I feel like it's all falling apart," he confessed, the vulnerability in his tone raw and unguarded.

“Oh Danny, I’m sorry. It wasn’t easy for my dad when he retired, but he found a way to adapt and thrive in this new chapter of his life. I remember how challenging it was for him at first—the sudden shift from a structured work routine to having all that free time. However, he managed to channel his energy into something meaningful. He took on the role of a manager and mentor, guiding Oscar to become a great racer. It transformed him, and I think it’s incredible to see how fulfilled he is now. Who knows, maybe one day you could follow in his footsteps and become a mentor too, just like my dad, Mark Webber!”Daniel leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, absorbing your words. The mention of your dad and the parallels you drew gave him some comfort.

He considered your words, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You know, I wouldn't mind being like your dad. Managing a team, and mentoring other drivers. But can you imagine me in a suit and tie all the time?" he teased, the hint of a laugh in his voice.

But beneath the light-hearted humor, there was a hint of longing. Daniel had indeed thought about what came next, the options he had outside of driving.

He pushed himself up from the counter, closing the distance between you once more. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you close to him again.

"It's just... scary," he admitted, the weight of his predicament settling onto his shoulders. "I've never had to think about life outside of racing. That's all I know".

He looked down at you, his gaze seeking reassurance. "But hey, if your dad made it work, then I'll figure something out too, right?"

Despite the uncertainty, he found hope in your presence, in the way you held him. With you by his side, he felt stronger, more capable of facing whatever lay ahead.

[afternoondreaming]

No Business Like Show Business (2/?)

Back at it again with the white Vans! (Does- Does anyone remember that? Am I getting too old?) Aaaanyways, we’re slowly gettin’ into it now! It began to get a bit too long, so Mr. Funny will just have to explain his shenanigans next time. Also, just letting ya’ll know, this is probably gonna be canon divergent. And I swear it’s gonna get funnier dw. You’re just a bit of a stick-in-the-mud right now.

The taxi you had hailed all the way out here skidded its tires slightly as it sped off. It had been a surprisingly long drive over to Puzzlevision— and an odd one, at that. You lived far away, and so as not to get sick, you avoided using your cell on the drive. It gave you ample time to watch the scenery, which seemed to gradually change the closer you got. Almost imperceptibly everything around you got more… Saturated. Colors showing brighter, eventually becoming almost painful to the eyes. It was reminiscent of color correction for TV, but why in the world would that be a natural effect?

You were aware that the world contained- for lack of a better phrase- an interesting cast of characters. Creatures of all shapes and sizes roaming about. You, however, lived in a painfully average area. Typical sights, typical people, and typical suburban antics. So far removed from the more fanatical aspects of life. Sure, you’d seen the occasional toad around town, but that was as exotic as it got. If even the nature around here was exceptionally strange, what would the people be like…?

That was another strange aspect you were noticing as you stood with your portfolio in the parking lot. There were no cars. No bikes. No sign of any human being inhabiting the studio that stood before you. Even the painted parking lines were noticeably faded, asphalt cracking and heaving from lack of care. You had the right address, you knew that. And you were certainly well within business hours. So where was everyone? With hesitant steps you began to walk to the entrance, fiddling with your portfolio and outfit with much more than pre-interview jitters. At the very least, you had told Tori where you were going, and your phone location was on. If you truly needed it, you could get someone to help you… Hopefully.

You let out a calming exhale before opening the door. Which quickly backfired, as the motion kicked up a huge cloud of dust. Sputtering out coughs you waved your hand in front of you to try to clear the air. Was this truly an abandoned building? As you got a better look, you became more assured of that thought. All of the furniture was dated and caked in a thick layer of dust. Though, you did notice a pair of footprints on the floor. Marking what must have been a frequently trodden path. What had you gotten yourself into? You turned heel, beginning to walk out so you could call a cab home. Suddenly your movement was halted by a heavy hand coming down on your shoulder. You couldn’t help the sound of surprise that escaped your mouth, jumping slightly and turning to see whomever it was. Slowly your gaze went up, up, up… Oh God. This man was towering! You liked to consider yourself of average height, and even then, your gaze would meet his midsection if you didn’t crane your neck.

A TV’s glow was what met your gaze, a neutral expression displayed upon it. So… He really was a television. Seeing him in interviews a couple of times, you weren’t exactly shocked. But… It was still slightly jarring in person. Everything about him but his color testing bars were in grayscale, like he stepped out of the classic silver screen. Rather fitting, you supposed. “Uh, hello? Puzzlevision to interviewee? I asked you a question.” The man ‘spoke’, if you could call it that, picture flipping to something akin to confusion.

You quickly corrected your agape expression, straightening your posture. “Oh goodness, I’m sorry. I guess I was a bit star struck…!” You laughed awkwardly, trying not to be stiff as a board. He removed his hand from your shoulder, striking a confident pose. He moved… oddly. It wasn’t fluid, but certainly exaggerated.

“Aha! Of course you were!” He looked awfully pleased with himself, yet surprised at the same time. “Your call for employment was answered by the one and only: Mr. Puzzles!” The titular Mr. Puzzles held the pose for a moment longer before returning to a neutral stance and face.

“Uh, yeah…” Mumbling, you reached out your hand for a handshake. Looks like flattery would get you pretty far here. If you didn’t hold yourself to higher standards, perhaps you’d use that to your advantage. “Still, my apologies. Lemme introduce myself, I’m-“

“Yes, yes, I know who you are, my rising star!” He interrupted you, turning around without shaking your extended hand as he began to walk. Apparently, he just expected you to follow. “I sent you a response, after all!”

“Wait-“ You started, beginning to speed walk in order to keep up with the long legged man. “I’m not a new actor…! I got a letter for the screenwriter position!” Was he getting a whole new staff?

“Again- I’ll repeat myself- I know.” Mr. Puzzles responded, his voice crackling with a flamboyant sarcasm. “I only hired a screenwriter- no actors. I just find your name lacking a certain… star power, is all!” …Had he just played a laugh track for his own joke? You found yourself frowning behind his back as you followed him. “It's terribly drab, my friend!” The man opened the door to another dusty room, gesturing for you to step inside just as you made yourself look less annoyed. “For someone like yourself? You need a title worthy of someone working at Puzzlevision~! You’ve headed multiple successful projects, but never having done so on your own. Someone with talent, but not successful enough to avoid being poached!” This was beginning to feel more insulting by the second. “Therefore! A rising star, an up-and-coming powerhouse, a starlet!”

“Now, wait a moment.” Hesitantly you spoke up as you began to sit down on the terribly dusty chair. There goes the dry cleaning fee you paid. “You’re right. I have headed multiple successful projects. But, screenwriters don’t work alone. I would’ve never done that because that’s not how it works.”

“Well, you’ll have to start now, because that’s how it works at Puzzlevision!” Mr. Puzzles sat across from you, unbothered by dust or grime as he crossed a leg and leaned one elbow on the table. “Besides having my expert guidance and leadership, Starlet, you’ll be working entirely by yourself!”

…Huh?

[sinsandsweetness]

drunk tank- part 2

cw- vulgar language, drug and alcohol use, slight angst and pining for the reader, references to sexual acts. about 2.6k words that aren’t proofread:/ sorry loves.

notes- i started writing and i don’t know what happened. hopefully you guys don’t hate it? way more plot than i intended but… much smutty goodness to come, i promise (no pun intended)

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! i live for your feedback and love hearing your opinions <3

Fuck.

You don’t even want to look around the house. You already know it’s gonna be a fucking mess. You can hear it. Feel it. Hell, you can smell it. Booze and weed and sex. Sweaty bodies packed into a 3 bedroom trailer on the wrong side of town. Coke on the bathroom counter that’ll have you wishing you’d never let Merle move in in the first place.

You stop at the end of the driveway, wondering whether you should even go in. Or if you should get back in the taxi and tell him to take you away and never come back. Go work at some diner in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. Leave everyone else behind.

But Daryl’s face flashes through your mind. You can’t do that to him. Not after all he’s been through.

Growing up with the Dixons was a bit of a challenge. Merle being well… Merle. You and Daryl always ending up in some kind of dangerous and even disturbing situation. Creeps who smelled of Jack Daniel’s, with wandering hands and no sense of personal space. Having to put on a smile for Merle who desperately needed to finish the deal before you could even think about sneaking off to the truck. You were leverage. Sometimes even Daryl. Though you knew he hated it. Fried hair, rotting teeth, meth head bitches who thought he was trash enough to stoop that low. He wasn’t. Or at least he didn’t want to be.

You should go inside and find him. Get him to drive you to Shane’s to spend the night. It’s not like you’ll get any sleep tonight with this ruckus going on. Not after the shift you just had. And you’ve learned to really love Shane’s middle class, suburban townhouse with a California king and a jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. It was… different. Unfamiliar. A perfect little escape from the chaos of your typical day to day life. Of your piece of shit trailer that’s already falling apart and definitely wouldn’t pass a health inspection no matter what kind of construction worker you were to hook up with.

Besides, Shane was a good fuck. Not that that’s all that matters in a relationship. It’s not. Merle was a good fuck too. You’re not that hard to please. But Shane is sexy. Charismatic. He treats you like a Princess. And honestly… as much as Daryl makes fun of you for it… you’re starting to really like him. He pays for meals. Takes you out. Isn’t afraid to show you off or introduce you to his friends. And, the biggest part; he’s safe. Steady. A fucking cop for Christ sake. So much different than the guys you’ve been with before. You weren’t at risk of any stray needles or guns when you stayed at his place. The only gun he kept at home stayed locked up in his office and is used strictly for emergencies.

And his sheets are clean and his fridge is full and his best friend is a hunk who happens to be going through some minor marital issues that you can’t say you’re not excited about. For once in your life, things are starting to look up.

Well… not from where you’re standing. Dreading the pounding bass and music that you can already hear pouring out of the windows. Praying that Merle had the decency to lock your bedroom door, but it was unlikely. You pulled a blanket over his passed out body on the couch before you left for work, so the likelihood of him remembering what you gently whispered in his ear was extremely slim.

Be safe. Lock my door. Don’t do anything stupid.

He clearly hadn’t heard you. Or if he did, he didn’t listen. Because the sounds and smells coming from the house as you walk barefoot on the gravel with your heels in your hand are proving to be the latter.

The door is open. Coats and purses thrown about. Stares from the girl and the guy flirting away in the front entrance. Red solo cups in their hands presumably filled with whatever the cheapest keg that your ex could find at the value liquor across the diner. At least that’s what you have to assume. Cheap beer. Sticky and sweaty and- holy shit.

It’s Daryl. On the couch, with a girl.

It’s no surprise that he’s over. It’s not like he has any other place to stay.

It’s the girl on his lap that has you stopping in your tracks. Bright blonde hair and fishnets straddling his thigh. Blowing smoke onto his, thankfully, annoyed and unimpressed expression. She’s almost naked. That’s why you’re so shocked. It’s not like Daryl has ever had an issue getting with girls. But the fact that her skirt looks like a belt and there aren’t even any panties under her tights… well It’s just… a bit of an eye sore if you were honest.

He catches your gaze. The sight of you rolling your eyes at the pathetic little show in front of you. Turning down the hallway and knowing he’s probably already shoving her off and jogging to catch up right behind you. Down the hall and to your room where you’re unsurprisingly forced to kick a couple of sleeping stoners out of your bed. At least they still have their clothes on. Most of them anyway.

“Who was that?” You ask, not turning around but hearing the door latch and lock behind you. Daryl’s smokey, leather scent coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

He knows better.

“No one,” he mumbles into your neck, his breath smelling of the rum and coke he chugged and threw to the side before chasing you down the hall.

You can’t help the way you shake him off. He’s drunk for Christ’s sake. Not like he didn’t have a warm and willing body out there on the sofa. Probably desperate to get any of her slutty holes filled and fucked by your childhood best friend.

You slump down onto the bed. Unmade and definitely not from you. The thought makes you wince.

You run a hand over your face and think about the clean smell of pine sol and laundry detergent that now reminds you of the handsome, dark haired officer you’ve recently gotten to know.

Daryl sits down beside you. A nervous tic in his hands as he picks at his cuticle. Unsure of what to say or what to do. It’s not like he should feel bad. He was right, she is no one to him. He won’t even remember her name in the morning. But he still feels a twang of guilt. Wishing you hadn’t seen her string covered cunt grinding on his thigh in the middle of the living room.

“Where are the keys to the Chevy?” You ask, ending the awkward silence brewing between the two of you.

“No way.”

“I’m sober, Dare. There’s no way I can sleep here. Plus I work a double in the morning. Just hand em over.” You turn to face him. He sees the bags under your eyes and knows he should just hand them over. Let you get some beauty rest in officer Walshes big and beautiful bed. Where he’ll be sure to fuck you right tonight and make you a delicious breakfast in the morning before sending you off with a kiss and tap on your perky little ass. But that’s also exactly the reason why he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to be the one sharing your bed tonight. He wants to make you some scrambled eggs in the morning and drop you off at the diner. Him. Not some asshole cop that fucked you right in front of him at the station a month ago. Hard and fast and really fucking good. By the sounds you were making and the twisted look of pleasure written on your face, it was good. And even Daryl could see that.

“Stay here. Please.” Daryl's hand makes Its way to your thigh.

“Daryl-”

“Don’t. Don’t fuckin- don’t leave.” He’s pleading with you. Can’t stand the thought of you moaning and writhing underneath his burly competition.

“Please.” His voice cracks but you pretend not to hear.

You shake your head. You need a shot. And an Advil.

“I’ll just call Shane.” You reach for your bag, ready to wake the poor guy up to come grab you from the trailer you refuse to let him enter, let alone see. Guess you gotta deal with it tonight.

“Fine- hey-“ he reached for your bag. Stopping you from grabbing the phone you’re rummaging for. “I’ll drive you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I had one drink. Seriously. Look at me.” You do it. Maintaining the heavy eye contact that’s burning into your irises. He’s telling the truth. You can see it. The way he’s holding your leg and the expression on his face. He’s always been a terrible liar.

“Okay. Thank you.” Your voice is quiet, hushed and you know you sound like a bitch. But you’re just really fucking tired.

He pulls you by the hand the whole way out to the door. Dodging the blondie from the couch and pushing your ex out of the way when he sees you, wide eyed and calling your name. Pupils blown and clearly coked out. Part of the reason he’s your ex. Among a plethora of other reasons you’d rather not get in to.

Merle’s truck sounds like shit. Stuttering a few times before it roars to life. A weird clicking from the glove box that you’re just too tired to check out. Smokes and a used condom thrown about the passenger side floor. Unsurprising but still disgusting.

You grab your phone and send Shane a text. Making sure it’s actually ok that you do crash for the night. Not that he’d ever say no. But you want to be polite.

Mind if I swing by? A bit crowded at mine.

It only takes him a few stoplights to answer.

Of course, Princess. You need a ride?

You answer immediately. Thumbs tapping fast on the tiny little buttons of your blackberry.

Nope:) 5 mins away.

Perfect. See you soon gorgeous

You can’t help the smile creeping up on your expression. Curling on your glossy lips and catching the attention of your best friend in the drivers seat.

“Pfft-” he rolls his eyes, turning the corner a little sharper than you’d like.

“Oh, shut it.” You snap back. Daryl has never liked any of your boyfriends. You don’t blame him. Most of them were real pieces of shit. Using you for your body. Your money. Not that you had much to spare.

Merle and you never dated. Just a couple drunk hookups that you didn’t enjoy.

Daryl never liked that either. Knowing his brother had seen the most sacred parts of you. Touched you and held you and watched your eyes screw shut as you came all over his cock.

Daryl wishes he could be the only one who’s ever seen that. The only one who knows the sounds you make when you’re close and the way you’re breath hitches when he kisses that spot on your stomach. It fucking kills him. Thinking about you gripping Shane’s dark hair while he discovers that same exact same spot. Going lower and lower until you’re squirming and writhing and-

“Dare?” You repeat. Grabbing the attention of the scowling young man who’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s about to fly away from him.

“Huh?”

“You missed the turn.”

“Shit, sorry.”

He circles around and shifts into park. Right across the street. The tree in Shane’s yard blocking the light from the front porch.

“Thanks,” you say dryly while reaching for the door handle. Ready to crawl into a warm bed. One where the only sound that enters your ears is the crickets in the backyard and the soft inevitable snoring from the handsome deputy holding you nice and close.

“Wait, just-” Daryl’s hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you pack. Snaking His hand around the back of your neck and crashing his lips against yours. Leaned right over the middle console to pull you in even closer. Tongue tracing your lips and deepening the kiss. The faint taste of tobacco and the familiar warmth of his mouth clouds your judgment. Kissing him back despite your relatively steady and semi-serious fling waiting for you on the other side of the red door across the street.

You pull away, eyes still closed and resting your forehead against his.

“Dare…”

“It’s fine.” He whispers. Nose nudging your own as he connects your lips for one last kiss that lingers just a couple seconds too long. A pained, broken look in his ocean eyes passes through when you finally pull away and scowl.

“Don’t. You can’t- you don’t get to do that.”

His jaw clenches and you’re sure he wants to spit some petty ass insult at you. Years of daddy issues and unresolved anger issues catching up to him with every little argument that crosses his path. But he finds it in himself to bite it back. Well not entirely. Just… a little less vulgar.

“Wear a condom,” he sneers, pulling away and falling back against the headrest. A deep sigh leaving his lungs as he chews on the inside of his lip. Already regretting his comment both due to the sheer cruelty of it but also because of the subtle admission of jealousy that he would fucking kill to have flown right above your head. It doesn’t. But the crimson painting his cheeks tells you he really fucking wishes it would. So for his sake, you ignore it and mutter a goodbye as you hop out and shut the car door. Heels clacking on the cement while you make your way to the front porch. Duffel bag in hand and a flutter of butterflies starting to swarm around in your belly.

You don’t even have to knock before the door opens and you’re met with the scent of a musky cologne and those beautiful brown eyes looking you up and down. Plaid pajama pants and a clean black tee shirt pulling you in for a quick embrace as he eyes the old Chevy still idling across the street, Daryl inside, ensuring you actually made it into the house.

“Hey, beautiful,” Shane kisses your cheek. Eyes still fixed on the man gazing over from the tinted truck window.

With a strong, guiding palm on the small of your back, you brush past the officer and head on in. Giving him a moment to set the alarm and lock the door behind you. Oblivious of the way Shane decides to wave at Daryl. Sending him a silent thank you for dropping you off all safe and sound. And maybe a very slight reminder of what he’s about to do to you as soon as that door closes.

And though he doesn’t see it, whether it’s from the tint of the truck or the clouds blocking the moon in the middle of the night, Daryl waves back. A pained, stomach dropping, shaky little wave that he didn’t even really want to return.

Daryl drives home as it starts to rain. Windshield wipers scraping on the cracked glass in front of him as his mind wanders, thinking about how nice it would be to stay in one of the nice, picket fence, suburban homes you’ve always wanted. Thinking about you in a big backyard, sipping on some white wine with a chunky little toddler on your hip. Your husband flipping some burgers and talking to the neighbors about football or the weather or the preschool you’ve been scouting.

It hurts his heart that in his little daydream, it’s not him who’s standing there barbecuing on that deck. It’s not him making small talk with your coworkers or reaching for the babbling little kid in your arms, asking for his daddy.

It’s Shane.

And for a split second, even though it physically hurts his heart. He knows that Shane can give that to you. And that, that simple little revelation is the whole reason he knows why he needed to wave back.

-

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[dogpastra]

hi guys. heres my opening and also my first submission to the modern prometheus au

In the dark, the cold and empty street was washed pale by the reflections in the ice and snow. It gave plenty enough to see, and Pastra didn’t intend to stick around in more than one place for too long with the chill already seeping into their legs.

They shivered, the Clyde hood already covering their head, but in this weather, a jacket wouldn’t be able to withstand the cold all night. Their arms folded up to their body to keep just a little warmer as they scanned farther down for signs of location.

The place was jarring, to say the least. Last they were aware of, it was June. Why was it January here and now? It was just them, the cold, and-

“Well! I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas for how to get out of this mess, hmm?”

Right, Lankmann. Their static-voiced companion and creation had followed them, which was, all things considered, a good thing. Probably. Pastra let out a sigh, “No, Lankmann, I don’t. Unless you have something other than calling a taxi to a hotel or something, in the middle of the night, with the roads frozen over this bad.”

“I could use you as a sled!”

“Try again,” They said through a smile.

“Okay, seriously this time, you un-conjure whatever this place is, and we go back to the nice, cozy interior of our house.”

“My house.”

“Close enough.”

“And- I don’t think I brought us here? I thought that was you!”

Lankmann paused, a puzzled expression taking shape on his face. “No? Why would I do that? I’ve got your bills I need to pay, and this terrible conundrum is in the way of that!” He leaned in towards the other as they walked the icy path, “And, frankly, I don’t like ending up in places that aren’t home-shaped.”

Pastra looked past Lankmann’s toothed grimace, their attention caught by the houses and environment along the street.

“So! What does someone do when they are inexplicably tossed to the suburban wastelands?”

“Check the street signs,” Pastra said under their breath, before going on aloud, “Look, the signs. That’s- this is Elk Crescent street! We’re in the actual Dreams Of An Insomniac!”

“So I was right about you conjuring it.”

“No- well, maybe? Point is, this street, this town, I know this town. I made it. So, there should be a gas station up along Main Street that we can make a pit stop at, and from there, we might be able to…” They trailed off, for a moment.

“Able to what?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking. We don’t know what year it is- if it was June before, but it’s still January here, the difference might not just be in the month, but the year, too. And if it’s January, it might be…Either before or after the Wilsons get attacked by Clyde. Which means, there might be an empty house nearby, if we can get to it. Closer than the gas station, too. I think I never had it actually sold with anyone moving in after, so…”

Lankmann frowned. “Oh, god. Don’t even think of that mascot being around, you might manifest it. It’s annoying as-is, we don’t need its canon-counterpart stalking us.”

“I’ll try not to,” Pastra smiled.

“Quick, imagine the town completely emptied!”

“I don’t know if that’s how it works?”

“Make it happen. It’s your town.”

“Clyde hunts parties of 6, or on a day or time that lines up with the number 6, usually. There’s only two of us, and it’s more likely to target people who are weak or alone, as to not draw attention-”

“What did I just say?!”

Pastra laughed, and continued down the street towards a vacant home, as the sharp air caused them to shiver once more, with Lankmann following close behind.

[loki-wants-an-army]

spn and pjo might actually work as a crossover- a brief essay

Percy Jackson and Supernatural would actually make a decent crossover- both having that early 2000s, road trip Americana vibe mixed with myths and monsters of the week. Dean and Sam would freak the hell out. Percy and Annabeth would be sassy and suspicious as shit.

Annabeth wouldn't know about them, having spent most of her life on the run and then sequestered at camp, but it's entirely possible Percy or maybe even Grover might've seen Dean and Sam's mugshots somewhere or something. Percy can't be too quick to judge based on that alone considering his own dodgy record, but still it does warrant concern.

Imagine- from the Winchesters' end it sounds like there's weirdly consistent descriptions tied to rumors of kids disappearing or involved in almost inexplicable altercations. From the kids' perspective it's running into weird guys who seem to be a little too aware of the things most people ignore with the mist, while they're on an important quest away from camp.

They could bump into each other a few different times on the road before either one group finally decides to confront the other, or they end up in the same battle. Maybe the brothers save them in a fight, maybe it's the other way around and the kids (especially Annabeth) end up doing the rescuing instead. I don't know, it could be interesting and funny both ways. Let's just say they take turns.

Or alternatively, maybe the halfbloods just happen to pull up to some random town diner or motel, near flat broke and at least a little bloody, running from a monster the Winchesters also happen to be tracking, or vice-versa you could have the brothers arrive somewhere chasing a monster the kids happen to already be running from, and the conversation starts from there, with Sam leading with a few careful questions.

Naturally, when he realizes they're the direct target of the attacks and that it'll probably continue that way if not get worse, Dean frets over them even more, because he's a good guy like that, and then he accidentally ends up semi-adopting the gang, or at the very least reluctantly cross-country taxi driving this group of insanely powerful but scary young demigods (and a satyr)- who apparently have superpowers and their own magic weapons made of a special monster-killing celestial bronze- he should see about adding that to the arsenal- while Sam asks all kinds of questions about Greek monsters and the gods, updating and expanding on his notes, initial enthusiasm quickly tempered by increasing alarm.

They can also bond by angsting over shitty parents, hell knows Dean would immediately cave and take them all under his wing for that alone.

I think it could be an interesting parallel between the hunters and the hunted. Both tormented by monsters and unable/unwilling to give up the fight, and in Sam's case he could also relate to the whole "being haunted by visions" thing. I also imagine Percy and Annabeth's flaws of unwavering loyalty and pride respectively might make an interesting match with the themes of Supernatural. Plus I'm a sucker for found family tropes that follow their own unique dynamics and don't try to just mirror a weird, idealized, suburban nuclear family unit.

edit: Oh! Also Dean hates airplanes and Percy can't do flying because of the whole Zeus wanting to kill him thing

[anonsally]

Day 5 in Chile: Cerro San Cristobal and errands

Not every day on vacation can be great.

Neither of us slept well, and breakfast was partly good (homemade yogurt and plum jam!) but partly very disappointing for Wife (the water for her tea wasn't hot enough to really steep the tea as strong as she wanted, and she doesn't function well without tea in the morning). We compensated by going to get her an ice cream as soon as we left the ho(s)tel.

Unfortunately, that meant that by the time we made it to the funicular, the clear sky was starting to get a bit cloudy. I worried about whether we would be able to see the Andes well. Then we struggled to figure out how to buy the right tickets and had to wait in a long line.

Still, it wasn't a total loss at all: we eventually got to ride a really long funicular to (nearly) the top of the hill. (I love funiculars, as you may have noticed!) Once up, we admired spectacular views in every direction, including the city and most of the surrounding mountains, though some of the Andes were clouded in. We went up to the shrine at the top to look at the views, and I also identified some eared doves (quite similar to our mourning doves). [oh! From the ho(s)tel room, I had managed to get a good look at and identify the monk parakeets I'd been hearing and glimpsing occasionally since our arrival in Chile.]

When we'd had enough, we took the teleférico (cable car/gondola) down a different side of the hill, and enjoyed more great views. At the bottom, we weren't sure how to get anywhere, but luckily a taxi happened to pull up right then so we hailed it.

That was where our luck ran out. We wanted to go to a fancier shopping area to find Wife a good backpack, and the taxi did take us there, but it turned out he only accepted cash. We had just enough cash to pay him... only then he wouldn't take the 10,000 CLP bill because it was slightly torn! So in the end we gave him $10 (USD) for that part of the fare. We couldn't get any of the bank machines in the mall to work so we still don't have any Chilean cash.

Lunch at the mall took ages and was a bit of a fiasco but did eventually revive us, and we managed to buy the backpack wife needed. But by then we'd basically spent all afternoon at a suburban mall, which is not how I would have preferred to spend my vacation. Anyway, we did manage (albeit very incompetently) to get a fare card for the metro (they did accept the torn bill -- phew!); we then took the metro back to our neighborhood.

We were demoralised about how much of the day had been lost, but we went to GAM (the Centro Gabriela Mistral) and found a free art exhibition of abstract paintings by Eduardo Martínez Bonati. That was nice and cheered us up. We came back to the ho(s)tel and rested a little, then had a pisco sour in the ho(s)tel bar before walking to a different neighborhood for dinner.

Tomorrow we have to be up early for a wine tour. I'll be glad to get out of the city for the day.

[barbwritesstuff]

aghhh love the uncomfortable distressing horrifying ickiness of parent MC shoving the child away when their thirst reacts to holding them. brutal, awful, tragic. think I'll seek comfort in the more manageable tragedy of my divorcee MC being taken pity on my their uber driver lmao

The taxi driver watching this broke, undead-looking weirdo having a messy breakup with their spouse on a suburban street:

[seat-safety-switch]

A couple days ago, I was walking home. This isn’t an unusual phenomenon for me: I store a variety of transportation methods inside my car, so that when the car bonks out I don’t have to walk all the way home. However, I got doubly unlucky this time, and the decrepit skateboard I was using lost a wheel. When you’re out for a walk through an endless sprawl of suburban hell, your mind wanders. What’s our place in the universe? Is there life after death? Holy shit, a mint 1996 Geo Metro.

I couldn’t stop myself from walking over. There, in the middle of what were putatively normal peoples’ homes, was a green-and-rust Metro. And it didn’t even look that bad, either. Some quick inspection revealed that the front suspension was, indeed, still attached to the body. And it was a stick-shift, the transmission choice of the gods themselves. It was only then that I noticed the house was for sale. Maybe they’d want to get rid of the car, too. After all, garages were expensive, and the departure of their vehicle would give them a reason to move closer to the inner-city, where I’m told things like “buses” and “taxis” existed.

The next day (believe me, it was hard to wait, but my phone also stopped working due to being a 1998-era Ericsson bag phone with a 24-volt marine battery attached, and I left it in the car rather than carry it home) I called the realtor In Charge Of All This. She sounded confused. She wasn’t selling any Geo Metro, she stammered, presumably signalling to her coworkers to call the police. After a few minutes of explanation, she agreed, grudgingly, to provide my contact information to the folks selling their house.

I never got a call back on that one. Which is just as well, because that afternoon I broke down in an entirely different place (transmission cooler exploded, and not in the cool way) and had to hoof it back. That’s where I found a 1968 Fury III in what I would consider “existent” condition. I was really excited to buy that one, too, until I noticed that I already owned it. At least driving it home saved me some wear and tear on my shoes.

[k1ngk1t]

Went to Europe for the first time (and a foreign country as well) back in the middle of July. So I took that opportunity to sketch Bram. He's sitting out the window of Wynn's Hotel overlooking Dublin. These were the things that surprised me the most. The weather. Back in the states you can fry eggs in your car in July. In Ireland, it was chilly for the most part with a few warm days in between. Dublin is Irish New York. I grew up in a suburban area. And I've been in cities before, but they don't compare to Dublin. There were so many buses and taxis, and so little private cars, you could count all of them on your fingers. My state capitol doesn't even have a metro or tram system. Just some buses, a train station and airport (you can't even fly to another country out of that airport. You need a connecting flight) What we do have are the infinite amount of parking decks. The lack of the sound "th" sound. Three is pronounced tree. It took me a second to realize what they meant. They just casually have 1000+ year old buildings in towns. Mineral water. I'm sorry, but no. I can't drink it. I like my purified water. No air-conditioning. Now, I get that they don't really need it as much as we do, but at night where the hot air is rising to the upper floors where we were sleeping, it did get pretty warm. But anyways, I brought back a Dracula book from there as my special trip token. Also, this is why I was so busy. I was working fulltime while to trying to prepare for a trip to last a week and I didn't get into my camera until now. photos of Glendalough and St. Mary's Cathedral in Kilkenny.

[thirst2]

After finding out where I was from a woman on the train in Boston smiles and tells me not to worry she hears that in the next five to ten years Detroit is going to be the Midwestern New York I in turn worry for obvious reasons the rats in New York are tall enough to drive taxis the people in New York are all seemingly allergic to saying excuse me those are problems we do not want three years later I pick up a paper and the headline reads welcome to the new Detroit and I'm quickly reminded of something my grandmother once said you can sell a house a hundred times but the walls will still tell stories on the first family that owned it you can't throw soil on top of a land of living people then try to convince the outside world that their home was graveyard before it began to blossom bike lanes and fine dining this is not a city attempting to transition into another city it's Detroit it's churches in old buildings that lean like drunk lovers but still open every Sunday for worship it's Coney Island hot dogs and Faygo pop on the days when you wanna feel like you were the only one told the secret It's what up doe and water shut offs a woman planting flowers in potholes a line straight out of a tupac poem it's still here because we didn't change our zip codes when our schools started shutting down our sports teams started losing and our air started smelling like gun smoke and new money it's Motown it's a homeless man in bright colors on the corner of Selden and Second in bright colors and music-less headphones always dancing like his imaginary check had more money on it than he expected and yea sometimes the suburban folks treat the city like a party they weren't invited to leave trash start fights then exit before the police show up sometimes the police don't show up it's not perfect but it's a city that held its place in line until God returned from an extended lunch break a place where any person on the streets will still politely give you directions even when they themselves feel lost it's a beast that swallowed my brother along with countless other friends and family members long before their time but home is wherever the most of your loved ones are buried it's the place that's found the perfect balance between breaking your heart and layering your skin it's the factory that you were built in on the nights when you feel defective it's the safest space for you to return to so to the woman in Boston who thought that I was worried to the couple in Seattle that wanted to know if my skin has ever tasted bullet to the people trying to figure out which Detroit to believe It's a complicated story with more semi colons than periods on its best day it's still broken but it works it grinds it is ours still

—"Detroit", Natasha "T" Miller

[revacholianpizzaagenda]

Püha ja õudne lõhn (Sacred and Terrible Air) chapters 9+10 summary

Chapters index - ask away for any clarification or further details!

The one with the bomb.

9. SACRED AND TERRIBLE AIR

A speech by His Innocence Ambrosius Saint-Miro. The Innocence goes through a long rhetorical boasting of his role as “ambrosia, the holy world” and the Innocences’ role as the inevitable answer to mankind’s needs throughout history. The concept of ‘innocence’ is framed as one of lack of moral responsibility by virtue of inevitablity, and by following him, the same grace is bestowed upon all of humanity. He is a nihilist. He was shunned by kings and presidents, but the people chose him, through his books, his radio shows. He was the only one who asked: What was that sacred and terrible smell in the air, that time? He wants to show this terrible beauty to mankind. He wants to give the pale to mankind. So he attacks: Revachol, then Graad and further. He is evacuating the world. This is where nihilism leads. It is no longer what could be, or what could not be. It is. The entire world is a zone of imminent entroponetic catastrophe.

10. GOOD NIGHT, ANNI

Flash forward a week: Jesper returns to his suburban home in the middle of the night. He wakes up his 19yo revacholian model girlfriend Anita, a blatant replacement for Anni whom he’s dated since she was 15. He is leaving, forever. To find the girls. She can keep his money. Anita does not take kindly to the news; in a nasty comeback, Jesper informs her that she can’t return to Revachol because it’s been nuked. Radio waves are filled with news of the Mesque aggressor, of Saint Miro, of half the population gone. She is devastated. He leaves. The others are waiting for him in a taxi.

Present. Delirious Tereesz refuses to be admitted to a hospital, so they take him to Jesper’s suburban home. He dreams of the girls’ funeral, of finally being able to put it all to rest, but accepts that it won’t happen.

Anita arrives at Jesper’s in a dizzying display of expensive fashion. We follow the Vaasan night until morning. A Man from Internal Investigation is looking for Tereesz at the police station he was discharged from, but they never had anyone under that name. In the morning, a mustachioed man has a reaction to an ad in the paper: someone is asking the “good person” who may have information about the letters allegedly sent by the girls to come forward. It is not too late.

In Lemminkäise, a scruffy, curly-haired young man named Ulv buys some sausages and inordinate amounts of alcohol and cigarettes from the village store, which is closing as the pale encroaches.

[andmaybegayer]

Project "Let's watch every single Fast & Furious movie"

Alright I looked at the Wikipedia page and apparently in addition to all this they have six seasons of an animated series about *checks notes* a group of evil racers bent on world domination. Cool. I will decide whether I'm watching that or not later let's just do the movies for now.

The Fast And The Furious (2001)

Oh there's so much on display here. FF was not the first bit of street racing media but it was what brought it into the mainstream for sure, and the echoes of this movie are still being felt. This influence is made all the better by the fact that the movie has no goddamn clue any of this is about to happen.

You may look at the big beefy muscleboys and sexy fawning girls and go "this is going to have a lot of gender in it isn't it" and while you wouldn't be wrong you'd be missing that gender mostly takes a backseat to race. There's a lot of race in this thing. You've got the three racially distinct gangs with their racially distinct hangers on driving their somehow racially distinct cars. Or in the case of the nebulously Asian group, racially distinct motorcycles, because. Japan.

The setting is so 2000's, unbearably normal suburbs of Hollywood. Dominic Torretto lives in the most ordinary suburban house I've seen in a movie in years, because of course it's 2001 and everyone does not yet live in ethereal perfectly decorated minimalist houses. This really helps sell the multiple times the Gang are all hanging out in this space watching a shitty move on a tiny TV or having a fun little barbecue in the backyard.

I'm not sure they had realized they had made this little found family so endearing yet because about 20 minutes after this scene, Torretto takes the protagonist for a walk and tells him all about how the only thing he cares about is drag racing and screw his gang, which I expected to be a setup for a more explicit realization/rejection later but no he reiterates this in full at the end of the movie with no apparent realization. This despite

The fun barbecue and movie times

Toretto immediately going after his missing friend when he is at extreme risk of going to prison

I think they probably only figured the whole family angle out fully later but you can see the framework is already here.

Actually an aside for the funniest bit of Torretto characterization in the movie: shortly after winning a race, almost getting busted, getting saved from the police by the new kid, accidentally violating a gang agreement, getting threatened by the Asian gang (in front of a chinese restaurant), almost getting killed in an explosion, and catching a taxi home, he gets in to his house where a moderately rowdy house party is going on. His girlfriend comes up and is like "hey do you want to go upstairs and have some epic sex with your win wife" to which his response is:

"But what about all our guests?"

Perfect moment no notes. A man who is wondering whether they're going to run out of nachos.

I had to remind myself very often that this show was from 2001, so when they pull out a 1995 Supra my first thought was "oh, of course, the 2JZ is a legend" not, "oh, the current Supra." This happens with a few cars, the Honda S2000 is a 1999 car, it's basically brand new in this movie, not the classic that we now know is a huge pain in the ass because it only makes any power at redline.

You know people made fun of FF for being obsessed with shifting and I don't see it. They do make a note of it but I mean come on, it's a drag racing movie, shifting is 9/10ths of the game. It's not overdone.

The cinematography is so much. Most of the time it's reasonably normal, some fun crane work when they're out in the desert, but the amount of compositing and post-processed camera shake and bizarre undercranked cuts during races is unbelievable. The undercranking especially is so weird, it's an unusual approach to conveying speed, standard cinematography would say you want to have motion blur but these were shot either extremely slowly or with extremely small shutter angle so it looks almost stop motion. It's almost the opposite.

You may notice I am not really talking about the plot, and I'm not really talking about the romantic subplot either. These both exist. The romantic subplot of Mia and Brian is fine, it's cute, but it's so foregone as to be ignorable. It is eye candy if nothing else, Paul Walker went full force prettyboy for this movie, it's unreal. The plot is there to move you from scene to scene but this is absolutely more of a movie about each individual scene rather than what happens when you put those scenes in sequence.

The emotional through line of all these independent scenes is reasonably strong. As mentioned, you get to see Toretto and his buds hanging out and bonding, they're all so endearing, the scrappy ECU tuner tells our protagonist about how he dropped out of school despite being good at maths because he has ADD. The choice to not show Brian ever being a cop, and instead dropping you right in the middle means you have no attachment to whatever past life he may have had, I don't think you learn a single thing about his actual background beyond "cop who wants to make detective" and "quit smoking."

I am very interested to see how the rest of the series handles the character of Toretto because he has a lot of room to be a very strange kind of center of gravity around which other people collect, but he could also just become a modern Big Beefy Action Hero and that would suck. I do think he just fucks off for the next two or three movies though, so.

Brief return to "this setting is normal as fuck," the climactic final drag race occurs on the back street outside a high school. Zero flair.

The Fast and Furious movies have long reaching consequences in other media. It's no surprise that Need for Speed Underground came out two years after this. I'm interested to see some parallels in wider media as I go here, obviously Tokyo Drift was what brought Initial-D style drift obsession to people who didn't watch Anime, and street racing went from being a niche thing that only people invested in the scene cared about to being a thing twelve year olds cared about.

[mariacallous]

A decade ago, when foreign fighters were flowing into Syria, the Islamic State’s capital, Raqqa, became a sort of Epcot of global jihad: New arrivals from different nations clustered together in their national groups. If you were a recent arrival from France or just wanted to know where to get a croissant, you could visit a café full of French people and ask. Tens of thousands of foreign fighters came from places as distant as Chile and Japan. Russia alone contributed as many as 4,000, according to President Vladimir Putin, and by all accounts, their cluster focused not on pastry but on warfare. The only countries that put up numbers to rival Russia’s were Tunisia and Turkey.

Yesterday, terrorists murdered at least 133 concertgoers in suburban Moscow. The Islamic State’s news agency, Amaq, posted the group’s claim of responsibility, as usual in language balanced between wire-service precision and rabid derangement. The claim described an attack “against a large gathering of Christians”—an odd way to describe a nonreligious prog-rock concert. Videos from the scene show gunmen firing into piles of huddled civilians and stalking others. The style resembles the Bataclan massacre, which ISIS perpetrated in Paris in 2015, and the October 7 attack, the handiwork of ISIS’s enemy Hamas. The Amaq report says the killers “withdrew to their bases,” which suggested that they remained at large and capable of attacking again, and that they had more than one base. By Saturday, Russia claimed to have arrested all four perpetrators and several accomplices. Putin suggested the killers had been on a run for the Ukrainian border.

In Russia, as in many authoritarian states, rumors proliferate fast after shocking events like this. Many repeated the crazy theory that ISIS was deliberately invented by America. The exiled chess master and dissident Garry Kasparov suggested that Russia had attacked itself to drum up ethnonationalist sentiment. Putin’s intimation of Ukrainian involvement makes little sense to me. It beggars belief that the most hunted men in Russia would immediately drive in a white Renault toward the most heavily militarized and monitored zone in the entire region when they could drive in any other direction and be alone in a birch forest somewhere. But Putin’s version is consistent with the theory that he will use the attack to demonize Ukraine.

Everything we know about Russia and its history with ISIS supports the theory that ISIS perpetrated the attack. ISIS has been reviving its capacity, particularly in its Khorasan affiliate, the one identified by U.S. intelligence as responsible for the attack. Islamic State Khorasan Province “has taken on a more central role in planning attacks abroad,” Tore Hamming, a jihadism researcher at the risk-management consultancy Refslund Analytics, told me by text. He said a number of recent events, such as the arrests of suspected members in Turkey, suggest that the group is planning attacks outside its usual area of operations.

ISIS had a huge Russian and Central Asian contingent in its heyday. And the fault lines in Russian politics and society have foretold this kind of atrocity for literally centuries. It would be a surprise if four guys piled into a car and sped toward Ukraine after committing mass murder. Nothing could be less surprising than an ISIS attack in a region susceptible to just such an attack.

About one out of every five Russian citizens is Muslim, but that population is not evenly distributed either geographically or socioeconomically. In cities, a lot of taxi drivers and hard-luck laborers have names like Magomedov and Ismailov, indicative of Muslim ancestry. Many have roots in majority-Muslim Central Asian countries and have come to Russia in search of jobs. A very large proportion of the ISIS fighters from those countries came through Russia and developed violent tendencies there, away from the moderating influence of friends and family. The four alleged perpetrators arrested by Russia are reportedly from Tajikistan, a Central Asian republic bordering Afghanistan.

The center of geographic gravity of Islam in Russia is the Northern Caucasus, the site of domestic strife and bloodshed in a series of episodes going back centuries. In lieu of perfecting croissants, some groups around Dagestan and Chechnya have become proficient guerrilla warriors, and Putin perfected his own harsh methods on them during the Chechen Wars of the 1990s and 2000s. Those wars ended with a decisive Russian victory and the installation of micro-Putins, such as Ramzan Kadyrov, so that Moscow could rule Chechnya indirectly. These figures’ loyalty is such that two years ago, in the early days after the invasion of Ukraine, Kadyrov’s Chechen fighters were among the first deployed to fight on Putin’s side.

The problem is that decisive victories are never as decisive as they seem. Most residents of formerly restive regions in the Caucasus enjoy peace as much as anyone. But discontent is easy to detect. On my last visit to Dagestan, a taxi driver sheepishly turned down his music player when a jihadist song came on. Some people remain eager to fight.

The rise of ISIS was useful for Russia, which could imagine no better destination for its domestic jihadists than a faraway conflict with a conveniently high mortality rate. Anyone so inclined could go to Iraq or Syria with Moscow’s tacit blessing. That is one reason the number of ISIS members coming from Russia was so high: They were more or less permitted to go, so that they would self-detonate or run into machine-gun fire there, rather than make trouble within Russia’s borders. Many of those who went are now dead, as hoped. Some are not, and many of those have not lost their fervor. They just need a new object for it.

The connection between Russia and ISIS is, in other words, overdetermined. The cruelty of the killing and even the choice of venue—a concert hall—are all awfully familiar to anyone acquainted with jihadism in Russia. What comes next will be familiar too. The horrific videos and claims of responsibility have already arrived. Next will be a brutal reply from the Russian state. Whether that reply will be addressed to the attack’s actual authors is an open question.