#Volkswagen “All-in-One” Studie

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Volkswagen "All-in-One" Studie, 2001. A camper van concept based on the T4 Transporter developed by Volkswagen Commercial Vehicles together with the Hymer IDC design centre. One of the special features of the "All-in-One" is its five-door body. There are two doors to the passenger seats and the multifunctional recreational area. At the rear, the large tailgate leads into the living area, with the seating group in the rear of the motorhome.

[bullet-prooflove]

It hurts like hell to say "I hope you find someone new"

For Lee Dutton

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @newyorkrican922 @bryandechartisasmolbean @lovethis-lovethat @goblinenby @foxfables @solar-raccoon @chaostwinsofdestruction

References to Jamie's memories of Lee in Wild Bloom

Title: A Boy From Bozeman

It’s hurts like hell saying goodbye to you. It’s a visceral pain that sears through Lee’s chest as he helps you pack your things into the beat up Volkswagen he’s helped you restore over the past year. He prays that the car gets you all the way to California, to Berkley where you’ll start a life without him.

The plan has always been that you’d go together, that you’d both study conservation biology before coming back home and apply it to the land back here in Montana. When the first acceptance letter came through he expected his father to be thrilled and in a way he was, Berkley was nothing to be sniffed at but then came the heavy dose of reality.

“I need you at the ranch, it’s time for you to learn things.”

And that was that because if it wasn’t him, it would be Jamie or Kayce. One would work himself to the grave seeking their father’s approval and the other would riot against it. He can’t stand the idea of shattering their dreams so he lets his own slip through his fingers instead.

“I guess it’s time to say goodbye.” He says as he raises his head to look up you as you close the trunk of the VW.

You’re still the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s only eighteen but he knows he’s met the love of his life, that there won’t ever be another woman who can take your place.

In that moment Lee just wants to throw caution to the wind, climb inside the VW alongside you and hightail it up the coast. But then he thinks of Jamie buckling under the weight of his father’s demands, of Kayce spending entire nights out in the forest because he’d rather be anywhere else but in the same house as John Dutton and he knows he can’t leave them with this legacy, that burden is his and his alone.

You’re trying not to cry when he approaches you, the keys to the VW clasped tightly in your hand. It kills him to let you go but you’re meant for bigger things than Bozeman, bigger things than him.

“Oh Anna-May.” He drawls, his thumb chasing away the salt that lines your cheeks. “No tears remember? You’re off to do exciting, new things, things that will change the whole wide world.”

“What about you?” You whisper. “Lee please…”

“You’ve outgrown me baby.” He whispers as he cradles your face between his hands. “You need to find someone new, someone worthy of your time and affection.”

“You’re worth all of that.” You whisper as you look into his eyes and he shakes his head sadly.

You kiss him then, a soft, tender sweep of the lips and Lee wishes that things could be different, that he could put a ring on that finger and spend the rest of his life loving you.

But that’s another dream, one that dies right here, right now.

“You need to get going.” He murmurs as he draws away and opens the car door for you.

You use the back of your hand to wipe the moisture from underneath your eyes before you climb into the car and Lee shuts the door carefully behind you. He steps back, tucking one hand into the pocket of his jacket, his fingers gripping the tiny worry doll you had given him last night, the one he’d whispered his secrets to before tucking underneath his pillow.

Don’t forget about me, he wants to say as you start the engine but those would be the words of a selfish man so instead he keeps his mouth shut and raises his hand in farewell.

It’s when the car pulls away that his heart finally breaks, his eyes sting and emotion floods his chest as he watches you disappear down the lane and out of his life.

It’s for the best, he reminds himself as he draws in a shaky breath.

Afterall he’s just a boy from Bozeman, he was born in this town, he’ll die here too.

Love Lee? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[blowingcookies]

you're mine noona - pt 2 - cha eunwoo x reader - day 15

[For reading my past entries, I recommend searching the following tag: #cha eunwoo x reader ; enjoy!]

[Pt 1: https://www.tumblr.com/blowingcookies/746785037098385408/youre-mine-noona-pt-1-cha-eunwoo-x-reader?source=share ]

You closed the windows to your cottage. With all the rain and humidity, your curly hair needed a break from all of the moisture, just as you needed a break from the main house. That's why you decided it was time to move into the little cottage in the far backyard; with how the funeral went, a little distance couldn't hurt.

You set up your laptop on the countertop, intent on watching some kdramas while cooking and cleaning, when someone knocked at your door. 'Who could that be?' you thought to yourself.

Before you could make it to the door, it opened.

'Hi Noona.' Dark eyes bore into yours, and you gasped.

Big, solemn, and wet, the uninvited guest moved into your kitchen and personal space . Cha Eunwoo's thick, corded arm reached around to shut off the stove behind you, and he bent down to whisper roughly into your ear.

'Careful. We wouldn't want another accident.'

A cry left your lips, and you tried moving past him, but he was like a steel wall. His hands went into your hair, then one grasped the back of your neck to pull your head back.

'This is how things are going to go...'

'No, Eunwoo, leave me alone!' You felt desperate to leave, knowing if you stayed you would give into him and be humiliated once more. Again, you struggled against his hold, but to no avail.

'Noona...' He drew out the dreaded word, mouthing the vowels against your dark cheek.

Suddenly, you had an idea. Talking back, struggling, and being passive weren't working, so you had to change tactics. You subtly palmed the keys in your jean pocket while stroking his cheek with your other hand. He shuddered, and loosened his hold.

'Interesting,' you thought to yourself.

You then caressed the sides of his torso, letting your fingertips dig into his slightly fleshy sides. He was startled, and moved slightly back.

This was your chance. Feinting left initially, you went to the right side towards the door. You miraculously made it to your little Volkswagen Beetle car, but before you could open it, Eunwoo's golden hand slammed against the blue paint next to the handle.

You looked back in horror at him.

'You know you're just adding to your punishment, right?' He smirked, and your heart sank.

------

I was able to get through some more questions; if I finish the set tomorrow, I'll write a (hopefully) good sm*t chapter next!

Thank you so much for reading, and for being part of my study journey ❤️

[withnofreetime]

HETALIA ☆ WORLD STARS (515)

America really likes to... to be himself (please, admire the car and a "Thank you very much" to my sister, somehow she did it!)

Translation notes at the end: ‘cuz I took a lot of “creative freedoms(?)” and sometimes I forgot the meaning of words (“kanji”). Warning: I don’t know Italian (thanks Reddit), German (my sister knows), French (a bit) and Chinese (ref. Chinese friend).

T/N:

Page 1.

Italia + Pikachu, Itachu or Pikalia, but the last sounds horrible.

"Il faut que jeunesse se passe", the literal and no literal meaning is: "Youth must have its fling", in other words, "let America be America, let him have fun".

"后生可畏". I wasn't sure whether to add Chinese, but if others can, why not China? I really love this Chinese proverb, and I also like to study Confucius (little story) so it's a double prize! A friend of mine told me that in her school they make them read the teachings of Confucius, so… he's pretty popular!

"The hero always arrives late!", this is pretty obvious and well-know, but to be a little more academic: The Hero's Journey. After overcoming the "abyss/defeat", the hero returns transformed to save the day! At the very last minute! Like… the format that all cliché Hollywood movies use.

Page 3.

"Mitico": "great", "fantastic", "brilliant", etc.

"The specified Cost":

France: 1.94% less, I searched, but I couldn't find how much of France's PIB is spent on tourism.

Page 4.

Italy's PIB, it's in euros, but, as in France's case, it has to be converted into dollars to be considered as approximation.

In 2023, the Italian government spent between 40-60 million dollars on tourism, which coincides a little bit with the "-41 in cost" in the letter, I guess.

Page 5.

"Ungeheuer", "monster". I agreed to translate Hetalia with the condition that I have fun, no matter if the words come out of nowhere.

In tourism: America (3) and Italy (4).

Page 6.

"1st Place, America". So I assume his cards will have something to do with that:

1) Technology. Japan (1) and America (2) are the most technologically advanced countries by far.

2) Wall Street. Who doesn't know the place? It is the economic centre of the world... for now.

3) Film Industry. Hollywood is the largest, richest and most important "corporation".

4) NASA. And the other private American companies. I wouldn't say they are number one, but they are well-known.

5) Army. China (1), India (2) and America (3), by number of soldiers.

Against Germany, Italy and Japan (technology):

1) Cars, but unlikely. In order of revenue: (1) Volkswagen, Germany, (2) Toyota, Japan and (3) Stellantis, Netherlands.

2) Engineering. Most of them are either Japanese or German companies.

3) Germany is good and top 5 in 2.

America is really the number one, although most of them are for not-so-good things. It must be its size and diversity, I think, and the two world wars.

"Non è vero?", "It's not true?" or, in this case, "Isn't it?"

Is there a problem/error? Please say so! And thank you for your support!

[octuscle]

I was wondering if there’s a setting on the chronivac for big dumb Korean bodybuilder? I have this friend who seems to think he’s smarter then everyone and I’d like to try something

John was a smart guy. One of the smartest in his class. But he was also an annoying nerd. A pain in the ass for teachers and classmates. An eternal know-it-all.

The preset I sent you changed that… Very clearly… As soon as you activate the preset, his behavior changes. Instead of listening attentively to the teacher and waiting for mistakes, John plays with his smartphone… And suddenly it's no longer an iPhone. It's the latest Samsung device. John surfs bodybuilding sites. He follows Asian tattoo artists on Instagram. During the break, he talks to the other boys about cars. He somehow knows everything about Korean manufacturers. The other boys laugh at him. Korean cars are for wimps. Juhn challenges one of the jocks to a race after school.

Surrounded by his fans, the school sports star stands by his Volkswagen Golf GTI after school. Juhn purrs quietly from behind. In his Kia EV6. The VW doesn't stand a chance. But Jun is a good winner. He and the jock say goodbye with a respectful fist bump and Jun says see you at the gym.

Jun lives in the gym after school, so to speak. His family doesn't like that… They'd rather he studied for school or took up hobbies like chess or astronomy. And if he's going to do sport, he should do taekwondo, hapkido or at least soccer. But bodybuilding? Juns doesn't care. He works out like a fanatic. But he's also one of the big boys at your school… Eh, at your town. Juns doesn't go to school anymore… Juns is doing an apprenticeship as a car mechanic.

The next morning, the transformation is complete… Jun-suh is a machine. Get up, protein shake, gym, breakfast. And at 06:00 he's one of the first in the garage.

Is he smarter than others? Or is he dumber? Jun-suh doesn't care at all. He wants to be the biggest of them all. And the best mechanic in his company. He doesn't give a damn about anything else!

[putaposyinyourhair]

Slowly but Also Like All at Once

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

noah diaz x mirage (aka the literal personification of ‘wait, did you just flirt with me?’ and ‘have been for the past year but thanks for noticing’)

warnings : mirage isn't exactly himself but it's only temporary and also more f bombs dropped

oh shit here comes reek

“Could you— can you transform into, like, a Civic hatchback or somethin’?” Noah inquires quietly after having to clear his throat a bit awkwardly— probably because he’d spent pretty much the entire ride back to Brooklyn in stunned silence, still mulling over Optimus’ request. “Y’know, before we roll into the neighborhood?”

There’s a beat of silence. And Noah wonders if he’s said something wrong.

“I know you did not just ask me to do that,” Mirage snorts then, in a clearly offended tone. Because apparently, Honda Civics are beneath him.

Noah scowls heavily down at the radio.

“Oh, my bad, your highness—” he begins to apologize sarcastically, only to be cut off by the mech.

“You’re not forgiven,” Mirage points out snobbishly.

Noah lets out a frustrated groan, fingers curling inward around his box of electronics— which he’d pulled into his lap earlier amidst the silence, as something to busy himself with, checking if everything was as promised; not crushed— and one of his fingers pokes a hole straight through the worn down cardboard.

“Look,” he sighs. “It’s broad daylight out. My man, Reek, he’s always out front and he’s gonna recognize you in a second flat. Plus, everybody and they mama knows I’m way too fuckin’ broke to be crusin’ ‘round in a Porsche, bro. Come on.”

Mirage’s radio emits a droning buzz, followed by an annoyed groan just as the Porsche begins to slow and pull over.

“The things I do for you,” Mirage snaps. “They’re not natural. It should be studied.”

He pops the driver side door open.

“Out.”

Noah’s brows furrow, confused, but nevertheless he does as he’s told and climbs out with his box still in hand. He rounds the Porsche and steps onto the sidewalk, chuckling awkwardly under his breath as a few pedestrians glance his way when the silver and blue vehicle burns rubber and sends up a puff of smoke as Mirage peels away from the curb.

Noah feels kind of abandoned for a moment.

His chest does that stupid twisty thing that he’d thought it had finally decided to stop doing. He wonders for a moment if he should’ve sucked it up and just not said anything.

But then the loud sound of an engine revving calls his attention and Noah’s jaw drops when a silver Volkswagen Corrado SLC VR6 coupe with blue stripes rolls up to the curb.

It’s definitely not a Civic.

The passenger side window rolls down.

“I hope you know this is like the equivalent of me asking you to shave all your hair off for me.”

Oh.

Noah definitely should’ve just sucked it up. Maybe asked Mirage to drop him off down the block instead. There’s so many other ways he could’ve gone about this.

He feels like shit. And it shows in the way his shoulders droop and he lowers his head, looking up at the Corrado kind of sheepishly.

“I’m just yanking your chain, sweetspark,” Mirage admits casually. “I don’t give a flying frag. Hop in.”

The words are said so flippantly, Noah almost misses the new term of endearment the bot somehow manages to sneak in there— at least he thinks it’s a term of endearment anyways; the cybertronian version of sweetheart.

His cheeks flood with a swift rush of heat. And he tells himself it’s just because of the stifling heat outside. But he can’t exactly explain away that stupid hot jabbing sensation in his chest that’s also decided to make a sudden return.

He huffs and rounds the car once more, Mirage opening and closing the door for him as he climbs inside.

“You’re a dick,” Noah grumbles beneath his breath as he sets his box down on the passenger seat then fastens his seatbelt, his face still flushed.

“Yeah, but it’s not like you didn’t already know that.”

God damn him, he’s right too.

Noah decides to ignore him for the next few minutes it takes for them to roll up outside his apartment building— evading the bot’s comments and questions with a few spaced-out hums. Instead, he keeps watch out the window for anyone who knows him too well and might think it’s weird for him to be pulling up in a strange car. A car that Noah still— despite the change into a Volkswagen— could never be able to afford.

Mirage’s engine cuts off as soon as he pulls over, after expertly parallel parking between a Mazda 626 and an old Lincoln town car Noah recognizes as Mr. Delano’s, a senile old man that lives a few doors down from him and sometimes gets into shouting matches with the ghost of his ex-wife, Shirley.

“Ladies and gents, we have arrived at our destination,” Mirage announces through the radio with a crackle of static— and Noah thinks he does it on purpose, to make the dumb joke sound more authentic. “974 Wilson Avenue. You may now unfasten your seatbelts.”

It’s adorable, unfortunately, and Noah can’t help the smirk it pulls out of him.

“Got ‘em.”

Noah shakes his head and turns to look out the window— hoping that it somehow hides the quickly-growing full blown smile on his face from Mirage.

Across the street, Mrs. Moreno’s triplets are playing double dutch with a long jump rope that obviously used to be a few smaller jump ropes, which have now been tied together.

“So, I’m picking you up later tonight, right?” Mirage inquires after a moment, his playful tone falling into a far more somber one— like he’s kind of scared Noah’s going to say no. “After you talk to your family and pack?”

The smile on Noah’s face drops.

He’s had a long ride back to Bushwick to think about the answer to that question. A long time to think on Optimus’ offer. And he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Or maybe some part of him does but he’s torn between his options.

On one hand, he has to face his ma— who’s already gonna tear him a new one for missing dinner and not checking in— and tell her he’s leaving again, with barely an explanation as to why. And on top of that, he has to explain it to Kris too. At least when it comes to his little brother, he can give the kid a version that’s closer to the truth.

On the other hand, he has to do something that he’s pretty sure is gonna break his heart; say goodbye. Might break Mirage’s heart too— or rather, his spark.

A few buildings down, Noah can see Mr. Jackson’s son— Noah thinks his name is Paulie— feeding the neighborhood stray cats, something that usually brings his neighbor, Mrs. Vargas, out with a broom in her hand, yelling at him in Spanish because she hates that the ‘pequeños demonios’ keep eating the plants she has on her windowsills.

Except Paulie doesn’t speak Spanish and usually just waves obliviously.

Noah glances down at the radio and heaves a soft sigh.

“Mirage,” he begins to say. “Look, dude, I don’t know if—”

Mirage’s radio releases a garbled, high-pitched whine that makes Noah wince a bit.

“Aw, come on,” the bot moans— and Noah imagines that if the mech were in his rootmode, he’d be kicking his legs in a fuss. “You can’t leave me with those tightasses, man!”

Noah huffs softly beneath his breath, digging his teeth into the smooth skin on the inside of his bottom lip.

“I’ll beg if I have to, gorgeous.”

Motherfucker…

Noah’s just about had it with him.

Mostly just because he thinks his heart might give out with the way it keeps tripping over a beat every time the mech uses one of those goddamn pet names.

Is it flirting? It feels like flirting. But Noah’s not sure. Because he’s a loser and he doesn’t actually know the first thing about flirting. He’s never had time for that before.

He’d always been too busy serving in the army and then running around, worrying about Kris, to even let himself stop and think about something as frivolous as trying to get his flirt on.

Plus, Noah doesn’t know if cybertronians even know what flirting is.

Sure, it feels deliberate. But it’s totally possible Mirage is just repeating shit he’s heard on the streets, or on TV. Right?

Noah’s eyes widen.

What the hell is he even thinking?

He shakes his head.

“Look, Noah. I know this is… a big decision,” Mirage comments softly. “I really want you to come with me. I mean, come on, man. We’re partners. But… I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Why does the mech have to be so freaking sweet about it too?

Noah wants to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes and push until he starts seeing stars.

“How about I give you some time to think about it?” the bot suggests. “I’ll drop by later tonight. That sound like a plan?”

Noah just nods. Because he doesn’t trust his voice not to betray him in that moment and drop like he’s some kind of pre-pubescent teenager.

The Corrado’s driver side door clicks open.

Noah unfastens his seatbelt.

“Don’t forget your gizmos,” Mirage reminds him pointedly. “I know how important they are to you.”

A sharp squawk from a few feet away has Noah’s head snapping up to see a wide-eyed Reek— who’d clearly crossed the street, headed in Noah’s direction— trip over nothing but air and go down hard on the pavement.

“Oh, shit,” Noah exclaims, jumping out of the Corrado. “You aight, man?” He zips over to his fallen friend’s side and reaches down to help the man up.

Reek, with the help of Noah who’s got ahold of one of the other man’s shoulders, stands on shaky feet. His nose is busted and a small rivulet of blood is running over his lip and down his chin.

“Shit, bro, you’re bleedin’,” Noah tells him.

But Reek doesn’t seem to be paying Noah or the blood on his face any mind. No, instead he’s gawking at the Corrado behind Noah.

Noah feels his muscles tense.

“Noah…” Reek begins slowly. “Did that motherfuckin’ car just talk?”

Noah thinks he should be commended for the way he immediately snaps into action, releasing his friend and taking a step back, forcing out a chuckle that’s only kind of awkward.

“A talking car?” he snorts, reaching back to shut the Corrado’s driver side door in a way he really hopes looks chill and unbothered. “Man, you trippin’. You been smokin’ way too much of that chronic shit.”

He hears the window make a whirring noise that clearly means Mirage is rolling it down and he steps back again— his backside coming into contact with the driver side door— in an attempt to shield it from Reek’s view.

“Don’t play with me, man!” Reek cries out, pointing at him. “I ain’t crazy. I know what I just seen with my own two eyes!”

Noah’s eyes widen and he takes a moment to glance around the street, hoping their little spat isn’t drawing any unwanted attention.

“So, I’ma ask you again, dawg,” Reek snaps. “Did that motherfuckin’ car just talk?”

“No?” Noah tries again.

“Yes.”

The admission comes from over Noah’s shoulder and Noah absolutely freezes.

“What the fuck…” Reek breathes out, utterly stunned. “It just talked again. The fuckin’ car just talked.”

Noah turns his head to the side for a second and narrows his eyes down at the silver and blue Corrado.

“Shut up,” he whispers, both hands fisted at his sides, before he whirls back around to face Reek. He stubbornly ignores the way the metal at his rear warms up and seems to tremble.

“It just talked again,” Reek is babbling away, his wild gaze jumping between the car and Noah. “It talks. It’s a talking car. The fuckin’ car just talked again, Noah.”

“No, it didn’t!” Noah denies immediately— unable to control the way his voice rises in pitch in his panic.

Mrs. Moreno’s kids pause their game of double dutch for a second to glance across the street at them.

Noah reaches up and waves at them dumbly until they return to their game.

“Yes, I did,” Mirage’s voice contradicts— and Noah’s gonna kill him, strip him for parts, something, because the asshole sounds proud of it too.

He snaps and whirls back around.

“God damn it, Mirage,” he stresses, forcing his voice to stay low and ignoring Reek’s ravings behind him. “So much for being a master spy. Announce it to the whole world while you’re at it, why don’t you? Way to be slick, dude.”

“Oh, I can show you slick,” Mirage’s sly voice drawls. “All you gotta do is ask nicely, baby. I’ll put on a real good show for you.”

Okaaaay.

Noah thinks it’s finally safe to assume that Mirage isn’t just repeating shit he’s heard on the streets or on TV. This is definitely deliberate.

Noah thinks even the back of his neck flushes this time around.

He bites out an exasperated groan and bends down to lean into the Corrado’s cabin as Mirage rolls his engine over, reaching out for his box. He steadfastly ignores the way the metal digging into his stomach vibrates just a little more than strictly necessary.

“We’re gonna have a serious conversation about this later,” he points out, glaring at the radio as he pulls the box into the driver’s seat so he can get a better grip on it. “Now get outta here before you give my friend a heart attack.”

“Yes, sir,” Mirage taunts immaturely— and Noah’s sure that had the bot been in his rootmode, he would’ve stuck his tongue out at Noah. If that’s even what it’s called. Noah knows he has one, he’s noticed it before.

Noah yanks his box out of the car and, reaching out to grab ahold of Reek’s arm, moves them both over to the sidewalk where he can do nothing but sigh as Mirage once more peels away from the curb with a shriek of screeching tires— damn near scratching the faded paint on Mr. Delano’s Lincoln.

“Noah…”

Noah turns to face Reek, his freckled cheeks absolutely still blazing away.

The man’s got one brow firmly arched. And he still looks kind of blanched, something Noah’s never seen from him before, but he’s also got this wary look on his face

“Look, man, I can explain—”

“Noah,” Reek begins again, tentatively— like he’s about to ask something that even he can’t quite believe he’s going to ask. “Did you fuck that car?”

Noah damn nearly chokes on his own tongue.

[tallgirl14]

Dungeon meshi "high school teacher au"

Machil - chemistry/ biology

° really stricked

° has trouble connecting with her students

° she's fresh out of college baby teacher

° involved with prom/ homecoming and helps girls with hair and make-up ° complains to chilchuck about her students

Senchi - home economics/ growing food

° runs after school gardening club

° the teacher always feeding kids

° ALL students love him and go to him for advice

° only raised is voice a few times and it scared staff and students

° hippie teacher everyone thinks he lives out of his volkswagen van

° makes chilchuck eat real meals

Chilchuck - history/social study coach softball

° No one knows his age or personal life.

° constantly mistaken for a student bc/ of his height

° tired AF always holding a cup coffee/ has grumpy cat meme mug that he keeps picking up and placing around classroom

° dose appreciate students' memes

° has a drawer full of female products in case one of his students needs something

°dosent want to be involved in drama but dose want to hear about it

° wishes he could eat lunch alone but is always interrupted by either Laios, Marchil,

° normally calls out students who are picking on Laios who's oblivious to what's going on

Izutsumi- student teacher who dosent want to be here but she "assist" all the teachers

Laios- .... Library maybe or english? But I also get feeling none knows what he actually teaches. He fills in for other teachers he's never in the same place twice. He's always an extra teacher of field trip / school events

° always around and happy to help

° kids show him pictures of their dogs

° constantly gets off topic

° test/ quizzes he always adds bounce question about dragons or whatever

° kids love his golden retriever energy big hit with adhd/ autistic kids

[beardedmrbean]

A US hitwoman disguised in a hijab who was foiled when her gun jammed during an attempted murder in Britain is still at large after returning to the US, prosecutors say.

Aimee Betro, 44, was recruited by British father and son Mohammed Nazir, 30, and Mohammed Aslam, 56, to conduct a revenge killing against Aslat Mahamud and his relatives after a 2018 dispute at a jewellery store left the father and son duo injured.

Betro, who is from Milwaukee in Wisconsin, allegedly flew in from Chicago for the contract killing in Acocks Green in Birmingham, on September 7, 2019, after arranging to meet Mahamud’s son, shop owner Sikander Ali, to look at a Volkswagen Golf that the family was selling, Birmingham Crown Court was told, but the attempted shooting did not go to plan.

Dressed in a hijab, Betro “calmly” approached Ali, and pointed a gun at his head, the court heard. However, when she went to pull the trigger, the gun became jammed and Ali fled the scene.

The next morning, Betro allegedly went to Mahamud’s house and opened fire three times, before texting Mahamud: “Stop playing hide and seek” and “Where are you hiding?” the court was told. No one was injured.

Betro allegedly later sent Aslat Mahamud another text saying: “You want to rip me off, you want to be a drug kingpin go look at your house. I will show you. Watch your back. I will be shedding blood soon.”

The 44-year-old is said to have flown back to Chicago two days later and is still believed to be at large in the US, with an international manhunt underway.

If Betro is arrested in the US, it is not clear if she will be extradited to the UK to face possible charges.

Under the US’s extradition treaty with the UK, the UK must prove that a crime has been committed under both US and UK law and provide evidence that shows a “reasonable” demonstration of guilt in order for a US citizen to be extradited to the US.

Social media posts by Betro, reported by The Times, appear to show that she documented her trip to the UK from August to September 2019 in great detail.

In one Instagram post, she appears to talk about visiting her “partner in crime” in Manchester. In another post from the day before the first attempted shooting, Betro is seen posing in a picture with devil horns.

In other posts, she talks about attending the Tranzmission Festival in Crystal Palace, London, and going on a boat tour of the River Thames, it is reported.

During her time in London, she stayed at a number of hotels in Birmingham, Brighton, Derby and Manchester, in one case staying at a Raddison Blue hotel, the court heard.

Betro is not a professional hitwoman. She apparently works as a freelance graphic designer and studied early childhood education at Mid-State Technical College in Wisconsin, graduating in 2005 before going on to work as an administrator for the Milwaukee Brewers baseball team. In 2003, she wrote a letter to her local paper arguing in favour of free birth control for women.

Nazir and Aslam, of Derby, were found guilty of conspiracy to murder last week for their role in the attempted killing.

Nazir was also found guilty of possession of a firearm with intent to cause fear of violence, perverting the course of justice and illegally importing firearms over a plot to bring guns into the country and then blame it on another person to frame them. Aslam was cleared of a firearms offense.

The guilty verdicts were handed down after the court heard that Nazir and Aslam held a grudge against Ali’s family following a violent dispute at his boutique clothing store in Birmingham, in central England, on July 21, 2018.

The violent incident had left Nazir and Aslam injured, with the windows of their shop left smashed and the interior “trashed”.

In order to seek revenge, the pair allegedly flew Betro over from the States to Birmingham to kill Ali and his family.

On September 6, Nazir and Aslam travelled from their home in Derby to Birmingham city centre, with Nazir spending more than two hours in a hotel with Betro–  who ordered a takeaway from Deliveroo – according to prosecutors.

Betro had apparently arranged to meet Ali the next day on the pretense of buying a car.

Birmingham Crown Court heard how Betro – disguised in a hijab – pulled up in a Mercedes before Ali pulled up in an Audi nearby.

Kevin Hegarty KC, prosecuting said: “As he did, the would-be assassin came from the driver’s side of the Mercedes.

“As she left the Mercedes she left the driver’s door open. She walked quite calmly towards Sikander Ali and was pointing a gun at him at head height.

“As she got closer to Sikander Ali he saw her and he saw the gun and she pulled the trigger to fire the gun at him. Mercifully and luckily for him the gun jammed.”

Hegarty said Ali rapidly reversed his car and drove off, while Betro reportedly abandoned her Mercedes nearby – where it was later found by police.

Nazir flew out to America a few days later, a couple of days after Betro, who he put down as his point of contact on travel documentation, but he was arrested after his return to the UK the following month. Aslam was also arrested.

Detective Inspector Matt Marston, from West Midlands Police, said the pair were “determined to take revenge.”

“The lengths they went to in trying to make sure they weren’t implicated in pulling the trigger are immense,” he added.

“However, thanks to some great police work and support from our Derbyshire colleagues we were able to place them firmly in the middle of the attempted murder plot.”

The Independent has contacted the US Department of Justice and the FBI for comment.

The Independent is the world’s most free-thinking news brand, providing global news, commentary and analysis for the independently-minded. We have grown a huge, global readership of independently minded individuals, who value our trusted voice and commitment to positive change. Our mission, making change happen, has never been as important as it is today.

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

hello! as a celebration of me finally getting my driving license (shoutout to my instructor, he is an absolute saint and has forever changed my perspective on cars and car nerds), i thought i'd ask about your opinion on the cars my family owns — the Škoda Fabia I (the specific one we have is a combi from late 2004. slowly perishing, mainly of rust) and Kia Cee'd (2013??). is there anything remarkable about these two?

Ah, the Ceed, as Kia cowardly renamed it in 2018, in a decision I deliberately reject as I keep on referring to it as Cee apostrophe d, as Top Gear liked to call the earlier model they gave celebrities to go try to get themselves killed on tape, Tom Cruise getting the closest because of course it would be him.

Notice how nary an ounce of steering was given up whatsoever. Man was just balancing the car with the throttle in the true racing driver spirit of "If I die I die and if I don't this'll be a good time".

However, this is a bit of a sidetrack, as that's not your car - that'll be one o' deez, which whether as a 5 door...

...station wagon...

...or its bafflingly named coupe version (Pro_Cee'd????)...

...looks sharp as a goddamn tack in my books. In fact, wanna know how that's not just cheap flattery? That station wagon was actually the car I was pushing for our family to get when ours needed changing! Life didn't grace us with the opportunity, however, and so we ended up replacing our grey Citroën Picasso MPV with another (the ole' Xsara Picasso to C4 Picasso pipeline) which served us decently over a couple years before developing woes and getting passed on to family friends more willing to deal with them. Weird car, that C4 Picasso. Most of the steering wheel didn't turn.

Now, you may ask why those French folx would do that. And the answer is in the word French. I can just imagine the designers asking feedback about the handbrake and getting all giddy as they look at them struggle to figure out where it is. Actually, go on, you try!

Wait, wait, we're once again getting sidetracked, we've still not addressed the Fabia! And that's a crime, because it was a hugely important car for Škoda: as Volkswagen's involvement with the company had turned from shareholder to owner its involvement in the cars had turned from help to codevelopment, making the Fabia a humongous departure from Škodas of old. However, for the latest Octavia, no closer to those hunksajunk, the rave reviews had been no match against Škoda's brand image, which was so terrible that even Wikipedia feels comfortable saying they were laughing stocks.

So for the Fabia, Škoda turned to marketing agency Fallon London for a very bold advertising campaign. So bold in fact that I didn't even stumble into it through my passion for cars, but through my study of marketing. And it's so simple you could miss it. (...it's in the lower right.)

This simple idea, and how hard they doubled down on it...

...completely turned Skoda's fortunes around, in a brand repositioning so successful that all of Fallon's Škoda-related ads received awards. Including this one.

That's not even an ad for Škoda. That's an ad for themselves.

Links in blue are posts of mine about the topic in question: if you liked this post, you might like those - or the blog’s Discord server, linked in the pinned post!

[zwischenstadt]

"Socialism in One Sector"

"Huber mentions the infamous statistic that “a mere one hundred companies are responsible for 71 percent of emissions since 1988”, a statistic based on the CDP Carbon Majors report. These numbers are almost invariably used to point to the power of large corporations relative to individual consumers. But used as such, the statistic is an enormous sleight of hand. Who, after all, are those one hundred companies? The answer is that they are producers and extractors of fossil fuels: ExxonMobil, SaudiAramco, BP, the Chinese coal sector (which the report somewhat oddly lumps together). By definition of what the study counts, the 29% missing percent also come from producers of fossil fuels — the CDP study is literally a list of fossil fuel producers, measuring nothing except the degree of market concentration in the fossil fuel industry.

We have thus merely opened up a third side on the ledger. According to this accounting of responsibility, both Volkswagen the company and the owner of the car are responsible for precisely zero percent, unless either of them owns oil wells. For any given product — a car, a laptop, a flight, a banana — We can thus count emissions at three points: at the point of consumption, at the point (or along the supply chain) of production of the product, and at the point of production of the fossil fuels which enabled the production and consumption of that product. But no matter on which of the three sides of this accounting ledger we decide to assign blame or moral culpability, the emissions have to come down. Huber’s argument thus matters to the degree that there are producers of products who could decrease the ecological damage they cause but choose, or are forced by the “mute compulsion” of capitalism, not to. But it ignores the fact that there are processes of production — and with them, products, services, and, yes, lifestyles — which intrinsically cause ecological damage and therefore have to be scaled down."

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Volkswagen Crafter Atacama Concept 2006. A 4 wheel drive all-terrain campervan prototype that VW hinted might be produced in limited numbers but in fact it remains a one-off

[the-dance-of-italy]

Ok you all asked for it:

(Well one person did so far)

For all porpouses, im naming mine The Last Testament or TLT, and it's something if a reincarnation AU.

anyway, here's the ideas/HCs or whatever:

Jésus 🇵🇸 🇲🇽:[Still woking on Him]

-One of his parents is a refugee from Palestine into Mexico (Im respecting that fact abt him on account of the aprox. 13,000 refugees living in Mexico) (Haven't decided who tho, probably Miriam)

-Lives in Mexico City...kinda. Isn't really from there. (will elaborate later).

-Has a Pitbull he rescued named Angel

-Likes cumbias, bolero and regional. Is neutral abt banda. Hates corridos. (Music genres)

-Trans FTM and AceAro.

-Works at his parents artisan shop making traditional crafts based on both cultures.

-Went to college for psychology, then dropped out almost two semesters before graduating.

-Autistic and has ADHD. -Artisan / Gaphic Designer. Went to college for political studies and psychology, but dopped out. -Does Gaffiti with Tadeo and Juan often. -Meeting the guy who's supposd to be the antichrist is like a doppelganger sitation for him. -Meets his heavenly parent during a weed trip.

Tadeo (Thaddeus) 🇲🇽: [Woking on him]

-Also lives in Mexico City.

-Has worked both as a taxi driver and as a microbus driver.

-Is a Chivas fan (football soccer team).

-Obv believes quesadillas don't have to contain cheese in them. [Wrong, but he's from the capital so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯].

- Definitely has gotten into heated arguments with Jesús abt it.

- Loves cumbias and rap. Doesn't like banda too much. Hates corridos of all types.

- Definitely a cholo. -Owns a volkswagen beetle. -Has a torta and taco food stand.

Simon P 🇰🇷🇬🇷 (lives in 🇺🇸):

-Works as a butcher or has a fish shop (haven't decided)

-Didn't go to college because he had a child at 19 (almost after highschool graduation. He did love his wife very much despite marrying so young and both still inmature then.

-Becomes a widower after she dies in a fire.

-They had 3 kids that he is left alone to raise.

-Currently 28 y/o and third eldest of the group.

-Very conservative until his eldest child tried to come out to him as trans. Didn't go well at first, with him believing someone put ideas in their head.

-Meets Jesús in a forum online asking fo help about his kid. J' is the one who knocks some sense into him.

Andrew 🇬🇷🇰🇷 (Lives in 🇺🇸):[Still woking on Him]

-23 y/o studying to become an obstetrician, since their mother died giving birth to him, due to a doctor's malpractice.

-Learned about reproductive rights after meeting Juan and Jesús in a forum.

-Closeted gay because of Simon.

Felipe (Philip) 🇪🇸:[Woking on him]

-Runs a bakery with his family in Barcelona. -Besties with Nathaniel

Nathaniel Bartholomew 🇵🇭:[Woking on him]

-Neurologist -Meets Felipe in Spain after going to study abroad there

Thomas 🇮🇳 (Lives in 🇺🇸) : [Woking on him]

- Architect. -Is studying abroad in LA -Has a drug addiction problem - Meeting Jay makes it slightly worse. -His best friend is Lil' James.

Mateo (Matthew) 🇨🇱 (Lives in 🇺🇸): [Woking on him]

-Autistic

-Used to work in border patrol.

'Zi' (Simon Zee) 🇧🇷: [Woking on him]

- They all call him that on account of his name being Simon and the zi in Brazil. -Has Vitiligo

Mary (Magdalene) 🇦🇫🇺🇲: [working on her]

- Drag queen or Trans Woman (Haven't decided, fuck it, why not both)

- Parents disowned her after coming out and kicked her out at 16 y/o.

-Became friends with Jay after meeting him at a shelter. Worked odd jobs with him until they could afford an apartment together.

-Works in the same bar as him.

Jay (Judas)🇪🇬🇺🇸: [Woking on him]

-Went to college for political studies, dropped one semester before graduation and switched to psychology. Dropped two semesters in and switched to Art.

-Has a black cat named Baphy. (Yep, edgy motherfucker.)

-Works at a local gay bar near his neighborhood.

-His parents disowned him after he came out as Gay. Later he discovered he's Pansexual.

-Used to be a sex worker. Sometimes still does it even though he doesn't need to anymore.

- Listens to 80's and 90's music the most. Likes MJ, Bowie, Twisted Sister, Queen, ABBA and Elton John... -Doesn't know what to do with his life -Puts others peoples needs before his own. Cant say no to others. -Great at math, good at administrating money. Actually ends up buying the bar he worked at (with illicit money).

L. James 🇺🇸: [Woking on him]

-Is a Oncologist.

Sean (John) 🇮🇪 : [Woking on him] -Immature -Doesn't know what to do with his life. -younger brother. -Does mostly wheatpaste and sticker art

B. James🇮🇪: [Woking on him] -Punk -Friends call him Jay. Closest friends call him shaggy. -Always starting ending fights with the police -Has moderate alcoholism. -Does gaffiti and wheatpaste.

Juan (John TB) 🇵🇷 🇲🇽: [Still woking on him]

-Obv. Jesús' cousin.

- Left home to backpack travel around Latin America [refuses to go to Europe or the United States, but would love to visit Asia and Africa. Terrified of Australia.]

-Has dreadlocks and they're incredibly well taken care of despite traveling without much rest.

-Meets Andrew and Felipe during a spring break vacation in Colombia. (Already knew Andrew through the forum but didn't know it was him until they met there).

-Vegan probably. -Get's kidnapped by a cartel after messing someone's bussiness. He get's brutaly murdered afterwards by them to get rid of him. Eleazar (Lazarus) 🇺🇸/?? : ryu -Has and incurable illness. -Is always hospitalized, if he's dispached for a while, he's in a wheelchair.

[caltropspress]

DEBRIEFING: 5 August 2023 | Brooklyn, NY | The Nursery at Public Records

Armand Hammer’s We Buy Diabetic Test Strips Pop Up Party, featuring Fatboi Sharif, Cavalier, and DJ Haram

On the helix approaching the Lincoln Tunnel I saw a Virginia plate that read PHUNKE—its occupants seemed anything but, but who am I to judge? Not since I saw EGO DETH on a Volkswagen Kombi in the artificial light of the Holland while driving in to see woods’ Church release show at Baby’s All Right in early June have I taken a license plate as a sign. Fred Moten writes that “the sign works its terrible magic precisely from within a radical non-isolation,” but it’s a bit too early in the everyday struggle for theory, wouldn’t you agree? What I’m focused on is the WE BUY DIABETIC TEST STRIPS signs plastered over walls and poles. A sight as common in NYC as POST NO BILLS and CA$H FOR CAR$. We close our eyes to these signs, oblivious to their ubiquity. We’ve become blind to them. But I saw the sign with “Armand Hammer” appended to it, and it opened up my eyes. Life is demanding without understanding. So I overstand the signs and signals sent through wires and cables when I dial 1-877-ARM-N-HMR. I focus. I fixate. I study Alexander Richter’s photograph from the forthcoming album of a lamppost covered in taped and torn flyers. The edges fray and flicker in city winds. Looks like the tendons and flesh rotting from the bones of Death in Hans Baldung Griend’s Der Tod und das Mädchen (1517) painting. Looks like some real litter-ature. Gathering on August 5th, just six days shy of hip-hop’s much-heralded 50th anniversary, I think of hip-hop flyers of the past, specifically Kool Herc’s Back to School Jam at 1520 Sedgwick. But MC Debbie D—a flyerologist of the highest order—tells us that the index card flyer is a phony, a fake, a fugazi replica, a forgery. Fifty years into this thing and we’re still searching for authentic experiences. Fifty people at a rap show and one’s an informant. I’m here to inform on what felt—brain to bone—like an authentic experience.

3PM in the sun. I lined up with the other RSVPs (the show was free, in every sense of the word) outside the venue. Summer summer summertime. Fresh Prince via Juice shit. The temp on my dash read 90°. Kids walked down Butler Street mantled with beach towels from the Douglass and DeGraw Pool. Spotted lanternflies dive-bombed my legs. Thank god I lotioned my pale neck. When the powers-that-be finally allowed us entry, the musk of maryjane and malignant body odor was thick. Now I knew (it hit me in the fucking face) what that PHUNKE license plate was all about. “Funk,” from the French dialectal funkière: “to blow smoke on.” I’m not complaining, though—it was a communal fumigation. We were funky technicians, one and all.

“The Nursery” that Public Records has built falls somewhere between greenhouse and Zen garden. The square space is essentially an urban enclosure where pine and plane trees and fresh lumber create a private performance patio, a paradise just beyond the concertina wire, as woods might say. The stage is bedecked with potted cacti, while I spied A. Richter across the way with his Fujifilm GA645Zi amongst the bamboo stalks. ELUCID’s green Champion mesh football jersey (the Bo Jackson jersey in the laundry, apparently) matched the soundsystem monitors, and I found what little shade there was to be had and huddled close to the soundman’s booth, a shed of glass. I almost managed to forget I was cordoned off by beige shipping containers. 

It wasn’t long before I was entertaining the idea of going full Fatboi Sharif, i.e., shirtless. Sharif himself only made it through half his set before shedding his garb—there wasn’t even a hospital gown in sight. The heat was on as soon as he came out to Can Ox’s “Scream Phoenix”—rising from flames. El-P’s Phillip Glass sample could’ve easily made a Sharif beat (we’re only talking a single generation removal, really). Sharif made quick work of some of his most recent altered realities. “Static Vision” included a call [I ain’t scared!] and response [Motherfucker, I ain’t scared!]. He ran through “Phantasm,” “Dimethyltryptamine,” “Designer Drugs,” “Think Pieces,” and “The Christening” like a buxom blonde through an abandoned building, revving chainsaw in pursuit. At times, his speech slurred into a makeshift Swahili (word to This Heat). It was strange to see Sharif in daylight, sunstruck, as I’m so used to seeing him in blood-flooded cellars or Joseph Conrad’s heart of darkness environs, like he alludes to on “Dimethyltryptamine.” He barreled through ventricles, riding shotgun in Sir Menelik’s Space Cadillac. DJ Boogaveli (who hypes up Sharif like it’s a pep rally at Springwood High) shouted about family at the start of “The Christening,” which sounded sincere compared to the tone Sharif takes on Decay���there the family must be of the Manson or Duggar milieu. He finished the track acapella, exhausting the last of his energy, only to reinvigorate and reanimate for a rioting rendition of “Smithsonian.”

I’ve yet to invest the necessary time into Cavalier’s work, though I know him from his association with Quelle Chris. With an album coming down the pike from Backwoodz, I found myself in the lucky position of witnessing his set incapable of discerning old material from new. He took centerstage, acting as his own hype-man and DJ (though he did high-five the invisible “DJ Light-skin” at one point), and his kineticism was immediately apparent. His floral button-down danced over his body as he rapped vitally. I felt vivisected by his exhortations and incisive observations. Keep in mind, my age prohibits me from becoming enthralled by any performer whose work I’m unfamiliar with—a sort of neuropathy of the soul. But he had me open and endeared by the time he implored, Put the tiger balm on it, put the tiger balm. As you wish, Cav. I lathered my chest.

“Y’all believe in magic? No? That’s okay.” Cav said it so quickly that he didn’t give anyone a chance to answer, but he assumed correctly, I think. Still, I was smitten by his conjurations—he made me a believer (no small task). “King me,” he rapped, “I’m trying to make it all across the board.” And, by the end of it, he had the entire crowd shouting “KING ME” back at him without a problem. MAKE SOME BLOODCLOT NOISE! he growled, and we didn’t need to be asked twice. IT’S VIBRATIONAL, AIN’T IT? With a seemingly innocuous phrase he was able to summon the spirit of the crowd. Over the course of his 25-minute set, I heard him rhyme epiglottis, brag of spitting a verse while performing cunnilingus, give a lesson on homophones, and regale us with stories of winking at cops in Whole Foods. “From the Tree of Life I smoke foliage,” he said, and the trees Betty Smith saw grow in Brooklyn circulated through his lungs. “We need to bring back weed spots—it’s not nostalgia.” Though he did rap nostalgically at times, letting us know he was born in BK, went to school not far from where we stood, and though he’s representing the 504 now, Brooklyn born-and-raised ossified his being into bone.

THIS IS CHURCH, YA FEEL ME? And I did feel him. I spent the week culling quotes about improvisation from Amiri Baraka’s Black Music (1967) for another self-assignment (I don’t work for anyone, son), and highlighted this passage: “...to go back in any historical (or emotional) line of ascent in Black music leads us inevitably to religion, i.e., spirit worship. This phenomenon is always at the root in Black art, the worship of spirit—or at least the summoning of or by such force.” [Peace to Kehinde Alonge—always at the ready with choicest recommendations.] Cavalier danced upon the altar and rapped his sermon relentlessly, tirelessly. I was raised up on tippy-toes, enthralled by the force of his spirit. THIS AIN’T JAZZ?! he asked. WHAT THE FUCK THEY TALKIN’ ABOUT MAN? I don’t know who’s doing that sort of talking, but they’d be hard-pressed to say such a thing in this public gathering. “Brooklyn, this is how it feels—all of us together: this is how it feels.” I believed in Cavalier’s magic by the end of his set. I was charmed by his satchel of High John de Conqueror. Let me know where to Venmo my tithe. 

The heat index had my vision tunneling. When Armand Hammer stepped on stage, sounds were moving in reverse, and the Class-A dynamite duo took us back (way back) in time, when ELUCID was in “fifth grade in [his] dad jeans” and he “played Game Boy in the backseat.” woods, with his first words of the afternoon, said he “rather be codependent than co-defendants.” This must’ve been “Landlines,” the lead-off from the new album, seeing as how they shouted-out JPEGMAFIA, ELUCID rapped “leave a message after the beep,” and a dial tone toned between verses. It was off the hook, as they say.

They seemed to be following the official We Buy Diabetic Test Strips tracklist, because next up was “Woke Up and Asked Siri How I’m Gonna Die” (a song with a title so long that it must’ve come from the magnum mind of ELUCID). She replied, she replied, she replied… they repeated, but I didn’t quite catch what that chatbotbitch said. woods refashioned a line from “Remorseless” with “Life’s a blip, I’m swimming under the radar.” Life’s a blip and then you die, that’s why we puff lye. Further deepening the uncanny valley, their third offering to the musty masses included “fake trees in the Apple Store.” I’m sensing something about the excesses of tech after a cursory listen to these WBDTS tracks, the detritus and pollution it produces. To quote my damn self, something in line with “...a cell tower with evergreen branches: / …a drone with seagull feathers.” ELUCID revived “a double portion of protection for [him] and [his] niggas,” explaining he’s “trying to only say what’s necessary.” By any means, sir. 

Cavalier was welcomed back to the stage for “I Keep A Mirror in My Pocket,” another new joint with Preservation on production. We the audience felt, collectively, like we were in the belly of the beast—those shipping container walls (a real Season 2 of The Wire sensation)—as Cav chorused and signified about the Big Bad Wolf. A cautionary tale, indeed. I can see clearly how Cavalier fits within the Backwoodz cadre. 

The content of the next number left no question of its title. “Niggardly (Blocked Call),” if I was asked to predict, will be the cynosure of the new album. (Yeah, you heard me right dog, I said cynosure.) Produced by August Fanon (who was in the place to be—a rare appearance from an elusive mastermind who would humbly demur if you called him such, I’m supposing), the song has an R0 = 15 infectious hook: “Admittedly niggardly, I won’t even give these niggas bad energy.” woods, what with his penchant for scales and measurements, boils everything “down to the last red cent.” How does he do it? Well, MY HEART PUMP KETAMINE, he yells. We find woods in one of his ruthless, no Vaseline moods: “I eat knowing I’m starving my enemies.” Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to spending time with your kids, and woods picked up where his verse from “As the Crow Flies” left off. He closed his eyes and rapped to the rafters and the sky:

I write when my baby’s asleep, I sit in the room, in the dark, I listen to him breathe, I walk him to school and then the park,  Hold they little hands while we cross the street, I think about my brother who is long gone, And this is all he ever dreamed.

ELUCID and woods repeated admittedly niggardly back-and-forth at the end, delighted with the wordplay. 

They kept riding the August Fanon beatwork like Thomas Sankara in the Renault 5 as the killer chords from “Smile Lines” crept in. The crowd response was screw-faced sneers and shouted lyrics. One youngblood knew the song front to back, beginning to end—ELUCID acknowledged him from the stage: “Peace to the homie out there—he knew every word, man.” I watched the dude beam from the compliment. Even after writing profusely—profusely (fuck Caltrops and his non-existent editor, here comes the predator…)—about woods and ELUCID, I still can’t memorize their lines. Chalk it up to some neurological incapacity that arrived in my 30s. I envy those who commit songs like “Smile Lines” and “Smith + Cross” to memory. My not-so-supple gray matter just can’t cut it anymore.

My expectations for We Buy Diabetic Test Strips were upended by the tracks they debuted. I’d speculated an abrasive noise event; a Sheet Metal Music for the new millennium we’ll never reach; a kind of Schoolly D “P.S.K.” FML swagger. There’s certainly elements of that, just not as much as I was anticipating. (And who knows what noise the as-yet-unheard tracks might bring.) I assumed the shared space with Soul Glo over the past several years, the screechings zapped through the receiver on the toll-free number, and their recent appearance on Shapednoise’s Absurd Matter would be an indication of the Shape of Rap to Come. Speaking of which, woods sludged through his verse from “Family” before DJ Haram’s scrapyard percussion ushered in “Trauma Mic.” 

Haram was at the helm for the entirety of Armand Hammer’s set, and she reveled and felt every ounce of her own beat. The buzzsaw sounds were like Baraka’s description of Don Ayler’s trumpet: “long blasts…in profound black technicolor.” ELUCID’s traumatized mic draped over his shoulder for the opening anvil strikes. He needed his hands free to clap in rhythm. The gesture was reminiscent, again, of Baraka’s analysis of the saxophone held by Albert Ayler (the elder Ayler), “a howling spirit summoner tied around the ‘mad’ Black man’s neck.”

The “Trauma Mic” video had me thinking on thematics of refuse and rubbish—you best protect your dreck. I thought back to the garbology Aesop sifted through, where I saw Bakunin’s barricades in the city streets and revisited the actions of The Motherfuckers in the late ’60s—they stood in solidarity with striking sanitation workers and dumped garbage at the doorstep of Lincoln Center. Armand Hammer—outfitted as scrappers, pitching barrels and coiling skeins of copper wire—are of the same spirit. They propose a cultural exchange of garbage for garbage.

woods bodied “No Hard Feelings” and was joined by damn-near the entire crowd. Had it sounding like a tenant revolt as we all screamed, LIKE THEY STEALING! The Aethiopes track equals, if not outright overtakes, “Asylum” and “Remorseless” as most affecting in the past year’s blitz of performances. 

ELUCID stood on the precipice, at the edge of the stage, as he rapped through “Barbarians.” He went swimming into the crowd with his free arm, astro-spiritually. The refrain of “Who the fuck are you?” evolved from the accusatory tone heard on Rome to an existential “Who the fuck am I?” ELUCID and woods bandied the question between them like two college kids in the dorms at 2AM, faded as fidduck. The “intelligent fist” of woods and the “mysticism” of ELUCID (to use an equation Baraka applied to Milford Graves and Sonny Murray) working together to produce a manic mix. They kept the marriage going through “Mangosteen” before turning to the heliocentric worlds they invented in collaboration with the Alchemist on Haram. “Black Sunlight” and “Falling Out the Sky” had me thinking of Baraka (again!): “It only takes two to start a group. If the two are maturely strong, and have a oneness, then the others will feel it and touch their own sound, voice, or whatever.”

ELUCID’s last solo number was “Spellling,” and by then he was spent but still perseverating in the dopest way possible. “This is a physical experience,” ELUCID said as the song began, asking the soundman to turn the volume up higher. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII been spelling, he spoketh [an ever ever elongated I and a shot-to-the-dome of “been”]. The I Told Bessie opener became what Baraka calls “an antiphonal rhythmic chant-poem-moan.” ELUCID’s voice was ragged by this point, a metallic scrape as he shouted about being “your momma’s favorite, since about ’88, ’89.” The down in “just got to heaven and I can’t sit down” was made malleable in how he twisted it around in his mouth. Split tongue heavy lifting.

He had nothing left when the alarming squeal whistle warp of “Stonefruit” started to play. But the audience assisted, screaming with him I REALLY CAME IN ON A CYCLONE as his voice gave out. woods jumped in early when it was his turn, which proved a moment of levity. To err is human, and woods—despite the adoration he’s been receiving—is endearingly human. That humanity is probably why so many of Armand Hammer’s fans have become zealous collectors, showing up at the venue with cardboard boxes full of vinyl, willing to wait patiently for woods and ELUCID to write their names in metallic Sharpies on these their prized possessions. “First Armand Hammer show in the states in a while,” woods said at one point. “Small flex,” ELUCID noted, chuckling. But they brought it home on Saturday. It was “As the Crow Flies” made manifest. woods brought all the Backwoodz family on stage at the conclusion of their set. The family atmosphere afforded by the 3PM start time was embellished by the sight of children on shoulders. It had the feel of a triumphant affair. It’s winning, it’s winning, it’s winning…

Peace to the conversations that were had with Alex Richter, Willie Green, Max Heath, and Sharif.

Photos credit:  Rory Simms

AH setlist:

1.  Landlines 2.  Woke Up and Asked Siri How I’m Gonna Die 3.  [???] 4.  I Keep A Mirror In My Pocket 5.  Niggardly (Blocked Call) 6.  Smile Lines 7.  Family 8.  Trauma Mic 9.  No Hard Feelings 10.  [???] 11.  Barbarians 12.  Mangosteen 13.  Black Sunlight 14.  Falling Out the Sky 15.  Spellling  16. Stonefruit

[brittxxbpierce]

I want to be as beautiful as the ocean

wait, is that BRITTANY PIERCE? they kinda look a lot like HUNTER SCHAFER, don’t they? i heard the TWENTY-TWO year old is known as the THE BRAINLESS BEAUTY around mckinley. it seems like they auditioned to be in THE TROUBLETONES which is so lame? people at campus have said they’re ALTRUISTIC, but don’t be fooled since they’re also GULLIBLE. rumor has it, you can find them at CHEERIOS when they aren’t belting show tunes. their entire vibe revolves around MINI SKIRTS, INCONVIENT BUT NECESSARY ANIMAL RESUCE MISSIONS, AND KISSING GIRLS but no one pays attention to that here in ohio.

LIST ABOUT 3+ HEADCANONS ABOUT YOUR CHOSEN CHARACTER!

Brittany only auditioned for Troubletones because she thought it was the nice thing to do after hearing so many of her peers talk badly about the “Glee” kids. 

Brittany drives a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle that breaks down more often than it actually runs. 

Brittany has known from a young age that she’s at the very least not 100% percent hetereosexual and finds it very confusing that some people require a label or formal notice of her penchant for kissing pretty girls, namely Santana.

BIOGRAPHY 

Brittany Pierce, a 22-year-old college student, radiates warmth and determination. Growing up in a tight-knit family in a small town, Brittany’s love for animals and the ocean was nurtured by her supportive parents and her younger sister Jamie. From a young age, Brittany was captivated by the wonders of the natural world, spending weekends exploring tide pools and volunteering at the local animal shelter with Jamie by her side.

Personality: Brittany is a compassionate and driven individual with a heart as vast as the ocean she adores. Her optimism is contagious, and she approaches every challenge with a can-do attitude and a genuine smile. She values kindness, empathy, and authenticity, and her easy-going nature makes her a beloved friend to all who know her.

Education: Currently in her junior year at Oceanview University, Brittany is pursuing a degree in Marine Biology with a minor in Conservation Studies. Her academic pursuits are fueled by her passion for protecting marine life and preserving the world’s oceans for future generations. Whether she’s conducting research in the lab, analyzing data, or participating in fieldwork expeditions, Brittany’s dedication to her studies is unwavering.

Family: Brittany’s family is her rock, providing unwavering love and support as she navigates the ups and downs of college life. Her sister Jamie, just a year younger, shares Brittany’s love for animals and often accompanies her on beach clean-ups and conservation projects. Their parents, who run a local bed and breakfast, have always encouraged Brittany and Jamie to pursue their passions and follow their dreams, instilling in them a strong sense of determination and resilience.

Dreams and Aspirations: Brittany’s ultimate goal is to combine her love for animals and the ocean with her desire to make a positive impact on the world. She dreams of working for organizations like National Geographic or the World Wildlife Fund, conducting research, and advocating for marine conservation on a global scale. Whether she’s studying coral reefs in the Caribbean, tracking sea turtles in the Pacific, or raising awareness about plastic pollution, Brittany is committed to making a difference.

In her free time, Brittany enjoys spending time outdoors, whether it’s surfing, hiking, or simply soaking up the sun on the beach. She also cherishes quiet moments with her family, sharing stories, laughing, and making memories that will last a lifetime.

Driven by her love for animals, her connection to the ocean, and her unwavering determination to follow her dreams, Brittany Pierce is destined to make waves in the world of marine conservation.

[runwayrunway]

when germans think lufthansa nobody thinks ah yes the name the nazis gave to their airline, because the hansa name is a direct tie to something far older and that is far more suitably neutrally nationalist propaganda - Hansa. The Hanseatic League. The "earliest predecessor to the EU" and something that remains such a point of pride that formerly Hanseatic cities keep it in their name centuries after the Hanseatic league was wiped from all maps. Something that remains on modern city signs and even on car registration plates, like Hamburg giving up the single "H" to the smaller and far less important city of Hanover just so they can have their "HH" for Hansastadt Hamburg

With Lufthansa it's not so much the etymology that's the issue as the historical context. The name itself is entirely harmless but the original Deutsch Luft Hansa was a government apparatus which used forced labor of prisoners including children and was run by members of the Nazi party including several who had personal hands in war crimes. Today's Lufthansa is technically a different company but it was lead by many of the same people, most notably Deutsche Bank manager Kurt Weigelt, Luftwaffe Oberkommando Kurt Knipfer, and Luftwaffe chief of staff Werner Kreipe. This company was actually established with the name Luftag and then spent a significant amount of money to continue using the pre-war name and crane logo. (East Germany's flag carrier pre-Interflug also attempted to do this until Luftag/Lufthansa sued them into bankruptcy for it. To be clear, they also should not have done this, in my opinion.) They also seem to consider themselves to be the same company, if stating their founding date as 1926 is any indication. They've taken some downright bizarre actions when it comes to if they want to acknowledge this or not, including commissioning studies by historians and then suppressing their publication. Keeping the Luftag or Interflug name would not have changed this but the fact that they chose to continue branding themselves as Lufthansa definitely exacerbates it.

This is the unfortunate double reality in which German companies which keep the names of their Nazi-era counterparts are forced to operate. I'm sure somebody who knows more about cars than me could talk about Volkswagen or Porsche, which literally takes its name from an officer of the SS who produced weaponry for the war effort. Should they have outright changed their names? That's a bigger question than I can answer. I generally lean towards 'yes' in the same way I do for Chanel - the fact that a company is no longer literally owned by the same people it once was doesn't make the bitter pill that is branding itself with the name of someone who contributed to genocide much easier to swallow, and even more so with something inherently political like a flag carrier. Both Italy and Japan, for example, retired the brands of Ala Littoria and Imperial Japanese Airways. But there's obviously not a consensus here and I am just one person with one opinion. I find Chanel and Porsche to be far more inherently loaded than Lufthansa, but that doesn't mean there isn't a conversation to be had surrounding this topic, and people have been having that conversation for years.

This is, in all honesty, about the least of my political criticisms of the current Lufthansa. It's been the better part of a century and they are no longer literally abducting people to build their radar systems to the best of my knowledge, nor do they have any 150-year-old SS officers serving on their board. But they are still indisputably linked to Nazi Germany, which I expect they are pretty reluctant to lean into when discussing their history because if they did that would be terrible (and as far as I know of German law probably also illegal). Of the large airlines in the world this is a pretty uniquely Lufthansa baggage to deal with and it puts them in a pretty unfortunate spot a lot of the time, but as I was getting at in my post I do think there's a lot they could do that actually leans into German identity rather than being quarterlyreportcore without sticking Third Reich imagery on their planes but I can also understand why they may be hesitant to brand themselves in any way that isn't super sterile given that they have this history. It is just inherently harder to make being Lufthansa your brand than it is to make being the country that has really great glaciers your brand.

No, it's not the main thing that is associated with the name 'Lufthansa' and it shouldn't be. Yes, Lufthansa is a brand which was actively put forth by the Third Reich rather than just coincidentally existing at the same time and that is always going to be a nasty barnacle attached to the airline.

[enbysiriusblack]

ten lines, ten people

thanks for the tag @drownedlove <3

rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. if you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

My tongue will tell the anger of my heart (or else my heart concealing it will break)

Marlene Mckinnon drove up to Hogwarts sixth form, cherry red volkswagen and music on full volume as she pulled into one of the last driving spots. A car, packed with girls all laughing and talking, abruptly stopped, the driver just about to drive into the spot before Marlene. 

Marlene grabbed her bag and jumped out the car, throwing a finger up at the other girls and ignoring their shouts of dismay. 

She walked towards the entrance to school, to Lily, her only friend, who stood by the door immersed in a Shakespearean play. She looked up as Marlene approached. 

“You realise we’re not studying that till the end of the year”, Marlene said, leaning against the wall next to Lily. 

“Better three hours too soon, than a minute too late.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, “nerd,” before glancing onto the poster on the wall just next to her head. 

‘Prom’ the words said in large bubble letters at the top. Marlene instinctively tore it down without a second thought.

Lily glanced to her in unsurprised annoyance, “Was that necessary?”

“Yes.”

Just a prank? (they cry themselves to sleep)

"Sirius? You alright? It's like 2am, what are you doing up?" 

Sirius crawled back into bed, with a small laugh, "I'm not up. You're up." 

"Well yeah. You woke me up by being up." 

Sirius laughed, and James got out of bed, making his way over to Sirius. 

As he got there, he smelt a strong stench of firewhiskey.

"Are you drunk? Where did you get alcohol from?" 

Sirius shrugged, "Brought it with me." 

James snorted, crawling under the covers, "You were on a limited time to pack everything you own and you decided to pack drinks?" 

"Bare essentials, Prongs." 

James laughed and closed his eyes, "You're an idiot." 

When all is said and done

"Hi, how can I help?" Mary asked with a tired smile.

The customer smiled back and a distant image of James Potter appeared in her smile. Mary shaked it away. 

"I was wondering if you had this in xs? I could only find large and xl on the rail." 

"If you wait here, I'll check in the back for you." 

She walked off and entered the backroom, where her work friend was taking a break. 

"Mary!" She cheered, like Marlene did, "I had to clean some kid's puke earlier. I am definitely quitting. It was disgusting." 

She spoke with a heavy Scottish accent, just like Lily's.

"You say that every day." 

She shrugged, "One day, I promise you. One day. I'm going to do something so much more. What about you? I don't think you've ever talked about any big dreams." 

Mary found the shirt in xs, but turned back to her friend before leaving, "this was my dream." 

All the fools sailed away

The Carrow's manor was almost as dark and ancient as his own; he could feel the dark magic that haunted the home, radiating off the walls like lingering curses. 

Other death eaters started to take off their masks and sit down in the dining hall. He followed with them. Peering at the faces of those sitting around him, he recognised all of them from growing up or other meetings. It was all the same.

Apart from one new member. They sat down in an empty seat on the other side of the table. And as they took off their mask, a shock ran down Regulus as he recognised the tired, shrinking death eater. 

He looked older than before, not just in the way someone did when you hadn't seen them for around three years, but in a haunting way. Like the person had changed dramatically. The person he once knew was hopeful, enthusiastic, and innocent. So innocent. And now they were drowning. His face pinched and withdrawn, a sort of despair written on them, down to their bones. A zombie of who they once were. 

And as Pettigrew turned to Regulus, his face washed in a familiar guilt. His eyes full of lies and regret. Regulus knew it well, the same thing he caught every time he saw his own reflection. 

The devil wears an angel's face

"It's been three weeks and Potter still hasn't been in touch", Moody said with a sigh, "I'm going to need you to go out there."

Remus looked up from his desk, "I'm in the middle of researching this monster. James is fine, he always forgets to check in."

Moody nodded in agreement, "I know. But Mia and Monty keep bugging me saying they think something is wrong."

Remus groaned, "Alright. I'll go out there but don't blame me when James is perfectly fine and you have to deal with the phones ringing nonstop from hunters knowing absolutely nothing."

Remus went upstairs to start packing for the journey, when Euphemia came into his room.

"Thank you so much, Remus. We're really worried about him, he should've gotten in touch by now."

Remus shrugged, "Just doing my job. He'll be fine, don't worry."

Euphemia laughed, "I can't help but worry. Now you be safe too, alright? And borrow Monty's horse, you'll get there quicker."

Remus pulled his bag over his shoulders, "Thank you, Euphemia."

She pulled him into a hug, "Be careful, darling."

We are the dead

James slid down the bannister of the stairs, and once at the end, jumped off and ran inside the kitchen.

"Hi dad!" He grinned, sitting down at the large table.

Fleamont winked at his son, before piling food onto a plate for him.

Euphemia walked in, kissing her husband's cheek. He filled up another plate for her as she made tea for them all.

"Jamie, sweetheart. Where are your things? I told you to put them in the hall yesterday."

James' eyes widened and he jumped out of his seat before running back upstairs.

Euphemia shook her head with a grin on her face, "that boy. I'll go help him pack."

She made her way up to James' bedroom, opening the door and seeing James whizzing around.

"Mum! Hi!" James grinned at her as he sped around his room, throwing things into his trunk.

Euphemia sighed and sat on the bed, neatly folding the clothes he threw in.

Two hearts colliding

"Are you sleeping?"

Dorcas crunched a nut between their teeth, "Yes."

"Are you eating?"

Dorcas picked up another nut from the complimentary bowl, "Your guess?"

"Are you suicidal?"

"Depends how much longer I have to sit here for."

"Are you hurting yourself?"

"Only mentally."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's a joke. Regulus, a friend of mine, makes those sort of jokes a lot. Guess it catches on."

"Please don't joke. This is serious. Why did you try to set your apartment on fire?"

"It was an accident."

Fistclenching, heartaching

Marlene ran down the corridor while eating a slice of buttered toast, slamming into the doorway and falling onto the floor.

"Ah. Come in, Come in, Miss Mckinnon. Take a seat."

She stood up, putting her bag back onto her shoulder and finishing her toast. She took her usual seat, starting to zone out as she drew on her hand with gel pens that she stole from Lily the other day.

Slughorn read out a list of names, partnering people up to avoid an incident like last lesson when he let everyone choose their partners and Remus and James blew up half the classroom.

"Mckinnon. You're going to be with Meadowes over here."

Marlene looked over to the slytherin she was assigned to work with. She hadn't spoken to them before, but recognised them from around the quidditch matches, around the castle, and in classes.

Dorcas moved over to Marlene's table after a few minutes of neither of them moving. Marlene rather liked her seat, it was at the back and in the corner out of the teacher's eye and all her friends were sitting nearby.

She simply refused to move to appease them.

What is this, parent trap?

"Have you even tried telling Mother I don't require outdoor experience? When would I ever need to learn how to row a boat or roast a marshmallow in a civilised society?"  The family butler forced his smile away as he glanced at Regulus through the car window, "What if you were to join the rowing team at Eton? And that is besides the point, Regulus, your mother has requested for you to attend this summer camp and you will obey her wishes."  Regulus leaned forwards in his seat, sparing a glance to the other kids as the car pulled up, eyes drawing to a messy looking boy scrambling with a blonde girl in a pile of dirt, "But look at them! Half of them are already covered in mud!" "Making connections with peers is an important step to take at your age. You'll be surprised of the sort you may meet in a place like this."  He leaned back in a huff, "I doubt that." 

The butler stepped out of the car, tutting as his shoes instantly stepped in a puddle of mud but still went round the car and opened Regulus' door.  Regulus didn't get out.  "What about chess camp? Or I could go to the Rosier's for the summer? They have a villa in Greece, that could be educational."  The butler sighed, moving instead to the trunk and pulling out all of Regulus' bags.  "This was your mother's wish and you must respect it. I'm not leaving until you get out of this car." Regulus groaned, slowly standing up and grimacing at the rocky, muddy ground he had to stand on.  "This is grotesque." 

Red strings burning our souls together

"Hello" A little boy with short black hair and grey eyes leaned against the doorway, he was dressed in a fitted suit as if for a funeral or wedding.

Remus stared back at him, "Hi", he said back.

The boy grinned and walked over to his bed, standing by the end of it.

"I'm Sirius Black", the boy grinned.

"Remus Lupin." 

Sirius paused before speaking again, "Why are you in here? Are you ill?" 

Remus nodded, "Obviously." 

Sirius tapped his fingers on the bed sheet until his mind thought of something bad, "Are you going to die?" 

Remus nodded with a small smile. 

Sirius gasped in shock and took a step away from the bed.

Remus smiled even wider, "Well everyone will eventually." 

"Even me?" Sirius looked confused. 

He nodded again, "Yep. But probably in loads and loads of years when you're wrinkly and grey though." 

Sirius' face contorted into disgust, "I don't wanna be wrinkly and grey. I'll be absolutely handsome and beautiful and I'll never look old at all." 

tagging: @queerdeadwizards (pretend I tagged 10 ppl and not 1, I cant think of ppl rn in too ill)