#also I wanted to tack a bit on the drive after their extended stay

[araiz-zaria]

The Fantastic Union Four™ — Road Trip AU

n+1st part 👀👀👀

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So now three of the fantastic union four™ have to nurse Grant back into sobriety or is it lucidity?. Starting with getting some grocery (for their own meal and whatnot), they still have to figure out how to nurse him exactly. They read information about it on the ponderous volume that is known only as the internet, trying to figure it out, but the more they read, the more confused they feel about it (”...really? just feeding him is enough?” ”...but if he’s still sleeping all the time, do we have to wake him up or something?...” “...but what if he refuses to eat? Do we need to force feed him?” “No other kind of medicine needed??”). Sheridan tells Thomas and Sherman that at any rate, Grant needs to eat something(”...guys, remember that Ulyss hasn’t eaten anything since our last stop at that roadside attraction!”), so they decided to just stick to their initial plan of feeding him once he wakes up. As has also been decided, after having some breakfast they cleaned the car and, afterwards, watch by Grant’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up.

They wait, and wait,

and wait,

and wait...

...and there are a few times where Grant drifts back, almost waking up, only for him to just (sleep)talk drowsily and drifts back into sleep (”Huh, false alarm”). While waiting for him to wake up, Thomas reads the maps and rechecks their route plan again, Sherman paces around in the room, especially after sitting by the bedside for quite a bit. His pacing around is occasionally broken by him responding to messages he got. He almost always replies only when standing up, and that concludes his cycle of twiddling about while watching by the bedside. Sheridan stares worriedly at Grant, and then at Sherman (when he paces around), and then at Thomas, sitting at a small coffee table by the room’s window. He felt bad for inadvertently making things worse for Grant back in the car when they were on the ride (like holding him down just for Grant to wail and flail about), but now there is only one thing they can do...

When lunch time comes they take turn taking lunch while someone stays keeping an eye on Grant. Thomas and Sheridan eat quite a considerable amount for lunch, and after they finished they offer Sherman to have some lunch. Sherman refuses, saying that he isn’t hungry (and he doesn’t really take lunches). Sheridan and Thomas look at each other, Sheridan shrugs, and Thomas taps Sherman on the shoulder, meaning to talk to him about the route plan and other things related to it (so that Sherman could get a break of sorts anyway), while Sheridan sits by the bedside.

They keep watch on Grant until it is close to dinner time (this is around 7 pm), when finally Grant drifts back into waking up, awake enough to have a coherent enough conversation with the other three, even though he is still visibly so drowsy.

Grant: (squinting, gazing on the people sitting by his bedside) “...how come we are not hitting the road again?”

Sherman: “Are you kidding me? We are not leaving until you sober up and eat something.”

Grant: (groans queasily) “...I don’t wanna eat anything...” (turns sideways, trying to get to sleep again)

Sherman: “I say we are not leaving until you eat something!”

Sheridan: “Ulyss, please, you have to eat something. Eating will also help you sober up...”

Grant: (trying to hold off feelings of nausea, curling down) “...Phil, I am not an eater like you are...” (closes his eyes, trying to sleep again)

Thomas: “Ulyss, please, just eat something, even for a little bit. You haven’t eaten anything since we stayed here.”

Sherman: (leans toward Thomas, whispers) “...I say we force feed him some cracker and water...”

Thomas: (sighs) “I guess we have to do that.” (pulls Grant by the shoulder gently towards his own side) “Ulyss, please, you cannot keep on sleeping, it might just make you stay queasy.”

Grant: (heaves a long sigh) “...I...really...don’t...wanna, eat... anything...”

Sherman: (lifting Grant at the shoulder, moving him together with Sheridan on the other side of the bed so that Grant is on a seated position)

Thomas: “Please, Ulyss, just a bite or two, and then you can go back to sleep again...”

Grant: (dejected, sighs) “...alright...”

After seating Grant at the head of the bed, they are able to feed Grant two and a half saltine crackers and a half glass of water. Afterwards Grant goes to sleep again, and the other three feel slightly relieved. That is, until Sheridan asks this...

Sheridan: “Guys, do we need to tell Julia about this?”

Sherman glares at Sheridan for having asked about that, Thomas is slightly startled when that question is brought up (”Huh, yeah...come to think of it...”). Earlier in the afternoon Sherman messaged Ellen about how he is doing on the trip, and he messaged her about Grant’s condition (not something he intended to do, but since he had to explain why he stays at a place longer than he planned, he ended up telling her about it anyway). He also told her in the message not to tell Julia about it (he doesn’t want to cause unnecessary panic, esp. on Julia’s part, since he found out from Ellen that Julia has been fretting about Grant’s emotional wellness on the trip, so he tried to not make Julia go into full-blown panic (so that Grant wouldn’t be so panicky in return, or so he thinks...)), but now that Sheridan has broached on this topic (he planned to just keep Julia out of the loop until Grant is recovered and Grant himself can communicate with her again) and the prolonged recovery situation they are now in, they’d have to eventually tell her about it.

Thomas: “So, who wants to tell her about this?”

Sheridan: “Anybody got her contact?”

Sherman: (lies -- cuts in curtly) “No.”

Sheridan: “So I guess we’d have to get his phone then.”

Thomas: “Sure” (reaches into Grant’s pocket and pulls out his phone) “So who’s gonna call her?”

Shit, Sherman curses in his own mind, now we are really going to tell her about it?!??. Thomas checks the screen, there are notifications on so many unreplied messages from Julia. Oh dear, Thomas mutters inwardly, there are some missed calls too. Thomas is fiddling with the phone notification until it rings. It’s Julia calling.

Sherman: “You take the call!”

Thomas: (side eyes Sherman in a slightly bemused way) “...alright.” (sighs) (takes the call) “...hello?”

Julia: “Oh Ulyss I can finally reach you out... Wait, who is...”

Thomas: “...It’s me, Thomas, George Thomas.”

Julia: “...is anything the matter there? I messaged him but he didn’t reply to me at all, I tried calling him too and still no response... Is Ulyss alright??”

Thomas: “Well, you see, Julia...We had to stop longer at our current place than we planned and it is all because there is something happened to Ulyss...”

Julia: “...oh No! What happened to him??”

Thomas: “Well, he felt slightly unwell, so much so that we couldn’t go on the trip with his current condition.” (stares at Sherman) “Sherman will tell you what is his condition exactly.” (shoves the phone to Sherman)

Sherman: (receives the phone from Thomas) “...uhm hello...yes, it’s me, Sherman... Well Julia, how do I say it...it seems like Ulyss was intoxicated... no, no, not due to alcohol, we don’t drink even a drop on our trip, we are not sure what caused it...that and food poisoning too.”

Julia: “Oh dear, what a dreadful situation! Is he still feeling ill??”

Sherman: “...yes but it seems like he’s on the mend now...”

Julia: “Can I talk to him now?”

Sherman: “He’s currently sleeping, he needs his rest to recover. I’ll tell him to call you right away once he’s recovered and sober enough...”

Julia: “Oh right, sorry, I just realized that. By the way, thank you for taking care of him and to take the call...”

Sherman: “It is no bother to us all.”

Julia: (hangs up)

They all heave a sigh of relief. Now onto keeping a watch on him still, after they all have dinner. As the night goes on they plan to take turns watching by the bedside, but it doesn’t go as they planned because they all insist to keep watch on him. Sherman then realizes that Grant might just continue sleeping anyway, so he decides to go to bed first (though he first offers Thomas to hit the bed first. Thomas declines, says that Sherman can go to sleep first). Sheridan is a bit restless (since he inadvertently drank too much coffee during dinner), and he offers both Sherman and Thomas to take over watching by the bedside. Thomas says that he can still keep a watch too for a bit longer.

Thomas eventually slumps on his chair, dozing off into the dreamland. It is down to just Sheridan keeping watch on Grant. Sherman is on the other bed, lying down sleeping. Sheridan wants to get up from his chair for a bit, going out of the room for a little change of scenery, but now with him the only one left keeping watch on Grant he cannot really do it.

At 3:50 am Sheridan goes to the bathroom to relieve himself. Thinking that it might still take Grant some more time to finally wake up he decides to also go around for a bit of walk after he goes to the bathroom.

After a little walk for fresh air Sheridan goes back into the room to continue watching by Grant’s bedside. To his delight he finds out that Grant has waken up, and now he’s sitting on the coffee table eating some slices of white bread and drinking a glass of water.

Sheridan: “Ulyss, you have waken up! Finally!”

Grant: (shushes Sheridan down, half whispers) “...yeah..” (continues on munching on the white bread sheepishly)

Sheridan: “Hey have it with some jam, we got it for the bread too, you know. Here, strawberry jam.” (slides a jar of strawberry jam to Grant’s side)

Grant: “...sure, Phil.” (takes on the jam and spreads some of it on his new slice of bread) “...never thought I’d feel this hungry after some sleep.”

Sheridan: “...heh, some sleep. You’ve been sleeping for so long too, almost a full day if you really count it I think?? Anyway, this is good news, we can finally continue our trip!” (raises from the chair, walks over to Sherman’s bedside) “Sherman, wake up! We’ve got some good news!”

Grant: (slightly flustered) “Hey, don’t just wake him up like that??”

Sheridan: “So rich of you to say that after such a long slumber...” (shakes Sherman on his shoulder) “...hey Billy..”

Sherman: “...what NOW?” (winces annoyedly at Sheridan)

Sheridan: “Ulyss has just waken up!”

Sherman: “Huh...” (looks over at Grant sitting by the coffee table while still lying on the bed) “...oh there you are Ulyss, finally waking up.” (breathes a sigh of relief, looks at Sheridan again) “What time is it now?”

Sheridan: “...around 4 am I think?”

Sherman: “Hm...still some time until we start driving again.” (looks at Grant again) “Anyhow eat up, Ulyss. That should help you feel better...”

Grant: “...yeah...” (continues munching on the bread)

Sherman: “...and oh, by the way, Julia called while you were sleeping. You should call her back as soon as you can.”

Grant: (startled, gasps) “Julia??!? Oh NO! What did you tell her??”

Sherman: “I told her that you were intoxicated and we took care of you. We also told her not to worry too much. But now that you have finally sobered up, she shouldn’t worry so much anymore I think...”

Grant: (reaches for his phone hurriedly) “...I should really call her!”

Sherman: “Maybe you can just message her for now, it’s still quite early in the morning...”

Grant: “Ah right...I’ll message her first.” (types up a message for Julia quickly) “By the way, thank you Phil, Billy, for taking care of me, and Tommy...” (looks at Thomas slumping off to the side, sleeping on his chair) ”...oh Tommy is sleeping too...”

Sherman: “Don’t mention it. Well, I guess we can start getting ready for another drive now...”

After munching the bread and messaging Julia, Grant receives a call from her -- she talks to him in a frantic tone, almost verging into panic yet again, but Grant is now able to calm her down himself, he tells anything that he could remember from his situation to her (while repeating that he is now feeling completely fine, if slightly hungry). Julia is now finally feeling some relief, and they continue talking for a while. Sherman, not going back to sleep, starts packing up and loading his baggage into the car, and so does Sheridan. While the two are heading out to the car, Thomas wakes up and finds Grant talking on the phone. Thomas feels relieved, and after the call he asks Grant about how he feels (and on where Sherman and Sheridan are). Grant says to him that he feels rather fine now, and offers if he can drive again for the trip. Thomas says that he can just sit back for now -- for this leg of the trip he (Thomas) will start driving first again. Grant feels slightly bad about it (for holding them back during the trip due to him being intoxicated and for not being able to drive right away when they finally start going again). Thomas assures him that he doesn’t need to feel bad about it -- it is the safety of everyone that matters the most (besides, they need to see if he’s really feeling fine now during the car ride before they let Grant drive again). When Sherman and Sheridan enter the room they find Grant talking to Thomas and Sherman says that they can finally start getting ready for the trip again. Thomas agrees, and he tells everyone to get ready.

After an early breakfast they finally set out of the motel and hit the road again...

ー ー ー to be continued  ー ー ー

[yikesimonfire]

Howdy Neighbor || Alfie & Bex

Timing: Before the events of Promise to Bind. Location: Hallway of Alfie’s apartment complex. Parties: @inbextween​ & @yikesimonfire​ Summary: Bex drops by Eddie’s apartment with a gift; Alfie isn’t sure what he thinks of her. Content: internalized homophobia tw

It wasn’t necessary, but Bex liked doing nice things for her friends, and so she’d made Eddie a bone crown while she’d hyperfocused on making things yesterday. She’d had so much energy the past few days, due mostly in part to Mina, and well-- the stuff that had happened between them. Sometimes, she couldn’t stop smiling about it. Sometimes, it made her face hurt. The crown was littered with dried, pressed flowers that were sealed with preserve to keep them from crumbling apart, and she’d dusted off some of the small antlers Morgan had in the workshop-- way too small to even be baby deer antlers, so Bex really had to wonder what they might be from. They looked almost rabbit size-- and arranged them in a fashion she thought might suit Eddie. The coyote jaw bones really brought the piece together, as well. She hoped he’d appreciate the celebration of death in it. She figured he might, considering he saw ghosts and lived his life with them. But when she knocked, no one answered. Hmm, maybe she should’ve messaged him first. That probably would’ve been the smart idea, but she’d sort of wanted to surprise him. She wondered where he might be, as she peered into the front window. All the lights were off, which meant no one was home, probably. She pulled out her phone to text him when she noticed someone outside the apartment next to Eddie’s. “Oh, um hello!” she called out, waving. She didn’t recognize them, but then again, Bex didn’t know a lot of people around town. “I was just dropping something off! Do you know Eddie?”

It wasn’t uncommon that Alfie saw people he didn’t know lingering around the apartment complex. In fact, he didn’t know many people that lived there — even fewer by name. So when he got upstairs, mail in hand, he didn’t think anything of the young woman standing outside of Eddie’s door. As he reached for his keys, he ducked his head to avoid any unnecessary eye-contact. Soon enough, he’d have the door unlocked and he’d be safe. But then, in an unusually friendly voice, she called out to him. The sound of her voice made him involuntarily jerk (and almost drop his keys), but he managed a glance in her direction with a polite, but thin-lipped smile. “Hi,” he curtly replied. The question that followed, however, caused his brow to raise. 

“Eddie? Uh — yeah. Yeah, I know Eddie.” Knew him better than most, or at least that’s what Alfie liked to believe. But that was neither here nor there. “I think he’s out, actually. Can’t exactly say when he’ll be back.” Obviously he was out, it probably didn’t take Alfie’s saying so for the stranger to figure that out. She wouldn’t have been standing outside if Eddie were home. Still, while Alfie fiddled with his key, edging it closer to the lock, he figured his friend would probably appreciate him being courteous. “Didyouneedanything?” The words sputtered out in an incoherent mess. “Or, uh… Is there anything I can do to help? He — he’ll probably be back soon.” He figured the polite thing to do was at least offer to wait with her (Eddie would like that, right?) but thought it inappropriate to mention.

Bex didn’t really notice the anxious behavior as she fussed with the phone and the crown in her hands, trying not to drop either one of them. At least her clumsiness had never extended to her hands. She managed to type out a text before the other boy mumbled something so quickly she didn’t quite understand it. “Oh! Oh, that’s-- kind of you to offer,” she said, looking down at her phone as it buzzed. An immediate answer, of course. He wasn’t going to be home for a bit, and she had stuff to do. Mina was expecting her back in a bit, as well. “Um, actually, yeah,” she said, pocketing her phone and looking back over at the other boy. He was quite a bit taller than her, even in her heels, and it wasn’t often she met someone who achieved that. She glanced back at Eddie’s door, before turning back to the other boy. “Would you mind giving this to him when he gets back? I would stay, but I have to be somewhere, and, well, I don’t really trust just leaving it on the doorstep, you know? I made it for him myself and I’d really like it if he actually, you know, got it.” She paused. “Not that I think anyone would steal it or anything! Or, well, I guess I sort of do, otherwise I’d be okay leaving it, but I’m more worried about it getting broken.” As nervous as Bex could be, she was used to talking to strangers and asking things of them. At least her parents had taught her one useful thing. 

She made it for him herself? Alfie stood there, dumbfounded for a moment before giving her a small nod. “Yeah, yeah. ‘Course I can!” The hand holding his keys dropped to his side as he shifted towards her, his arm prematurely extended for a swift transfer. In the process, he noticed his shoulders were slouched and straightened up his back a bit — careful not to stand too tall and risk intimidating her. “Trust me, I get it. It’s a sketchy place. There’s no telling what might happen to it before Ed — Eddie gets back. ‘Sides, we wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.” A forced chuckle followed which Alfie immediately regretted. “That… sounds like I’m saying it’s dangerous or something. I just mean, y’know… Things happen around here and, who knows — it’d probably be fine, but better safe than sorry.” His lips pursed together as he studied her face, trying to remember if he’d seen her anywhere; in any pictures Eddie had shown him, or even just from around town. Nothing. Was this just a thing now? Eddie having people over to bring him handmade gifts? “Will he be expecting it, or should I mention who it’s from?” he wondered. He figured that Eddie would be expecting it if she considered leaving it, but he also hoped that putting a name to her face might jog his memory.

“Oh, thank-- I appreciate that!” Bex said, catching herself quickly. It was still such an easy habit to fall into, saying thank you, without knowing what someone was. She thought of all the times she’d said thank you to Professor Campbell and hoped he wasn’t a fae. “Oh, yeah, yes! Better safe than sorry! I mean, this place doesn’t look too sketchy, and when I was over helping him edit some videos the other day, it seemed like a nice place! I think there’s definitely much sketchier places in White Crest,” she rambled. Oh, she was rambling again. She always did that when she was nervous. She smiled to cut herself off and held out the crown for him. “Do you know Eddie well?” she asked, when she noticed the slip in name. If he called him Ed, they were probably good friends, right? Usually people who were close gave each other nicknames. “Uh, no, I don’t think he’s expecting it. I just-- decided to make one and thought of him while I was doing it, so,” the sentence cut short as she shrugged. She wasn’t really sure why she’d made it for him, only that she wanted to do something nice for him, after everything he’d done for her. “You can tell him it’s from Bex,” she tacked on finally, looking back at the other boy with a half smile.

Helping him edit videos? Alfie never helped Eddie edit videos. Granted, that was probably because he never showed any interest in helping him. “Oh, yeah,” Alfie forced another laugh. “He keeps it surprisingly free of dog hair, considering.” He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how he felt about that. Eddie was allowed to have other friends; it shouldn’t have bothered him. So why did it? “We’re pretty close, yeah.” At this point, Alfie didn’t even know if that was true. No — that was ridiculous. Of course they were close. Eddie was his best friend, after all. 

As soon as the stranger introduced herself, things started making a little more sense. “Oh, Bex! From the — the exorcismyay,” Alfie’s voice dropped to a near whisper when he said “exorcism”. He remembered Eddie mentioning her now; how a filming adventure went awry. As it seemed, these excursions of his were just as dangerous as ever. “I realize now that’s still the same word in Pig Latin,” he tittered, a genuine smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. The nagging in the pit of his stomach was quickly dissipating. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bex, and it’s sweet that you wanted Eddie to have this. I’m sure he’ll love it. I’m Alfie, by the way. Alfie Ramirez.” Why did he just tell her his full name? Should he shake her hand now? Was that the right thing to do? Without thinking, Alfie dropped his keys to offer Bex his other hand. “I’d hate to keep you,” he added as an afterthought. “I know you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Hey, well, Bucket is a queen and she deserves the world. I wouldn’t mind dog hair all over me if it was hers,” Bex chuckled, giving Alfie a better smile this time. He was a nice guy, and, so far, Bex really liked him. Especially if he was friends with Eddie. She didn’t think Eddie would be friends with anyone that wasn’t at least a little like him. “Oh, have you known him long, then? He said he grew up here, and he’s one of those people who seems to love this town. I think it’s cute, don’t you? How much he seems to like this place. It’s...refreshing.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said all that, but she supposed it was the truth, so what did it matter? And if this was Eddie’s friend, then, maybe she wanted to connect with him, too. Maybe she wanted to show Eddie that she had a genuine interest in his life. He made her feel welcome, after all. And safe. She had broken down in front of him and made him see her horrific nightmare and he’d still offered to drive her home and then also be her friend. He deserved a lot more than a bone crown and a date rejection. 

“Oh! Yes! That! That was fun! I was so excited he asked me to come with him. I’ve never seen a ghost before. Or, well, I still technically haven’t, but I’ve seen what they can do! And stuff like that! And it was-- kind of amazing? Did you know there’s different kinds?” She straightened up, laughing a little. “Sorry, I um-- kind of get carried away when i get excited. It’s nice to meet you, Alfie!” she stuck out her hand and took his, watching his keys drop to the ground. “Oh! You’re not keeping me! I mean, I do have someplace to be in a bit, but not right away! Eddie just said he wouldn’t be home for a while--” she shook her phone at him in a gesture of ‘he texted me’ before dropping it, “--so I just don’t have time to wait for him to come back.”

There was a dull throb in Alfie’s chest the moment Bex referred to Eddie as “cute”. For years now, he’d been telling himself not to think like that — and for years, he’d failed. His friend and neighbor would forever be unattainable. It was fine; Alfie accepted that Eddie would only ever be his friend. But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t difficult every now and then. How could he pretend that his feelings were strictly platonic when Eddie’s laugh made his heat soar? Or when he stood there, one hand on his hip, and the other forcing his mess of hair in every which way? Eddie was cute — painfully so — but hearing that someone else thought it too seemed… unfair? Almost. With any luck, Bex said that sort of thing about all of her friends; it couldn’t be exclusive to Eddie, could it? 

“Uh, kind of, yeah,” Alfie croaked. “I’ve known him since high school, but we didn’t talk much.” That was a lie. Sure, they went to school together, but implying that they interacted at all was inaccurate. “That changed when Eddie moved in nextdoor, though. We’ve been friends ever since… The rest is ancient history, and all that jazz.” Alfie knew he needed to stop embellishing the truth. One quick chat with Eddie and Bex would know the truth. Hell, he apparently didn’t make it a point to mention him to her yet. The ache in Alfie’s chest permeated his entire body. His cheeks flushed and his heart raced. He was being ridiculous, he told himself. It shouldn’t matter that Bex didn’t know about him. It shouldn’t matter that Eddie was making new friends. And having them over to his house. Introducing them to Bucket. Watching movies and cuddling on the couch. 

Stop it! His mind screamed at him over the sound of Bex’s voice. What was the last thing she said? “Different kinds?” Alfie parroted, trying to remember the words that came before it. Ghosts, right. His ears were still ringing. She shook his hand and he laughed, returning the gesture long enough to be socially acceptable before withdrawing, completely disregarding his keys on the ground. “No, no — you’re fine! I know a bit about ghosts, but I’ve definitely never had an encounter like that before. It sounds—” terrifying, “— fun!”  For what it was worth, Alfie didn’t exactly want to shoo Bex away, not even when his heart was drumming in his chest. Maybe if he changed the subject? “Ah, that’s understandable,” he agreed. “Have you been here long? In White Crest, I mean — not here, here. I can’t say I’ve ever seen you around.” 

If the other boy was distracted by thoughts, Bex didn’t notice. She was caught up in her own, thinking about Eddie, and how much fun she’d had with him, and what was wrong with her? She had Mina, she had slept with Mina, more than once, and maybe she wanted more than to just be friends with Mina, so why did she keep thinking about what Eddie had said? Why had he asked her out? Why hadn’t she just told him the truth? Everything was so confusing yet so clear right now. She blinked, and readjusted, because Alfie was talking again and she needed to pay attention. Pay attention. “OH, you went to highschool together? That’s cool! I assume you went to the school here? Yeah, I mean, that’s fair. I always feel like people are very different in highschool than after.”

She looked down at his keys on the floor and wondered if he knew. Should she point them out? “Um, you dropped your keys, by the way.” He was being oddly quiet between bouts of words, and she wondered if he was somehow off put by her. She was being awfully nosy, after all. She couldn’t help it. Eddie was still kind of a mystery to her, aside from his ghost stuff. She wanted to know more about him. She’d have to ask him. Maybe bothering his neighbor was a bad idea. “Oh, me? I mean, technically, yes? I was born here. I live-- lived-- out on Harmony Island. I’m in East End now, but I didn’t go to school in town. I went to a private school up in Augusta, so that’s probably why you haven’t seen me around.” Lately, a lot of locals had been saying that to her. Did everyone just know everyone here? She supposed the whole six degrees of separation was more like two degrees in a tiny town like this. “What about you? Did you grow up here? I mean, obviously you went to school here, but, you know, did you move here or were you always here?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Alfie absentmindedly agreed, not bothering to get into the smaller details. In high school, the boys didn’t have much to do with each other. He saw Eddie around campus and onstage in theater productions, but that was about it. Whoever Eddie was in high school, he doubted they would have gotten along back then. 

When Bex mentioned that he’d dropped his keys, Alfie looked almost startled. His eyes shot to his feet where, lo and behold, his keychain limply lied. “Oh, huh, I— yeah, I guess I did,” he grumbled before crouching down and plucking them up. How was he managing to make this much of a fool out of himself? He worried what Bex must have thought of him; more importantly, what Eddie would think if he knew. Would she tell him? ‘Hey, I met your neighbor, Alfie. You know, the one you never mentioned? What a weirdo!’ His thoughts swarmed with what they’d potentially say about him. No doubt laughing as they huddled around Eddie’s computer and bonded over a shared interest. 

“Harmony Island, huh? Sounds fancy.” Alfie chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek as he tried to purge the negative thoughts from his mind. Honestly, he didn’t know much about the island. His reaction was purely based on the fact that it was, well, an island. There were probably a lot of fancy houses there, right? As per the natural progression of conversation, the question was now turned on him. “Yeah, I grew up here,” he answered as he shifted his weight, standing somewhat smaller than he had before. “I’ve never left the greater White Crest area, actually. My family— they, uh… own the library. Or, run it, I guess? It’s probably a lot less cool than it sounds unless you really love books.” Bex probably didn’t care about what his family did for a living, but it was better than hearing how great friends she was with Eddie. “I haven’t worked there in a while, though. I’m actually a software developer. Freelance. I could never work a nine-to-five.”

Bex took a small step back as Alfie bent to pick up his keys. He didn’t seem very talkative, and she wondered if it was because of her. Was she making him uncomfortable? Was it weird that she’d come to Eddie’s place without asking before hand? Was he wary of her? Did he not like her? She shook the thoughts from her head and tried to focus back in on what Alfie was saying. “Oh, uh, yeah! My family is actually kind of uh, well known around town,” she said, rubbing the back of her head before hands came together to wring each other out. She looked back over her shoulder, as if maybe she would turn and see Eddie coming down the hallway, but there was nothing. “My parents are pretty well off.” But I don’t speak to them much anymore. Or at all. She shivered at the thought. 

“You’re-- family owns the library? The public one? Do-- do you have a sister? I think I might’ve talked to her online! Is her name Leah?” She was somehow grateful for the change of subject, perking back up for a moment. IF she could make friends with Eddie’s friends, then that was only a good thing, right? That had to be a good thing. “Software developer? Woah, that’s so cool! How’d you learn to do that? Did you teach yourself or did you go to school for it? Either way, that’s, like, super impressive.”

Alfie gave a series of small nods as Bex talked about her own family. He wondered if he should know who they were, but thought better of it. He was still a stranger, after all. They knew each other's names and that they shared a mutual friend. That was it. Alfie was never any good at making friends. Sure, there was also Nell, but their friendship started out of sheer luck — and family ties. Small talk was also not within Alfie’s usual realm of comfort. He hated it, in fact. That’s probably why he didn’t have many friends. That and the fact that that he never felt he needed any. Maybe, with any luck, he’d manage to befriend Bex too. “That makes sense; with private school and everything,” he agreed. 

A light laugh surfaced from the depths of his chest. “Yeah, that’s the one,” Alfie confirmed after clearing his throat. “Leah, yeah. She’s, uh— she’s great, really.” He never knew what to say when it came to his family. His parents were strict when he was growing up. They still were, actually. Not that he had much to do with them these days. Leah was — beyond a shadow of a doubt — the golden child. Compared to her and their other siblings, Alfie was the black sheep. That wasn’t the sort of information people usually offered to someone they just met. Instead, Alfie kept quiet; at least until Bex showed an interest in his job. All of a sudden, his face lit up. It was cool! “I’m mostly self-taught, actually! I mean, I took some classes for it in high school, but that’s about it. It’s just always been something I’ve enjoyed doing — fiddling around with computers and whatnot.” Alfie grinned sheepishly at Bex. As much as he enjoyed talking about it, he didn’t want to bore her. “What about you, though? Do you work, or…?” 

“She is! She was super nice and agreed to let me borrow some books! Which...it’s a library so of course she did, but I mean, like--” Bex lowered her voice a bit and leaned in, “--special books, if you catch my drift.” Supernatural books. Magic books. She smiled again as she leaned back and gave a short chuckle. “Sorry. I just get really excited about books, and when I actually happen to know people. I don't know too many people around town, so it’s nice knowing this place is actually smaller than it seems, you know? Like, who woulda thought that Eddie’s neighbor, who I met coincidentally, was related to the nice librarian lady I talked to online, who also knows my mo-- er, my current guardian, and is friends with her! Isn’t that wild?” She tried to recuperate fast enough to hope Alfie hadn’t caught her stumble. Not that he knew about her situation, but the slip had even her surprised. Morgan wasn’t her mom. Morgan probably didn’t want the responsibility of that, either. Plus, Bex was an adult, mostly. She didn’t need someone to be that for her. She was doing fine, really.

“But, oh, wow! That’s so cool! And so impressive that you learned most of it all on your own! Do you make a lot of money doing it? What kinds of things do you design? I mean, software, obviously, but is it like, firewalls, programs, mods? There’s so much. Me? Oh, well-- I used to intern at my parents’ law firm, but I, uh-- have recently had a change of heart for what I wanna major in. So, currently jobless, just uh, focusing on school! And, well-- I guess ghost hunting, now. Does that count as a job if I’m not getting paid? It feels like more than a hobby, though, you know?”

“Special books — right, totally getcha. Like, say… her personal copy of ‘Interview with the Vampire’,” Alfie nodded. It wasn’t surprising that someone jumping into the ghost hunting scene would be interested in perusing the restricted section of the library. On the contrary, Leah wasn’t known to lend out books (as far as Alfie was aware) and he couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it than just Bex’s excursions with Eddie. “Sorry, that was lame. But, yes, I caught your drift.” As Bex apologized, Alfie shook his head with a gentle smile. He was no stranger to talking a bit more than he should about things that made him excited. The library might not have been one of his go-to hangouts these days, but if Bex wanted to gush over it, he’d be happy to listen. “No need to apologize! And actually — now that you mention it — White Crest may be a relatively small town, but you’d be surprised how many people I don’t know. I guess it is pretty cool to realize who knows who and whatnot.”

The broad grin never wavered from Alfie’s face. It was easy to push aside his reservations towards Bex when his craft was in question. He was very quickly warming up to this new acquaintance. “A handful of different things, actually! I’ve cast a pretty wide net. I’ve recently been really into programming a personal database. It’s, uh… a work in progress.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. In the event that it got back to Leah, his sister might start asking questions that Alfie wasn’t prepared to answer. “But, yeah. You pretty much hit the nail on the head with all of those. The pay’s decent enough, though I haven’t had any big projects lately — takes care of the bills at least.” Did it matter that some of these projects were morally questionable? Alfie was merely the brains behind them; what the clients used them for were out of his control. He objected not to voice this, considering her parents were in law. “Hey, take it from someone who didn’t go to college: you’re allowed to change your mind about that sort of thing. ‘Specially since you’re the one earning the degree. Have you picked a new major, or…? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“Yeah, but less Interview With A Vampire and more--” Bex started, then stopped. She’d been reminded time and time again that telling people she didn’t know that she was a spellcaster was a bad idea. But Alfie was friends with Eddie and he was Leah’s little brother, so he could be trusted, right? She wanted to trust him. “More, Practical Magic.” Oh, that was a blatant reference, wasn’t it? Well, no hiding it now, she supposed. She gave him a sheepish smile and waved it off. “Not lame! Definitely not lame. If it was lame then so was mine.” She chuckled lightly, hoping to move past the notion quickly, nodding eagerly when he amended his statement about White Crest. “Yeah, totally! I’ve definitely noticed that. I mean, I grew up kinda closed off, so I never really knew people around town, but once I started actually meeting people, it was like everyone knew everyone! Or knew of them, at least. Wild, huh? Six degrees of separation who?” Oh, now she was just embarrassing herself. She cleared her throat. “It’s just interesting to see. When I moved away to Penn State briefly, it was so different. Everything was so impersonal.” She’d sort of liked that, though, blending in easily. The dream of that life was so long gone,though.

“Woah, you’re making a whole database all from scratch?? That’s incredible!” Bex exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly, but she couldn’t help it-- people being excited made her excited and her cheeks bubbled with it. She needed to find every reason to be excited, anyway. Every reason to be happy. “But, you know, pays the bills is good! Especially if it’s something you enjoy! Isn’t that what they say? Find something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life?” She remembered one of her professors telling her that. She didn’t know if it was true. “Oh! Uh, yeah, I have. Um-- Anthropology. I’ll probably focus on uh, Archaeology. It’s what interests me the most. But, really, anything about history interests me. I could probably go to school for the rest of my life getting different history degrees. I won’t, though! But I could.” She rubbed the back of her head. “I’m what they call a History nerd. Or buff. History buff. Anything you wanna know about history, I probably know something about!”

Practical magic? That came as a surprise. The only spellcasters Alfie knew in White Crest were the Vurals. He always figured there were more, but never bothered to find out for himself. A wave of anxiety crashed over him at the thought of Bex having something to do with his curse; a worry that quickly subsided at the realization that no beginner magic-user could be involved in a plot spanning across what was likely centuries. Unless… 

“Not lame,” Alfie reiterated with a meek smile. “Although, I can’t exactly say I’ve read it myself.” He wondered if it would be appropriate to ask her more about it — if only to subdue his concern. Maybe it was best to leave it be for the time being. 

It was interesting to hear about Bex’s fondness for White Crest. The reasons she seemed to adore the small town were on Alfie’s list of why he wanted to leave it. “That sounds ideal to me,” he said playfully, electing not to elaborate. Explaining that he longed for a bigger city where he could easily hide away would only dampen the mood. Not to mention that it could potentially get back to Eddie who would undoubtedly be upset by it. If anyone could make Alfie stay, it would be him — another thing on his ever-growing list that Alfie wasn’t prepared to get into with Bex. 

“More or less,” he chuckled. “The original code is pretty much public domain, but I’ve made my own enhancements.” These ‘enhancements’ being private journals that he so eagerly nicked from the family’s secret collection, though that was neither here nor there. He’d return them… eventually. “I mean, that’s awesome, though! There’s still so much to discover through artifacts from the past.” In a sense, Alfie was doing the same; unearthing his own past through vague remnants of it. “Good on you for chasing your dreams.”

Alfie thoughtfully pursed his lips. He wondered if Bex had anything in her bank of knowledge pertaining to his own circumstances. “Actually, now that you mention it… You don’t happen to have any recommendations on, say, the history of White Crest, do you? More specifically pre-dating European colonization?” It was a long shot, but he couldn’t exactly ask Leah. 

“Oh!” Bex perked a bit, “it’s actually a really good book! If you like reading about that kinda stuff, I’d totally suggest it.” She beamed for a moment. She loved talking about books and sharing other people’s interests and, well, it was always nice when people shared hers, too, wasn’t it? She wondered if Alfie knew about all the things that went on in the shadows of White Crest, all the things the world tried to hide from people-- probably, considering he was friends with Eddie, and Eddie didn’t seem like the kinda guy to hoard that type of information. In fact, he was the opposite. She shook the thoughts away.

“What? Oh! Yeah,” she blinked back to the present moment and away from her thoughts and nodded. “I don’t mind living in a small town. I know it’s not everyone’s thing, but I dunno-- it’s not so bad, for me.” It was harder to disappear, but maybe that wasn’t what she wanted anymore. Maybe she did want to be known, after being hidden for so long.

“Enhancements? Well, I mean, still! That’s amazing. I’m sure you made it infinitely better. And, well, yeah, thanks! I just kinda figured, what’s the point of life if you’re just living someone else’s, you know?” She gave pause at his last question. She did, in fact, have recommendations on all that. But they were Morgan’s family notebooks and the ones she’d dug up at the record hall and “borrowed” permanently. No one knew they were missing, not when she’d replaced them with fakes. She chewed her lip. “Uh, I mean, you could check town hall, if you wanted to. They might have some old newspapers or records that could tell you about that stuff. Does your family not have any books on that stuff in the library?” And little did she know, her own parents had records of that time. They’d been in White Crest longer than the town had a name, after all. She shrugged. “Sorry I can’t be more help there.” Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at it. “Oh, uh-- I-- I should probably get going, actually. I-- thanks again, you know, for talking to me and for holding onto that for Eddie for me.”

“I’m not exactly, uh — how do I put this? — affluent in that sort of thing, if I’m being honest,” Alfie chuckled. The hand holding his keys darted behind him to rub the back of his neck. Growing up, Nell tried her best to explain it to him, but the only thing Alfie could relate it to was his lessons on temperature control — and his innate ability to burst into flame. Aside from that, magic simply didn’t make sense to him. He always assumed it was something some were simply born with. These new-age witches and wiccans most likely accomplished nothing more than what any ordinary human was already capable of. Then again, what did he know? He figured it would be impolite to ask Bex whether or not she had any real powers. It wasn’t his business. 

Alfie nodded along as Bex spoke, failing to come up with anything valuable to add. Living in White Crest was a curse (at least for him), but he didn’t expect others to share that opinion. He wasn’t sure how far back his history with premature death went. All Alfie knew for certain was that the records he did have access to were set in the unusual town; none of which explained the source for his self-proclaimed “curse”. What he needed to find was something with the answer in bold print — a pissed off spellcaster rebuking one phoenix in particular. Or perhaps an astrological phenomenon occurring around the time of his birth or death. Not that Alfie knew the precise dates. 

“Yeah, I mean, the library definitely has some stuff,” he said sheepishly. “But, uh, thanks. I’ll have to give town hall a shot.” At that moment, Bex’s phone buzzed. Alfie hadn’t noticed the tension in his shoulders until then. “Oh, of course! Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.” He felt a little guilty for being relieved that Bex was leaving. He hated small talk. “It was great to finally meet you, Bex. I’ll make sure Eddie gets it as soon as he’s home. And, uh… be safe out there.”

[fanfiction4thesoul]

Dreams

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~3.4

Warnings: Smut (18+ only), fluff, angst-ish

Summary: Queen’s tour gets extended. And your plans get put to the backseat.

Request: Ooo, saw your requests are open ❤️ please can I have something angsty with Rog with a bit of smut and fluff thrown in?  Thank you

A/N: Thank you @jennyggggrrr​ for this request. I’m not quite sure how angsty this turned out but it’s still there at least ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Hope you like it! My requests are still open for anyone interested and I’ve started a taglist so if you want to join just comment or message me. Thanks to anyone that comments/likes/reblogs!

Picture from Queen in 3D by Brian May

“You’re… extending the tour?” You weren’t quite sure you heard Roger right. He was so excited, he was talking almost too fast for you to keep up.

“Yeah! Management is adding nights at some stops on top of bringing on whole new locations. It’s gonna be great! They said wer--”

“Roger!” you cut him off. “How long is the extension?” You twisted the phone cord around your finger nervously. This was great news for his career but you were supposed to--

“It’ll tack on about four weeks. And then--”

“And then you have the studio in L.A. booked three days later.” You finished for him, your heart sinking.

“Well, yeah, that’s been the plan, love.”

Your heart dropped straight to your stomach with that. He didn’t remember. “What about our plans, Rog?” Maybe it was just a momentary lapse. He was on tour for months now and it’s not like you talked about it since before he left.

“Wha… what plans?”

Even as you felt your eyes burn, you felt your anger rise. “Yes, Roger. Our plans. The ones where we were going to try and start a family after the tour and before you head to L.A.” 

Roger started fumbling on the other end, stuttering over his words, but you were barely listening. You stared at the fireplace in your big, empty house and all you could think was that it would stay empty. No family to fill it. Not even Roger because he’s always out gallivanting across the globe. But he’s living his dream. There’s no way you could ask him to give that up. Not even for your dream.

You sighed, talking over whatever Roger was trying to say. “Just… just forget it, Rog. It doesn’t even matter. Talk to you later.” 

“Wait, (Y/N), don--” You hung up the phone with a click. Closing your eyes, you leaned against the head of your bed, not sure what to do. The next moment the phone was ringing again. You reached over, lifting it up and clicking down the receiver, putting the phone on the table. You couldn’t deal with Roger right now. Not with the amount of hurt he left you with. 

Children had always been a promise for the future and right before he left, it finally felt like you wouldn’t be waiting anymore. Roger laid out the plans for the band, their tour, the break, the time in the studio with a projected time it would take to make the album. With a rockstar for a husband, there was no good time to start a family. It was mostly just finding out how to fit it in and hope it coincided well with his schedule. 

Sighing, you laid down in bed, back turned to the cold side behind you, and tried to go to sleep. 

The next few days passed in a blur. You kept the phone off the hook, almost afraid to put it back on. Half because you thought Roger would try to keep calling but also half afraid that he wouldn’t bother. You weren’t sure which made you more apprehensive. Work was a simple distraction but not a big enough one to stop your mind from wandering back to Roger.

Finally, after four days, you put your phone back together.

And nothing happened.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and forced yourself to walk away from the phone. That didn’t stop you from jumping to attention when it rang ten minutes later.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N)?”

“Fred?” You asked, confusion replacing the tension in your mind.

“My God (Y/N). What have you been doing? Roger’s been calling the house for days and he says it’s been busy.” Freddie said, worrying lacing his voice.

You felt slightly embarrassed, not thinking your behavior would cause such a problem with everyone. “I, uh… took the phone off the hook after… well after Roger and I talked.”

“Well we gathered that much, darling. Rog won’t say anything about what happened. Just that he fucked up and needs to make it right. Honestly, I’m always cleaning up after his messes. Now. Tell me. What did Blondie do.” 

“Fred… I don’t… If Roger--”

“Nuh-uh. Nope. (Y/N), tell me now or so help me.” Freddie said sounding rather irritated. He paused and sighed a moment later. “He’s been moping around like a lost fool, (Y/N). I just want to help if I can.”

Freddie’s words were soft and you knew he meant it. He was often the mediator between you and Roger when your fiery tempers became too much. Fred was always there as the go between. But you weren’t just angry this time. No. You were far too disappointed and hurt for your anger to rise up.

“Rog and I… well we were gonna try for a baby,” you started out softly.

“Oh (Y/N) that’s wonderful news! What’s the problem then?”

“Fred. We planned everything out before the tour. We talked over when he’d be back, when he’d leave again. He even said how excited he was!” Your voice was rising but you couldn’t help yourself. “And then you extended the tour. Which is-- it’s fine-- great! But… he forgot.” You paused as your throat closed a little and tears well again. “He just… forgot. Which makes me feel like he doesn’t care at all. Or, if we have a child he’ll get so wrapped up with the band that we’ll just be… left behind.”

“Oh, (Y/N)...”

“Tell me my fears are unfounded.” You choked up a little. “Tell me, Fred.”

Freddie stayed silent.

“That’s what I thought.” You let out a small sob before you compose yourself a little bit. “Tell Roger I’m alive, but I don’t want to talk to him. Not yet. Maybe not ‘til he gets home. If he even comes home. Okay?” You repeat yourself when Freddie didn’t answer right away.

“Okay, okay. I will. Take care of yourself darling.” He sounded tired.

“You too, Fred.”

Freddie hung up the phone and turned to the other person in the room. Roger was staring intently at him, waiting.

“You fucked up.” Was all Freddie said.

“Well, shit Fred. I fucking know that. What did she say?” Roger wasn’t sure whether to be angry or not. Sure, (Y/N) disconnected the line. And then answered for Freddie. And Freddie wouldn’t let him on the phone. But he messed up so he kept quiet and waited patiently for their conversation to be over.

“She was crying.”

“Fuck,” he swore, his heart breaking a little bit. He closed his eyes, bracing himself. “What else.”

“She doesn’t think you care.” Another blow. “And she thinks you might forget about her and your child.” Straight to the gut. 

“Shit.” Roger collapsed on the end of the bed, pulling at his hair. “Shit, shit, shit. I really messed up Fred. Shit. What am I gonna do?” He felt like he was at his wits end. It’s not like he meant to forget. On the contrary, it was always on his mind. But touring can get crazy. He often doesn’t have time to think about through the day until he’s laying in bed. And suddenly he remembers your promise until he feels all giddy before falling asleep. And the news about selling out shows and getting more venues was so exciting that it just slipped while he was on the phone with you.

Freddie didn’t look too impressed from where he sat. His lips were pressed into a thin line as his eyes held Roger’s. “You’re going to fix this, darling. And we’re going to help”

“We?”

The date Roger was supposed to come home came and went without much fanfare. Freddie must have delivered your message because you never got a call from Roger. The longer it went, the more guilty you felt. It felt like you were putting your own dreams before Roger’s. And getting angry at him for being excited over a great moment in his career just feels like a shitty thing to do. 

You went back and forth in your mind over being indignant and upset or guilty and worried. The two of you could talk it out when he got back. But then again, he might not even stop in and rather just head straight to their studio appointment. 

This was all on your mind on your drive back from work. So preoccupied with your thoughts, you didn’t realize you weren’t alone until you’d already taken your shoes and coat off at the door. The lights were on in the house and someone was clattering around in the kitchen, making something that smelled really good.

Carefully making your way to the kitchen, your spirits lifted when you saw Roger hunched over a book on the island, hair sticking up everywhere like he’d run his hand through it a million times.

“Rog?” You broke the silence.

He spun around wide eyed with his glasses on that he quickly discarded. “(Y/N)! I- I thought you were off later?”

His nervousness was unusual and it made you a little nervous as well. What was he doing home? And why wasn’t he angry? “I… got done early.” You tried treading carefully to figure out what exactly was going on.

“I, uh. I made dinner. It’s jus--keeping warm in the oven, yeah?” His eyes darted around, looking everywhere but you.

You walked up to, still not catching his eye until you forced him to look at you with a hand on his cheek. “Rog.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, startling you. “I didn’t mean to forget, love. You have to believe me. Our promise was most of what I thought about on the tour. But--but I got caught up in the moment and didn’t even think when we were on the phone. God, I feel awful.”

He kept rambling, grabbing your hand on his cheek to bring to his chest while gesturing wildly with his other hand. “--Fred helped too and it was such a pain. Management didn’t want to do it but Bri and Deaky kicked up a fuss as well and--”

“Roger!” He stopped wide eyed again, looking at you in alarm. “Again. But slower, yeah?” You tried to be gentle.

He took a breath before starting again. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that enough. And I want to make it right with you. So with the help of Fred and the others, we told management we were ending the tour a day ago and that was that. And we called the studio and rebooked our time there. So… so I’ll be home… if you still want to start a family, that is.”

He squeezed your hand tight, almost pleading you with his big blue eyes.

“Roger… “ you started, and immediately saw him dim. “I’m not going to lie. It hurt. It felt like--like you didn’t want this.”

“I know, love,” he whispered. At your confusion, he continued, “Freddie told me about what you said. And I know how it looks. But I want it. God, of course I want that. I want a little one running around here that’s half of me and more importantly, half of you. Let me show you.” He tugged you forward, bringing you flush against his front.

This wasn’t over. You’d still have to talk more. But for now, you could be happy that he made the effort. That he was here with you now.

“I’m not gonna let you off easy,” you murmured, angling yourself up towards his lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love.” He leant down and captured your lips with his, sealing them with such sweetness, you melted under their warmth. 

Your anger faded away, and your worries quickly changed into feelings of happiness. Roger was quick to swipe his tongue against your lips, demanding entrance.

After all, it had been months since he was home.

As you let him devour your mouth, his hands came around to your ass, pulling you more securely against him so you could feel his growing bulge. You tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him on, only for him to pull away.

“Roger, what are you…” you started to ask, but he was already tugging you along and out of the kitchen.

He laughed as he was guiding you up the stairs and towards the master suite. “I don’t think you want to tell the kids they were made in the kitchen, now do you?”

You giggled along with him up until he pulled you into another kiss. He turned you around and backed you up until your knees hit the bed. Collapsing back, you grabbed onto his shirt to pull him with you, never breaking the kiss. 

His hands found their way under your shirt, smoothing up your sides and back, making you shiver. They eventually reached your bra which he was eager to unclip. Roger moved away, tugging your shirt and bra off in one go, exposing yourself to him. 

You felt a blush rise up on your cheeks as his eyes roved over you before meeting yours. “You’re stunning, love. Better than I remembered. I missed you so much.”

Your heart tightened at his sincerity and any lingering doubt vanished completely. “Rog… I missed you, too.”

He smiled down at you before disposing of his own shirt and pressing down onto you. The kiss he gave you was sweet and chaste and so full of love. But it quickly turned into more when he trailed down to your neck with open mouthed kisses while his hands ghosted up your sides to tease your breasts. Sucking a mark right below your ear, Roger grinded down into your core making you moan.

Your hands were trying to find purchase on his back, tracing over the defined muscles Roger always seems to get after a tour. He grinded down again, pulling noises from the both of you. “Roger, hurry up,” you commanded, though the desperation in your voice took away from it.

“Shit. Yeah, alright.” His hands found their way into the waistband of your pants, yanking them down along with your panites. Roger trailed kisses down your legs as he pulled them off before moving back to shed his own. He hissed as his half hard cock was released, pumping it a few times to bring it to full hardness.

You licked your lips, a little involuntarily, thinking about getting your mouth around him. But that would defeat the purpose of everything. When you draw your gaze away from his movements to look at him, he was staring back with such hunger. You reached out for him and he leaned down to capture your lips again. 

Before you had time to process, Roger had pulled away and flipped you over on your stomach, leaning over you.

He moved your hair to the side, nibbling your ear. “I did some research on the tour,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” you breathed out.

“Yeah.” His hand smoothed over the globe of your ass, dipping between your thighs and skimming your folds. Roger teased the area, dipping in enough to gather your wetness to smear around but not going farther. You wanted to clench your legs together and give yourself some much needed friction, but Roger’s legs held you wide open. “Do you want to know what I read?”

“Tell me,” you whispered biting your lip.

His fingers slipped into your core, jolting you slightly. It felt slightly strange; he never fingered you from behind and it felt… well backwards.

“It’s all about gravity, love,” he said while trekking his mouth across your neck towards your collarbone. “The deeper I go and the downward angle of your hips-” a hard thrust of his fingers and a whimper from you “-helps with conceiving.”

You clutched the sheets underneath you as his fingers rocked against you hard. “Th-then get on with it, Rog and put a baby in me!”

He froze, fingers stilling inside you and mouth stopping on your shoulder. You turned to try and look him but your movement spurred him into action. His fingers left your core, smearing wetness on your thighs and his other hand brought your face around for a bruising kiss. 

You moaned into it when you felt his shaft rub against your folds.

“God, I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “Ready, love?”

He gazed at you for a moment, waiting for your nod. Moving back, he guided the head to your entrance and pulled your knees up, pushing gently on your back to keep your chest on the bed. In one smooth motion, he hilted himself completely, making you both groan.

Roger was right. This position put him so deep inside you, it felt like he was trying to make a home for himself. The ache of the stretch burned in the most delicious way as your body relearned what it was like to be filled. After a moment, Roger pulled out slowly almost all the way before pushing back in, just as measured. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, moaning into the bed at the sensation. Roger’s grip on your hips tightened, moving you along with his thrusts, drawing little groans from him as well. 

He gradually picked up speed, growing impatient with the pace, ramming into. On one thrust, he swiveled his hips, grinding into your sweet spot and making your back arch. “You like that, love?” he panted out, repeating the action and prying another loud groan from you.

Everything he was doing to you was adding to the building heat in your gut, but you needed more to get you there. Snaking a hand underneath you, you found your clit, rubbing in tight circles bringing you closer.

“God, that’s hot,” Roger’s hips stuttered. One hand left your hip and your opened your eyes when you felt it grip the top of your free hand, interlacing your fingers together. “‘M close, love,” he panted above you.

“M-me, too.” This was going far quicker than you imagined in your mind, but then again, that was how it was everytime Roger returned to you.

“Then come with me, (Y/N),” Roger managed to plunge into you a few more times before he held himself deep inside of you, hand tightening on yours and released with a groan. The feeling of him filling you up spurred your movements on, grinding back against him and working your clit faster. 

Roger’s hand knocked yours away, though, and quickly brought you to completion, your orgasm rocketing through you. You clenched around him as you rode out your high, drawing his seed farther into you.

As you both came down, Roger collapsed on top of you with a groan before rolling to the side, dragging you with him. He was panting in your ear and you weren’t doing much better, still clenching around his softening length.

The quiet was interrupted by Roger, “Shit. (Y/N). You stopped your birth control, right?

You laughed breathily. Normally it was the guy making sure you were on birth control. “Yeah. Yeah, I stopped the day after you left.”

“Thank God,”

“What, don’t want a repeat performance?”

“Not at all. But it would kind of throw a wrench in the plan, yeah?”

“Yeah…” You gazed across the bedroom, staring at the bathroom door.

Roger, sensing your change grabbed your hand and brought it to your chest, pressing you tight against him and moving his cock inside you. You felt a squelch of cum against your insides but didn’t it pay it much thought.

“What… what are the plans now, Rog?” He said he pushed back the time in the studio, but he didn’t say for how long.

“Well we’ve got about four weeks before we have to head to L.A. and I was thinking…”

“Hmm, what is it?”

“Why don’t you come with?” His voice was soft as he asked, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry I got caught up in the moment. That was… well it was just bad. I know it’s not a perfect fix, but it gives us more time together. And that way I can be there for you.”

“Roger…” you started, not wanting to disappoint him. “What about my job? What about when you have to go on tour, or even a press tour beforehand? I knew, marrying you, it wasn’t going to be easy. But I can’t fathom doing this without you and there’s so many ‘what if’s’ going on. Your plans for touring changed so easily. What if it happens again?”

You felt near tears again despite everything.

Roger released your hand to tilt your face up to him. His blue eyes were soft and sincere. “It’s not easy, love. You’re right. But we’ll figure it out, yeah? Together.”

Yeah. With Roger, you’re sure everything would turn out okay eventually. “Together.”

[seth-figment]

By any other name

Summary: Bobby finds a lone hellhound puppy. Not able to kill it he cares for it instead. He tries to contact Crowley for information but he won't show up. Until he suddenly does.

Pairing: Crowley/Bobby Singer Status: Completed Rating: T Tags: fluff Words: 8,945 Chapters: 6/6

Chapter 1

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'Tis but thy name that is my enemy

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Holding the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder Bobby sighs setting down the gun he was cleaning. "Could be wolves."

"It's not wolves, Booby."

"Okay, okay, I believe you. But what I don't understand is why I have to go and check it out and not you?" He grumbles taking the phone back in his hand.

"I'm following a group of vampires heading up north. If I took a detour I would lose them. Bobby, seriously it's not wolves killing all those sheep."

Sighing Bobby relinquishes. "A'right I'll check it out."

"Thanks."

Pinching the bridge of his nose he waves of the thanks. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get yourself killed fooling around with those vampires."

"I'm not a newbie."

"Sure. Bye, Matthew."

"Bye, Bobby." Hanging up the phone he sights heavily.

Looking down at the counter he picks up the note he scribbled down the address on. "Well, I'll better check it out."

-..-..-..

Crouching by the carcass of a sheep he inspects the claw and bite marks. "Hmm, well something sure seems hungry."

Taking a closer look at the marks he notes that they bare a striking assemblance to hellhound claw and bite marks but are far to small. They're even to small to be from wolves. Might be coyotes.

Cutting up the the remains he packs them up.

Heading over to a nearby barn he looks around inside noting that it seems as if no one's been there for some time.

Looking around inside he find a pile of straw with some smudged paw prints in the dirt around it. Better make sure it's just some coyotes and not anything else.

With a sigh he walks back to his truck and drives it up to the barn.

Getting out of the truck he gets a cage from the back. "Lets start with something simple."

Setting up rudimentary trap, in this case just a cage using a shank from the sheep carcass as bait. “There.” Hopefully there will only be a rogue coyote in here tomorrow and nothing else.

-..-..-..

Coming back the next day Bobby walks into the barn only to find the door of the cage closed and something growling inside it. Something invisible. "Balls.” Please don't be a hellhound.

Going closer to the cage the growling, that was frankly quite pitiful, turns into whining and whimpering. "What kind of hellhound whimpers?"

Grabbing some dirt from the ground he walks up to the cage. Frowning he looks down at the seemingly empty space. "And what kind of hellhound can be held by a normal cage." Dropping the dirt over the cage it lands and outlines the silhouette of what looks like a small dog or a, "Puppy. A hellhound puppy."

Turning he rubs at his face. "Shit."

Not sure what to do he starts walking away to check if he has anything useful in his truck but after  a couple of steps the whining from the cages becomes louder. Stopping Bobby looks back at the cage which actually causes the whining to quiet down but not disappear entirely.

Frowning Bobby notes that the sheep shank he left has been decimated and only some bone fragments remain.

Sighing he heads over to his truck the desperate whimpering now turned into howls following him out.

Tacking out the cooler with the rest of the sheep from the back of his truck Bobby takes a moment to think about what he's about to do. I've gone soft with old age.

Shaking his head he goes back to the barn.

The moment he steps into the barn the howling stops and a consistent whining starts up.

Kneeling down on one knee by the cage he places the cooler next to himself. Watching the last bits of dirt still seemingly float in mid air Bobby unsheathes his knife with a sigh and opens the cooler.

As fast as the lid of the cooler opens the whining from the pup turns into what can only be described as yapping. Happy yapping.

Raising a brow he looks over at the cage. "Yapping hellhounds." Shaking his head he picks up one of the last legs from the sheep and holds it in front of the cage. "I'll take it that you want this." Yapping turning louder he can hear something swooshing in the air. So hellhounds wag their tails. Wouldn't that be something to add to the bestiary.

Cutting off a small piece of the meat he uses the knife to poke it in through the bars.

Meat immediately getting snatched up it disappears before Bobby can even blink. “You're really hungry, ain't you?”

Continuing to feed the puppy through the bars Bobby tries to figure out what to do. “Should kill you. I also need to figure out how you got here.”

Shoving in the last piece of meat he stands up knees aching. “I'm to old for this.”

Whining starting up again as he moves Bobby can't help but look down at the cage feeling his heart ache at the noise. It had to be a puppy.

Sighing he grabs the cooler walking back to his truck, the howling of an abandoned puppy slicing though the air.

Returning to the barn he now has some rope and salt with him.

Walking around the cage he makes a circle of salt before he kneels down by its door. The swooshing noise of a tail having returned with a vengeance together with the shuffling sound of paws.

Taking a deep breath Bobby shakes his head. “This is how I die. Goddamned hypocrite is what I am. ”

Extending his arm he holds the back of his hand up against the cage ready to quickly pull it back if needed.

Flinching slightly at the first feel of something cold and wet, Probably its nose, he forces his hand to keep still only to feel a tongue lick at it.

“Okay, so far so good.” Taking a deep breath he lets one of his fingers poke into the cage. “Don't bite, okay?” But instead of teeth there is just more drool.

Chuckling slightly in relief Bobby pokes some more fingers in only to be greeted by vigorous licking. “You're really just a puppy, aren't you?”

Making up his mind he removes his hand reaching off to the side to pick up some more dirt.

“Let's see you again.” Dropping the dirt over the cage the slight silhouette of the hellhound puppy becomes visible again.

“You just stay still now.” Reaching for the lock Bobby keeps an eye on the floating dirt. “No bolting away, okay?”

Holding the door closed he picks up the rope. Having already tied a slipknot on it he simply starts to open the door slowly while calmly talking. “You ain't gonna attack me. No, you don't want that. All you wanted was some food.” Dirt staying still in the air he carefully slips the rope over the puppies head. “You just wanted some breakfast didn't you?” Tightening the knot around the puppies neck he lets his hands retreat holding on hard to the rope. “There.”

Standing up he lightly tugs at the makeshift leash. “Let's see if this will work.”

At the tug the floating dirt trots out of the cage only to stop before going flying everywhere when the puppy shakes itself.

“Sorry about the dirt.”

Backing slowly Bobby tugs at the rope making the seemingly levitating noose follow him.

Kicking the salt line he leads the puppy out talking to it all the way. “So what should I do with you? Should probably ask Crowley. He might know why there's a hellpuppy running around. Hopefully I got something for you to eat at home.”

Backing up next to the passenger side of his truck he opens the door. Standing next to the opened door he looks from the floating loop to the passenger seat. “Okay, lets see how this will work.”

Contemplating how to get the hellpup up to the seat he doesn't need to think long because the loop walks forward jumping up on the seat all by its own volition. “That was easy.”

Before he closes the door he ties his end of the rope securely to the headrest.

Walking over to the driver side Bobby slides in behind the steering wheel. While turning the key he glances over at the rope. The puppy seems to have settled down to take a nap not really reacting to the motor noises.

“This is so gonna come back to bite me in the ass.” He grumbles before driving off.

-..-..-..

Rolling up the driveway Bobby goes through his plan once more but out loud this time to try and wake his passenger.

“So we'll get inside where I will temporary put you in a circle of salt, just long enough to secure the house so that you can't get out. Okay?” Looking over at the invisible little dog he can see the rope stir somewhat.

“You awake there?”  Reaching over he tugs lightly on the rope. Hearing a weak sleepy sounding whine he lets go of the rope.

Getting out of the car he walks over to the passenger side. Opening the door he unties the rope from the headrest and tugs at it again only for the loop to stay put on the seat.

“Come on.” He says insistently only to get what sounds as a sleepy yawn in response.

Reaching over he pets on what he assumes is the pups head only to recoil at the feel of its skin. Feels like gnarly scaring mixed with fur. Shaking off the unpleasant feeling from first touching the pup he reaches out once more petting across its back. “You need to get up, sweetheart.”

Feeling the body under his hand move slightly he can see the loop rise before settling down again. Sighing he removes his hand.

Taking off his hat Bobby rub across his head. “Well, if you ain't getting up by your own I'll have to move you by myself.”

Putting his cap back on he bends down. “No biting.” Getting his arms under the small body he lifts the puppy up only to grunt under the weight. “What are you made of? Lead. You're barely the size of a beagle.”

Hitching the puppy up in his arms he bumps the door shut with his hip.

Carrying the the pup with him he can feel its breath at his neck as it nuzzles its nose into it.

Feeling claws dig into his arm Bobby grumbles to himself shifting his grip on the pup while trying to open the front door. “Bringing a hellhound home. How can I ever yell at the boys for doing something stupid ever again.”

Getting the door open he kicks at the salt line he keeps there before walking in heading over to the kitchen.  

Setting down the sleepy bundle on the kitchen floor he reaches over to the counter picking up one of the many cartoons of salt he keeps there.

Walking around the rope loop and by extension the hellpup he makes a circle of salt around it.

Crouching down Bobby reaches into the circle petting the puppy. “So you'll just stay here while I get some stuff from my truck and double check all the salt lines so you won't get out, okay?”

Getting a confused whine in response Bobby hesitates for just a second before standing up walking away.

The moment he sets foot out of the kitchen the pup starts howling and whining for him to come back.

Speeding up he hurries out to his truck to get the cooler and some other things. Quickly going back to the house he checks all the salt lines as quickly as possible all while having the desperate howling of a puppy following him.

Walking into the kitchen to check the last salt lines Bobby can see the rope loop bounce up and down and the howling turns into whimpering yapping.

“Calm down. I'm done in just a second.”

Checking the last line everything seems to be secure.

Turning back to the bouncing yapping rope he sighs rubbing at his face. “Okay, I’ll let you out but no killing.”

Stepping up to the circle he notes that there's now some shallow claw marks on the linoleum by the inner edge of the salt line. “Also try and not claw or destroy anything.”

As fast as Bobby disrupts the salt the rope bounces up to him and he feels paws land on his thighs and claws dig in.

Leaning down he pets at the pups head. “Yeah, yeah. I was only gone for a couple of minutes.”

Straightening up he moves back feeling the paws fall away. Turning around he walks over to a cupboard to get a broom to sweep up all the salt.

Hearing claws click against the floor he look back to see the rope trail after him. Frowning at this he walk over to the salt starting to sweep it up. “Need to do something about that rope. Can't have you walking around with it trailing behind you like that. You might get stuck.”

Sweeping up the last salt he empties the dustpan in the bin before setting it aside.

Kneeling he whistling holding his hand out. “Come here, girl.”

Immediately the loop obediently trots over to him and he feels a wet nose nudge at his hand.

Taking out a knife he grabs the rope cutting it shorter and then adjusts the knot around the pups neck. “So you don't strangle yourself.”

Letting go of the rope he hears the pup shake itself and what sounds as scratching. Seeing the rope turn slightly and some fraying appearing he reaches out stopping the pup. “No scratching at that. It needs to stay. Can't see where you are without it.”

Ruffling the pups ears he keeps an eye on the loop as he stands walking towards the hall. “Let's find a blanket for you to lie on.”

-..-..-..

Having found an old blanket for the pup to sleep on Bobby has now settled down in his study trying to find anything about hellhound puppies.

He gave up on trying to summon Crowley after the fifth attempt.

Shutting the book he was reading he rubs at his face in frustration. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Leaning back in his chair he rolls his shoulders and neck when he suddenly hears munching noises.

Looking over at the hellpup Bobby sees one of his tombs getting shredded. “Don't chew on that!” Standing up he hurries over.

Grabbing the book he admonishes the pup. “Bad dog! No.” Looking the book over it seems as if the thick leather cover and spine has taken the brunt of the damage.

Hearing whining he looks down just to see the rope loop hunker down low on the floor. “It's not your fault. Shouldn't have left it lying on the floor.”

The whining from the pup don't stop though. “It's not your fault, ….. “ Blanking Bobby realizes that he doesn't know what to call the puppy.

“Should probably give you a name. The way this research are going you will stay here for quite some time. And Crowley won't answer any of my tries to contact him.”

Glancing thoughtfully from the mangled book to the levitating rope he raises a brow. “Well you seem to like literature. Maybe something from a classic. Though I don't know if your a boy or girl.”

Sighing he sits down on the couch.

“Well, you seem far to well behaved to be a boy.” Looking down at the book in his hand Bobby smiles wryly, “When you ain't eating my research material.”

Feeling paws land on his lap he looks back up at the rope loop floating in front of him. Feeling his hand get nudged by a nose the pup seems to whine in apology.

Setting the book aside he scratches at the back of an invisible ear, cold nose snuffling at his wrist. “Maybe, Elizabeth. Lizzy.” Getting no response what so ever from the pup he dismisses the name. “Yeah, I don't like it that much either.”

Ransacking his brain for names he can't really come up with anything original. “What about Juliet?” Getting a happy yap at that he ruffles the pups ears. “Really? Juliet?”

“Ain't that original but what's in a name?” Smiling he ruffles Juliet's ears one last time before standing.

“Let's find something for you to chew on that isn't 700 years old.”

-..-..-..

Giving up on researching Bobby has now relocated to the kitchen.

Standing in front of the the open fridge he glances from its content to over at Juliet who's currently busy demolishing the femur from a sheep.

Grabbing a t-bone Bobby had been planing to make for himself he turns taking a plate down from a shelf.

Hearing shuffling, the clicking of claws walks up to him.

Glancing down he sees the rope loop look up at him while whining eagerly. “Calm your horses. I'm just gonna plate it first.” Moving the stake over to the plate he turns to the loop. “Sit.”

Looking down at the pup he can't see Bobby realizes how stupid it was to ask her to sit.

Inspecting the rope he thinks it looks like it might have changed elevation and angle. “Ehhm, I'm just going to assume that you're sitting down.”

Setting down the plate he watches the stake get ripped apart only for the ripped off pieces to go invisible a moment later. “I'll have to go into town to by some kibble or something for you tomorrow.”

Shaking his head Bobby turns to grab a bowl that he fills with water before setting it down next to the plate. “There you go.”

Turning back to the counter he lets out a deep breath. “Guess I'll have sandwiches.”

-..-..-..

Finishing up in the study he's trying to figure out what to do with Juliet when she starts to whine.

Looking back at the invisible puppy it takes him a second to realize what she wants. “Need to go out? ”

Walking over to the kitchen with Juliet following at his heels he grabs the rope he left there.

Crouching down he whistles. “Come here.” Obediently the rope loop walks up to him stopping in front of him.

Tying the rope securely to the loop he pets Juliet on the head. “There. No running away now.”

Well outside he takes a small walk around the junkyard and nearby woods.

Glancing down at the rope obediently trotting next to him he smiles a bit. “Who would have ever thought that hellhounds knew how to heel.”

-..-..-..

Back indoors he unties Juliet. Looking at the rope loop walk away he realizes that he can't let her roam free in his house at night, she might get out while he sleeps.

Getting her blanket from the study Bobby lays it out on the kitchen floor. “Juliet, come here.”

Making sure that she stays on the blanket he grabs the salt making a circle around her. “This is only for tonight. Okay? Or at least till I figure something else out.”

Walking over to the door opening he glances back at Juliet who has started to whine. “I'll just be up stairs, I'm not abandoning you.” Turning off the light he heads up to his bedroom, Juliet howling in despair from the kitchen.

Sitting down on his bed Bobby listens to the hellhound yowling like any normal puppy would.

“Hellhound. Have to remember that.” He tries to tell himself this but just then a heart breaking howl slices through the air. Frowning he shakes his head trying to dismiss the guilt he feel. “She has to stop eventually.”

Readying himself for bed he tries to block out the howling waiting for it to stop, but after 40 minutes there doesn't seem to be any end to it any time soon.

Sitting up he shakes his head. “Gone soft is what I have.” Getting out of bed he heads down back to the kitchen.

As fast as he sets his foot in the kitchen the yowling stops getting replaces by happy yapping.

Turning on the lights he looks over at the rope loop bouncing up and down noting that the floor is scratched to hell as if she's tried to dig herself out.

With a sigh he breaks the salt circle making the invisible puppy jump up at him, paws on his thighs nose snuffling his hand.

“Guess you'll sleep with me tonight.” Grabbing the salt he heads back up to his bedroom Juliet following suit.

After making a salt line at his bedroom door he's just about to lie down in bed when he feels the mattress dip. “No, bad Juliet. Down.”

Watching the rope settle down a pleading whine comes from it.

Rubbing at his face Bobby relinquishes. “Okay, you can stay.”

Laying down he pets Juliet on the head. “Night, Juliet.”  

The rest of the chapters can be found by the same name on AO3 (by Seth_Figment) and fanfiction.net (by Seth Figment). 

Link to AO3 post By any other name  

[yesvac]

Cool Kids Never Have The Time (stozier)

au where stan and richie don’t know each other but as classmates, richie is the class stoner, and stan smokes weed for the first time with him : ) 

warning: drug use

length: about 3k

The first hit of the bowl is a bit too much to handle, in Stan’s opinion.

It’s not like he’s a nerd, per say. He wouldn’t be qualified as one in most people’s minds. He’s actually quite cool, in his opinion, but in the social ladder of their high school, he’s not particularly topping the charts. He’s got friends, sure, but those people are not considered “cool kids” or “popular”. One of his friends, Ben, called him “the King of the nerds,” once.

So Stan wouldn’t say it’s surprising that he became friends with Richie Tozier. Yeah, Richie is… a bit edgier than most people he knows, and Richie doesn’t go to school as often as he should, but it’s not like Stan’s counting his attendance, or looking over at Richie’s empty seat at the beginning of class every day. Psh, why would he?

But that doesn’t quite explain how Stan got to be in this situation, holding a “bowl” up to his lips while Richie lights the end.

He surely didn’t mean to get in this situation. He’s not a bad kid. He stays away from drugs, and when he gets invited to parties with alcohol, he politely declines. In his high school career, and in all of the 18 years of his life, he’s gone to one real party. He left in twenty minutes.

But what was he supposed to do when Richie passed him a note in Economics, reading “you want to come over to mine later?”

When the note was dropped on his desk, he was dumbfounded at first, for multiple reasons. His heart was racing as he tried to process it. First thought: who the fuck passes notes anymore? this isn’t middle school. And then: wait, Richie Tozier wants me to come over?

Then he thinks of what he might like to do at Richie Tozier’s house. Oh.

Stan blushes at his thoughts. He shouldn’t allow himself to think things like that about boys, but he indulges occasionally. Probably more than most guys would.

He looks across the room to where Richie’s sitting and he’s a bit spooked when he sees that Richie is already looking at him, with this little smirk on his face. Swallowing his anxiety, Stan nods in Richie’s direction, and the butterflies that reside in his tummy are making a bit of an uproar as a grin appears on Richie’s face. Richie mouths to him slowly: meet me by my locker after school.

Fuck. Stan’s fucked if he wants a good grade in Econ, because any and all material is lost to his mind after that.

-

A few hours later when the final bell rings, Stan tries to convince himself he hasn’t been waiting for the moment that school ends, but he can’t, not truly. His friends have been bugging him about being absentminded and not participating in their conversations mentally, but he reckons that’s okay for one day.

He tries not to run to Richie’s locker, and instead settles for a brisk pace over to a black mob of hair and a jean jacket faced the opposite way. Briefly, he is immobilized with nervousness, but when Richie glances over to where Stan is standing awkwardly a few feet away, he loudly spits out, “Hi!”

At first, Richie looks a bit judgemental, but his expression softens, and the corners of his beautiful mouth tilt upwards. Stan’s running his fingers through his fringe and pushing it upwards because Jesus, he’s sweating already. Calm the fuck down and stop being so gay, he thinks, but Richie’s smile just makes his knees feel weak. “Hey, Stan the man.”

“Stan the man?” he makes out, and the nervousness is coming back again, and he thinks for a moment that maybe he’s actually judged this situation completely wrong. Is this… an insult, or a nickname? It’s not like Richie is perceived in the eyes of the school body as a nice guy, really. Stan’s not sure. But… maybe he saw him looking at him. Maybe he’s angry. Maybe he knows Stan’s gay somehow, and trapped him here, cornered against a locker. Maybe coming here was the worst possible idea.

His mind tells him to take a step back, so he does. “I- I actually think, that I have to, I have to go,” he stammers. “My mom, uh. My mom needs me to take care of our… Our iguana.”

Stan doesn’t have an iguana. He facepalms mentally.

But then, Richie says the unexpected: “Is something wrong? Are you okay? You look pale all the sudden.” He extends an arm to rest on Stan’s shoulder and despite his best efforts, Stan can’t find it in him to think there’s anything malicious about him.

Sure, Richie’s wearing black ripped jeans and some old, beat up Doc Martins that look like they’re from the 80’s, but he’s also wearing a jean jacket with pink patches and embroidered designs. Yes, he’s got a septum piercing and he skips school, but his eyes and smile are so soft that Stan can’t be intimidated. He melts at the gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Stan manages, and he can tell his face is hot. “I just remembered that I, uh, don’t actually have to be home, so nevermind. I can come over to yours.”

Richie laughs, and the way he tilts his head back while laughing makes Stan’s heart hurt. “Okay, it’s not iguana-care day. I see,” Richie teases, and surprisingly, Stan doesn’t feel targeted or anything by the tease, just wants to laugh along with him, so he does. It feels natural and organic to be laughing with him and he wants to do it forever. “Let’s go, I can give us a ride.”

There’s something mundanely enchanting to Stan about boys who can drive. Well, maybe it’s just boys. Actually, maybe it’s just Richie.

He coughs awkwardly as he gets into Richie’s vehicle. It’s an interesting one for sure. “Sorry if it’s hard to close the door, Ol’ Gertrude is getting a bit rickety. But we won’t die.” Stan laughs, as if it’s a joke, but Richie looks at him seriously. “Probably.”

He’s not lying when he says that the car is getting old; there’s rust all over it and it does take two or three tries for Stan to fully close the door because for some reason, its locking mechanism doesn’t work. The seats are all busted in some ways and Richie has seemed to fix it by using duct tape strategically, but Stan can still feel the springs poking out in some places. There’s dice hanging from the mirror. It’s a hot day, but there’s not air conditioning, so Stan can feel the perspiration on his face, but the way the windows roll down and Stan can stick his fingers out to feel the air as Richie drives is therapudic and organic.

Richie’s fringe is fully pushed up by now, his face slightly flush as he drives with one hand. He’s trying to explain music to Stan, and Stan suddenly realizes what Richie’s actually passionate about.

“Call me a hipster - really, I am - but the stuff nowadays is really shitty. Too much autotune, and electronic music sound. I’m not into it. Prime music was the 80’s and 90’s - alternative was the best then.” He’s trying to get a CD out of the compartment in front of Stan and Stan takes it over from him, sliding the CD out of the case and helping Richie slide it into the disc player. It immediately plays Track 1.

“Fuck, this is a classic,” Richie comments fondly, and Stan thinks swear words don’t sound quite as crude coming out of his mouth.

Shakedown 1979

Cool kids never have the time

On a live wire right up off the street

You and I should meet

He finds himself fascinated with the way Richie looks, carefree and happy as he drives and sings along to the song. Stan’s not sure if he likes the music better than what he listens to, but he’s sure that he likes Richie singing it better than anything he’s ever heard, ever.

Too soon they arrive at Richie’s house, and as they get out, some anxiety clouds Stan’s mind because what the fuck are they going to do, anyways? He’s not like, socially incapable, but Richie and him have never really talked ever, and they don’t seem to have very many common interests. Nevertheless, they enter Richie’s house and it’s nice, cozy. His downstairs is painted in light pastel yellows and he feels comforted at the decor.

When Richie shows him his room, it’s like walking into a completely different building from the rest of the house.

First of all, it’s painted a light blue, but that’s barely visible through all of the posters he has up. There’s movie posters for every award-winning movie he can think of in the last 30 years. Also, there’s posters for, yes, 90’s and 80’s alternative and rock bands, and Stan thinks if Richie knew that the only real 80’s and 90’s music Stan knows is the boybands, then he would be scolded severely (he can’t help it - his first boy crush was on Justin Timberlake). There’s also tacked up photos of what look to be torn pages from National Geographic of locations around the world. Stan recognizes what looks to be a busy Japanese street, a waterfall somewhere, the badlands, and a photo taken in a desert with a crowd of antelope. He has a bed and in the corner of his bedroom, a sofa, and then a computer desk with a computer chair - he sits down at his chair and looks up at Stan, and Stan sits on his bed lightly.  His bedroom is also slightly messy, disheveled in a way that isn’t too unacceptable. There’s an indistinct smell that he can’t quite place.

Stan feels slightly overwhelmed.

Richie begins talking about something related to music again, and he syncs his phone with a speaker in his room and plays some song Stan can’t place, one he’s never heard before, and he zones out a bit to what he’s saying, internally freaking out that he’s at a hot boy’s house on his bed while he’s being ranted at about good music, until Richie says something that shocks him into listening.

“Wanna smoke weed?”

While Stan knows it’s unattractive to sputter, apparently he can’t help but be not cute around Richie. “W-what did you say?” Because he isn’t quite sure he heard right, even though he knows internally exactly what Richie said.

“Did you want to smoke some weed? I have four grams and a bowl if you wanted to. My parents aren’t home and won’t be ‘till later. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, really. It helps me relax though, and makes the music even better,” Richie says, and he giggles a bit at the end. He raises his eyebrows at Stan, obviously expecting an answer, but Stan’s not sure he can give a comprehensible one.

Oh god, he’s about to get high for the first time with the hottest dude in his class. This is what he knows, because he knows for a fact he’s not going to be able to say no to Richie’s smile, even if he’s kind of scared of inhaling smoke and getting high in general, and his mom raised him to stay away from drugs.

“Yes,” he says. Of course. Idiot.

So that brings them to where they are now. Richie is opening up the window to his room, and he retrieves a wooden box from a discreet place at the top of his messy closet, and he opens the box. There’s some oddly shaped things Stan doesn’t recognize, and it occurs to him that Richie probably doesn’t realize that he hasn’t smoked weed before. “I haven’t smoked weed before,” he comments casually, and Richie looks at him incredulously.

“Really, Stan the man? Never smoked?” Richie asks, and Stan nods. “Figures, with your straight A’s, and all. You just need to be roughed up a little. Live life and all that shit.” Stan nods again, and pretends that he doesn’t want Richie to rough him up in every way. “I’ll guide you through it.”

Ten minutes later and they’re both sitting on Richie’s sofa facing his window, and Richie’s holding what he calls a “bowl”, which in reality looks nothing like a bowl and actually looks more like a pipe made of glass or ceramic material, Stan doesn’t know. It’s blue and shiny, and it’s stuffed with weed at the end. Richie tells him the process of it, how you’re supposed to hold your fingers over one part of it, and then light it, and then inhale, and then release your fingers, and then exhale after you’ve held it for a moment. But try as he might, all of those instructions escaped his mind, because when you’ve got Richie Tozier one foot in front of you and you’re about to get high with him, it’s quite hard to focus on little things.

“Got it?” Richie asks him, and Stan wants to have got it, but he hasn’t got it. He shakes his head, and Richie laughs. He feels bad for a moment, but not for long, not really. “It’s okay, Stan. I’ll hold the bowl for you and I’ll light it too. All you have to do is inhale, and then exhale when you’re ready.”

Stan nods, and he doesn’t feel ready quite yet, but it’s not like he’s going to say no because god, Richie is beautiful and he’s holding the bowl up to his lips and Stan’s going to hell for being so gay, he’s sure of it. It occurs to him that he’s practically on Richie’s lap right as Richie lights the weed, and says “GO!” to him, and he inhales the smoke from the bowl, and immediately chokes.

Richie had told him that he’d probably cough, but this was nothing like he’d imagined. He choked on smoke and coughed to try to get the toxicity out of his throat. He keeps coughing, and he’s honestly surprised at the amount he coughs before he can stop, really. He’s practically wheezing out of Richie’s window, and Richie is chuckling at him slightly. When Stan finally stops coughing, wiping the water out of his eyes, he sees Richie from his blurry vision taking a hit and he looks practiced and masterful. The smoke leaves through his nose and he takes a breathe of air calmly. No coughing at all.

“What the fuck? How did you do that?” Stan laughs, and he coughs again at the end of his sentence, and finds himself in another minute-long coughing fit. He wants to stop, he really does, but there’s an insistent tickling at the back of his throat and he must look like an idiot.

However, there’s a warmth at his shoulder and he looks back at Richie, smiling warmly at him and he feels comforted with just a glance at the boy next to him, and he can feel the anxiety melting off of him by the minute. “If you’re a loser pothead like me, then you’re good at this. But don’t aspire for that,” he laughs again, and holds the bowl out to Stan’s mouth again, and Stan tries to pull himself together for another hit again, and he inhales like before. It goes down much smoother than the first, but he still coughs with his exhale.

“Is there a way to make this any better than it is? Like, my eyes won’t stop watering and I’ve got this tickling in my throat that isn’t going away,” he complains to Richie as Richie takes another hit. It occurs to him mildly that his lips were wrapped around the same thing that Richie’s are, and tries to make that fact not matter to him, and fails. “I don’t get the glamour of this yet.”

The way Richie exhales the smoke out of the window through pursed lips makes Stan’s spine tingle a little bit, in a way that only Richie’s looks can do. Richie laughs dryly again. “Eating and drinking make it better. I’m sure the high will hit you in a few. You’ll feel it, and you’ll know.” As Richie relaxes against the sofa, he gets the feeling that Richie is already feeling it.

“How am I supposed to know if I’ve never experienced it?” Stan presses, leaning forward a bit, closer to Richie. Richie gives him a devious smile in return, cracking his knuckles before placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder, which is warm and welcome.

“You’ll know, Stan the man. You’ll know.”

A few minutes later, they are both lying on the floor and looking up at Richie’s ceiling. The lights are off and Richie has glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling which Richie is entranced by, as they listen to more music. Stan feels… something, but he isn’t sure if it is from the drug he just smoked or the feeling of laying so close to Richie.

Richie suddenly turns towards him, still horizontal, and says, “Stan the man.”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel?”

Stan’s fingers grip the carpet around him, letting the fabric touch his hands and feel the texture and everything around him. “I feel a little different. Like everything’s slower.”

“Your eyes are red as hell,” Richie comments, laying a hand on Stan’s arm. Tingles shoot through Stan from the place that Richie touched him. He internally facepalms at how sensitive he is, and tells himself to calm down.

Stan sits up a bit, and looks at Richie’s face, examining the way that the weed has affected him. “Your eyes are red too, you know. So shut up.”

“You’re so handsome, Stan,” Richie sighs, and Stan’s eyes widen. He’s unsure if he heard Richie correctly, and where that compliment came from, and what the implications are, and whether it could just be a platonic comment, and his mind is racing with thoughts while he stares blankly forward.

Richie’s eyebrows furrow. “You good?”

Stan sputters, “yeah. I’m good. I think it just hit me.”

Richie smirks, an irritatingly attractive tilt of the mouth, and Stan wishes he could kiss it off of him, so he does. He grabs Richie’s wrists and pulls him forward, and their mouths collide clumsily and Stan is feeling so, so unorthodox.

But it’s good. It’s really good. Richie is warm and although he is bony, his hands seem to have an instinct of their own and perfectly clutch Stan’s face, aligning like they were made to fit, and Stan’s whole body feels like it’s tingling as he moves his lips against Richie’s, kissing him. Richie seems to be pressing forward, responding emphatically to Stan’s movements, and Stan pulls away to breathe and to look at Richie again. He can’t believe himself.

Richie’s face is flushed, his cheeks pleasantly red, and Stan thinks he looks better than ever. His eyes are blown-- from use of illegal substances or from kissing, Stan isn’t sure-- and he looks exhilerated. Stan is internally satisfied that he can make Richie look like that.

Turning down the volume of the music, Richie smiles back to Stan, and his hands move along Stan’s arms like he can’t stop touching him. “I guess I’ll have to have you over a lot more often, Stan the man.”

[aion-rsa]

Free Guy: How Jodie Comer Went From Holby City to Hollywood

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Talk about glamorous locations. It’s an overcast spring day in Boston, and Den of Geek is standing in… a parking lot outside an old flower warehouse. No, we haven’t made a wrong turn. This is the unassuming, on-location base camp for the cast and crew of Free Guy, a high-concept action-comedy set in (and out of) an explosive open-world video game. The forecourt is filled with rows of neatly parked, nondescript white trailers, which we’re ushered along until we reach one with a sign on the door that simply reads: “Molotov Girl”.

This is the temporary hangout for one of the film’s headline stars. After Jodie Comer’s big break onto the global A-list with TV phenomenon Killing Eve, Hollywood naturally came calling, and Free Guy marks her first starring role in a bonafide big-screen blockbuster. The native Liverpudlian, who started her career with guest appearances on shows including Holby City, Waterloo Road and Doctors, has clearly remained typically grounded, though—this is actually her day off from shooting and, as she beckons us inside with a beaming smile, she’s in the middle of clearing out her kitchen fridge. 

“It’s been so much fun,” Comer enthuses about her time on the project so far (they’re only two weeks into the shoot), as we take a seat in her makeshift living room. “I’ve never done anything like this before, and it’s very easy to feel overwhelmed because everything is new, but it has been so relaxed. There’s a lot of energy on this set and you’re encouraged to just roll with it.”

Warm, friendly and happy to chat despite the fact she’s not technically at work today, Comer is a million miles away from the character she’s (currently) best known for—Killing Eve’s murderous menace, Villanelle. And, despite the incendiary name, so is Free Guy’s Molotov Girl… The kick-ass heroine is actually an avatar, created by human programmer Millie to navigate the world of the game-within-a-film, Free City, and help non-playable character Guy (Ryan Reynolds) to save the digital playground he calls home.

“They both have their strengths, but in very different departments,” Comer explains. “Millie has created a version of herself—this badass chick who rides a motorcycle and is ridiculously cool—which I think is really interesting, especially in this day and age where so many of us are on social media and we kind of create this ideal of what it is that we want to be perceived as. There’s so much to play with within these two characters.”

Comer says that the dual role was a big part of why she ultimately decided to take the role, but for director Shawn Levy—the man behind the Night At The Museum franchise and a regular helmer on Netflix’s Stranger Things—it also allowed the filmmakers to “exploit Jodie’s unique talent”. 

“The character in the game is very cool, incredibly empowered and in absolute control of the events around her,” Levy reveals when we catch up with him later, during a break from orchestrating a high-octane action sequence with Reynolds on the bank of Boston’s Charles River. “Whereas in real life, it’s not so simple for Jodie’s character, so we get to play two very different shades all with the same actor.”

The differences even encompass the characters’ accents: one American, one crisply British, both miles away from the endearingly Scouse twang that Comer carries in real life. It’s a skill that she’s well-known for—on Killing Eve, for example, she slips between varying languages and intonations, from French to Russian to Dutch to Italian, with absolute ease. And then… “All of a sudden, she speaks in her Liverpudlian accent—and you’re like, ‘What the hell? Where’s that person been all day?!’” says a still-surprised Reynolds.

The Deadpool star admits he hadn’t seen Killing Eve prior to working with Comer, but now considers himself “a massive fan”. “It’s seriously something that doesn’t happen, except maybe every 10 years, where a new actor arrives and doesn’t feel like anyone you’ve seen before,” Levy adds. “We saw dozens and dozens and dozens of actresses. But I think within four or five lines of her audition, Ryan and I looked at each other because it was like an apparition. She vanishes into the character. In real life, she’s just an incredibly sweet, warm young woman. But we’ve seen on Killing Eve and now in this movie, she’s able to transform and inhabit a role in a way that is stunning.”

In Free Guy, that transformation extends to Comer’s physicality, especially in the role of Molotov Girl. With the filmmakers opting to capture the in-game world in live action, rather than a digital depiction à la Ready Player One (“There’s something about seeing the avatars as real people that connects you to them more,” Comer says), it meant that the actors’ physical performances would be in sharper focus. And while she’s no stranger to onscreen action thanks to her stint as hard-edged hitwoman Villanelle, taking on a Hollywood tentpole meant that the bar was inevitably raised… 

“Molotov Girl is a woman who I feel is very unlike myself,” Comer says, “so that kind of transformation is always fun to sink your teeth into. I would definitely say the physicality of her has been the biggest challenge, because she’s very fierce, and just also getting that stance that video game characters have, where they look strong and their shoulders are back… I’m a bit more kind of hunched in! So that’s something that I’ve had to be really aware of when I’m playing her and trying to get the stunts down.”

As well as some full-on fitness training, Comer was schooled in various martial arts before the shoot started—grabbing the opportunity to “learn a new skill” with both hands. “We have an incredible stunt team, so Hayley [Wright, Comer’s stunt double] takes over for all the really cool, hardcore stuff—and I’m happy to pass that baton over!” she laughs. “But I really want to try and do as much as I possibly can.” 

The stakes may be high, but the thing that grounds Free Guy’s huge set-pieces is the humour and the human element—hence the choice of live-action over mo-capped, CG-tastic visuals. “Essentially at the centre of it is this emotional connection between these two characters,” says Comer. “They want to change the world but they feel like they are stuck in the background, and they kind of recognise that within each other. There’s a real heart at the centre of all the crazy stuff.”

Key to this was the chemistry between the two leads, which quickly became apparent for everyone in the audition room. “It felt very easy,” Comer recalls. “Even though we had our lines, Ryan and I were talking over each other and interacting in ways that weren’t actually on the page—and that was our first meeting. It’s hard to produce that chemistry when it isn’t there [naturally]. And that’s carried over to the set: Shawn and Ryan are very encouraging, so it feels safe to play around, to try things and if it doesn’t work, go back to something else.” Not that it’s all plain sailing, though… “I think people really underestimate how hard comedy is,” she laughs. “As soon as you try to be funny, it kind of just goes!”

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Free Guy’s comedy may be a lot broader than Killing Eve’s pitch-black humour, but, as with the stunts and physical feats, Comer says it’s all part of her ultimate goal: “to continue challenging myself”. Taking on new challenges is becoming something of a driving force for the actor, whose future on the A-list is looking bright. Next, she’ll be changing tack completely as the star of Ridley Scott’s weighty historical drama The Last Duel—a role that some are predicting could carry potential awards-season recognition. One thing seems certain, though: the cheery Scouser is likely to stay grounded, no matter how big or swanky the trailers get. Not that such things matter to her. “I don’t like sitting on my own in my trailer,” she says. “I’d rather be hanging out with people.”

Free Guy opens in cinemas on August 13.

The post Free Guy: How Jodie Comer Went From Holby City to Hollywood appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[doof-doofblog]

"Leave Him Alone! ... Dad!"

Tuesday 29th December 2020

Good evening everyone! Hope you're all feeling good - devastating news about the next lockdown / Tier movement isn't it? Personally, I've have enough. I feel like I really need to cry but for some reason, somehow the tears aren't falling - yet! I'm going and not think about it and focus on my favourite soap instead! Before we jump into the episode, I want to share a bit of news with you, it has been announced that Natalie Cassidy (AKA Sonia Fowler) will be taking an extended break from the soap, there has been a recently storyline regarding Sonia's mental health, when this is due to be shown is unsure. But Natalie is expected to be off-screen from early January and will return early in the Spring!

Also, I still can't get over the suspense from the previous episode - as far as I'm aware, nothing has been confirmed that Tina is dead, I think that will remain a mystery until it's eventually (hopefully) proven! What do you guys think?! While we speculate, lets focus on tonight's episode! 

The first thing I want to talk about is Ruby! Following Martin's revelation that he doesn't want anymore children, she is still clearly devastated by the news. As Stacey and Kush bump into each other on the Square discussing children, Ruby approaches them (mainly Stacey) warning her to never interfere in her marriage again! In all honesty, I don't think Stacey was, she knows Martin better than anyone, she can clearly see that something was on his mind and maybe she just thought she was trying to advise or help her ex-husband. The whole scene leaves Kush feeling very awkward as they both squabble in front of him. However, later when Kush approaches Ruby in the club, she is surprised when he apologies to her for stealing money from her till and he acts pretty sincere, he informs her that it's part of his recovery program, that he must apologise to everyone he's hurt due to his gambling addiction. It looks as if his apology really touches Ruby's heart and she invites him to stay for a drink. After a while they've both decided to sit together whilst having their drinks, Kush opens up about the deal he has in place with Phil, informing Ruby about that money he'll be getting by tacking the rap for the Mitchell's petty crimes, regardless whether it means him going to prison for a long time or not. He informs Ruby that the only reason he's doing it is for his son. It's quite sad though as you seem to realise how many people Kush has lost - Shabnam, Zaair, Shakil, Carmel - Arthur is simply the only person he has left! Ruby appears to be really moved by his revelation, however when he tries to change the subject to herself and Stacey, he kind of puts his foot in it when he reveals that Stacey actually wants Martin back! Ruby seems to be taken aback by this, it's only later when Kush comes to find her in his office, she informs him he may not have to go through with Phil's plan and then drops the bombshell that she'll give him the money instead! Kush is completely and utterly gobsmacked, why would she offer him such a lifeline?! But instantly Kush sees right through it and how crazy her scheme is, if Kush was to do a runner and take Arthur with him, it might change Martin's mind of having a baby with her, which would be a way of keeping her husband! The big question is however, will Kush take Ruby's offer and do a runner with his son?! 

Elsewhere on the Square, Billy, Honey and Jay are trying to move on from recent events. Honey pleads to Billy to try and talk things through with Jay as adults. She hates the fact that this has caused a rift in the family. Even though Billy is reluctant to forgive and forget, Honey seems to bring him round, mainly for the kids. As they find Jay sat alone in the gardens, Billy informs him that he recognises that what both he and Honey did was a huge mistake, with it being Christmas and people having a drink etc etc, people don't seem to realise their actions. He then invites Jay to move back in with them, however later on Honey finds Jay at the Car Lot, it looks as if she's struggling to come to terms with the recent events. She announces to Jay that over the past few weeks she has started to get feelings for him, it's been hard for her to ignore and of course she's been worried about what people might say about the age gap if they were to become an item, she pours out her heard to Jay that regardless of that, she wants them to give it a try. For a split moment, it looks as if Jay is going to say exactly the same thing, but instead, with a heavy heart, he informs Honey that he can't do it, because of Billy, he can't do that to him! This leaves Honey possibly feeling humiliated and devastated, she literally poured her heart onto the table, for it to completely backfire, only something tells me that Jay does have feelings towards Honey also, will he be able to stick to his word and not betray Billy?! 

Finally the main focus of this episode was Trueman/Fox family. Denise is completely on edge after learning on Christmas Day that Lucas had been released from prison and for the past month has been spending time with their daughter, Chelsea. Denise is constantly looking out of the window and having the need to check on Raymond every couple of minutes. Both Patrick and Kim are worried for her well-being, they can see that she is driving herself insane as she's being so wary of Lucas's possible arrival! Trying to see if they can find a way to get rid of Lucas, both Kim and Patrick approach Jack for his help, they inform that he shouldn't be anywhere near Denise, only when Kim suggests coming up with a plan to trap him and catch him, Jack simply refuses as it would be going against his jobs rules - that's what I'm assuming anyway?! With them out of ideas, Patrick seems to take the very drastic route and approach Phil for his help, at first, Phil is convinced that Denise is after more money but wise man insists that Denise has no idea that he is seeking his help. It seems to take a while for poor Patrick to convince Phil to actually get rid of Lucas, but when he proposes a deal where he'll make sure he'll be able to see his son without Denise's knowledge, Phil is more than happy to oblige. Meanwhile, as Chelsea is treating her Father to a slap-up meal, she makes an excuse to leave the room and powder her nose, it's at this moment when Phil makes his move, he takes Chelsea's place and sits opposite Lucas - I just want to say what a brilliant scene I thought this was, it's been such a long time since we've these two share a scene together! Steve McFadden and Don Gilet are just absolutely brilliant, I loved how Lucas recalled on the time when young Ben attacked his young son Jordan - how interesting is it going to be when Ben sees Lucas back on the Square???!!! Even when he dropped the bombshell that he knew that Phil had had a child with Denise, I just thought it was all just brilliant! In typical Phil Mitchell style, he threatens Lucas and warns him to leave Denise alone and to leave Walford for good! Later on in the evening, Phil makes on last visit to Patrick, informing him that Lucas had received the message loud and clear and wouldn't be returning, but he revealed to Patrick that he wanted Raymond to be with him on New Year's Day! Patrick tries to reason with Phil, acknowledging that he's grateful for what he's done but for him to bring Raymond to him on that specific day may be a bit awkward, but Phil is adamant he wants the young boy on that day, they simply had a deal and voices that Patrick should hold his end of the deal. Meanwhile, as this arrangement is being made, both Lucas and Chelsea are leaving the restaurant and heading for their car, Lucas appears to be voicing his concerns as to whether them spending time together is a good thing - however the one thing that pointed out to me was that Chelsea informed her Father that she had done well for herself and she seems pretty good for money, something is telling me that Lucas is only trying to get into his daughter's good books for her money - I could be wrong, but something just makes me question why she would say that?! Interesting possibility?! As Chelsea gets herself settled in the car, out of no where a group of hitmen begin throttling Lucas (with what looks like a large pole)! Chelsea screams and shouts, pleading for them to leave her Father alone, but none of them listen as they continue to beat Lucas to a pulp - could Phil be behind this attack?! 

Something tells me that Lucas is only going to be out for revenge after this attack! A very interesting episode with quite a bit of speculation! I apologise for this post being so late! I hope you enjoy reading! We're slowly getting to the big one on New Year's Day! I may be a little bit behind but I am really looking forward to watching and blogging about it when I get the chance! Enjoy the rest of your week folks, I'll be back very soon! Love you all xXx

[bonbrizzle]

Here you Rise, Furiously and Fearlessly

Log Line: Labeling in Tattooing: Seemingly Disastrous or Actually Misconstrued?

For my lovely Tumblr followers, this piece is written especially for you.

To give a bit of info about myself to those who are new or aren’t familiar with the writer of this blog, I’m Bonnie, an undergrad at UC Davis. If you’re an OG here, you’ve seen me experience tremendous changes throughout the years I’ve maintained this blog. Due to a mish-mash of circumstances I’m unfortunately not as keen about writing long feel-fests as as often as I did in high school. Back then, days were slower, school meant less, and we all had so much more much needed free-time. As many of you may or may not know, I’m a first generation Vietnamese-American girl born and raised in the most ecstatically eccentric part of the country, the (San Francisco) Bay Area. While I was able to grow up in one of the most progressive areas in the world, my parents weren’t given this luxury we take for granted here. The rift between our two cultures forced me to grapple with a singular sense of “identity” throughout the majority (or entirety? actually) of my life. Many of you fellow Asian Americans are aware of the difficulty in regards to finding a comfortable medium between the lifestyles of both your parents and yourself. 

Any-who, I am writing to my fellow tattooed folk in zealous hopes. I have a willful and fire-y desire to push you all to keep on fighting. Fight the stereotypes burdened upon us as a people. Fight to change the way we, society (as a whole), interpret labeling. If you haven’t already noticed, our culture is bizarrely infatuated with the need for identification. Let’s try to undermine this idea with a grand plan. 

While I usually materialize just my subjective POV in this diary-like blog of mine, at this instant I’ll be tacking on a little something extra. This piece has the familiar anecdotal experiences that one is familiar with in reading my style, (mixed with subjective thoughts, etc) AND will have some interlaced informative/factual bits to provide you with some background info. If you are compelled, you’re more than welcome to investigate further...and or skim as you wish! I mainly chose to write about resistance and tattooing’s marriage with labeling because I’m enamored about tattoo as a culture. Don’t be alarmed! It is not a research paper. It is a branch of anthropology that requires me to provide some sort of anecdotal recollection of my experience(s) with resistance. In actuality, I haven’t updated in so long, I’m not even sure if anyone’s listening. “Posting into your Tumblr is like talking to your cat. You’re not sure if anyone is listening, but it feels good anyway.” To those who will continue to be loyal to my musings, I hope this piece leaves you with a sprinkle of new insight or a refreshed perspective.

You may or may not be familiar with the newfound anxiety that tags along with getting your first piece. Going into the shop on the day of, I was like anyone else...ridden with anxiety and feverishly wondering if this life-changing decision would alter the way I fit into the world. Would the modified version of me be rejected and outcasted by society? My cocktail of feelings was mixed with a variation of things. Some of it dismal, because maybe my parents would disown me. Others were optimistic, I finally was getting one step closer to the way I only dreamed to look. As I was being escorted onto the tattooing chair, I discovered my circumstances were changing everso quickly. Was I leaving my previous identity behind? Yes, this does seems dramatic, but to be frank, I didn’t fully realize the intensity of this horrifying possibility until the days to started to dwindle. Imagining my future around my family and wanting their acceptance seemed grim, but I stayed positive because I knew this was exactly what I wanted. 

Maturing through the lessons of traditional Vietnamese folks meant I was constantly torn between accepting the traditional aspects of being a Vietnamese daughter, while also trying to navigate myself around what being American means to me. Pressure to fill the image of a traditional Vietnamese woman in the eyes of my parents surrounded many reasons behind my actions and plagued my subconscious. I feared they would judge their ability to raise a child by watching me grow into what they dreamed, while evaluating me by my qualities of submissiveness, obedience, and "normality,” But I didn’t want to blend into the rest of the colors and become a muddled brown, being arbitrarily mixed with everybody else. I am not only Vietnamese, but American. Being American means a plethora of things. To me, it is mainly founded upon the notion that you should always allow yourself to have an opinion. Not only in America should you be informed and form opinions from what you’re surrounded by, you need be unabashedly outspoken. In my specific case, being an American in the bay meant even moreso using these exclusive opportunities to fight courageously both for your rights and for what’s right. In an overall sense, this meant acceptance. Let yourself thrive, be who you want to be––without a care in the world––and bloom wherever you are planted.

Let’s take at a comparison between my brother and I. To someone like him, the identity route resembles straight line. My brother seems to lie on the side of the scale that’s on the complete opposite end of what I’m on. He is undoubtedly a gifted child. With that being said, he became simply a breeze for my parents to teach. Never to stray to committing anything outlandish, my brother willfully blended into the cloak of “normality.” I want to note that there is nothing wrong with the desire to be normal. So for my parents, he was a prize, a gifted student with not a single note of resistance; a child who was everso far from the idea of “troubled.” On the other end of the spectrum however, was little ‘ol me, a small Asian girl who started out as a little bit obnoxious and is still honking and tonking with confliction to this day.

It originated early on in my life but came to show it’s face in high school. The amount of worrying about my future my parents were plagued with increased every time I dyed my hair abnormal and kooky color. In high school I died my hair more than 30 times. Throughout the process of maturing, gnawing teenage angst hindered me from communicating the way I needed to with my folks. Because of this, my parents didn’t understand me at all, and thought even moreso that I was trying to erase my identity as a Vietnamese woman after dyeing my hair bright blond for the first time. “Are you trying to be white?!” My dad roared at me as he stared at my bright, freshly bleached blond hair in disbelief. This idea of me that I was running away from the idea of being normal was devastating to my parents. “Will she be okay? Will the kids at school make fun of her?” The idea of me being bizarre to hasn’t stopped there though, unfortunately. However, it’s started to take a change in direction. 

After adding several new piercings to my ensemble of body modifications, I eventually broadened myself to a new and considerably “outlandish” form of self expression, the tattoo. Writing this now, I just wanted to say that luckily for me, my parents were able to find a a new meaning for my eccentric taste and childlike imagination. Going out of my way to receive this tattoo, a completely unfamiliar form of body modification meant I was changing myself drastically. This fear only translated to one thought: I would never be the same. Being tattooed meant permanent “disfiguration,” to my parents, and that frightened them immensely. With their somber fear riding on my shoulder, in moved in my old pal anxiety. Would I regret this? Would my family be ashamed to be seen with me, or even worse, reject me fully? Making this conscious decision to permanently alter myself opened a new door of unfamiliarity, something so scary but something I wanted so badly at the same time. I argued with this little voice in my head, the voice that kept telling me that I wasn’t making a bad decision, and would still of course, be a respected member in society. This dream of mine, looking and feeling the way I wanted to unapologetically and fearlessly, gave me the the courage to make the decision to finally make the change. This new drive to bravely make conscious decisions for myself gave me a sense of empowerment and even security. My skin was my own, and I can bravely defend that idea. In getting tattoos, I am forever altering my identity and resisting the labels primarily associated with being an Asian female in today’s world.

So first, what is it about tattooing that’s so special to this project about resistance?

The tattoo on my arm in Davis is a nouveau form of self expression. To the myriads of people around me, it might be perceived in many different ways, depending on the individual is who’s looking at it. Those of you who are familiar with me know that in me is an immense appreciation for art. So tremendous that I even applied to UCLA as an art major 3 years ago. This blossomed into the supreme desire to be inked, having a permanent form of art to adorn on my body forever. I dealt with bullying in the past for dyeing my hair the range of the rainbow, but nothing felt like what I was about to do to my skin. Hair is always able to grow out and revert back to the way it was. Skin, however, was not. But the possibility of bullying didn’t scare me. It never scared me because it always came from doing something I wanted, and loved. In this case, it was the same, but not...the new audience was my parents, my respected relatives, my extended family...not my immature classmates from school.

Tattoos can have a lot of stigmas behind them. Stigmas come from a variety of individuals who interpret something in a certain light. Here in reality there obviously is a plethora of different perspectives one can interpret the tattoo as. Because of this diversity, I must connect what I learned in my anthropology class this fall, to the idea trying to be expressed in this blog post, that there is a multiplicity of ways we as a people can digest the things around us, depending on who we are as people, whether be in groups like socio-economical or individually, like “Asian American,” for example.

On a personal scale, the tattoo on my arm to me is a beloved form of self-expression. It is an area of my body that represents, or shows some indication about who I am and the things I love. It is a form of my identity that gives me confidence and comfort in my own skin, it makes me feel more beautiful, special, etc. But to others, it can be taken in a completely different light.

To authoritarians, like my future employers, it may look entirely different. These authoritarians, based on the previous history of tattoos, may believe that I may be harboring some criminal tendencies, may not take school or my education seriously, or am frankly––even a “good for nothing,” individual. This all depends on many different things, however, like what environment the authoritarian grew up in, what kind of environment they are surrounded by now, what their personal views on “x” and “y” are, etc. Because of this dangerous tendency, individuals like me who like to wear tattoos may be slightly more secretive, and get pieces done that are easily hidden. In places like Portland, in Oregon, however, tattoos are very common and popularized by the rising modernity scene. You can easily see a bunch of tattoos individuals hanging out at multiple joints in the city, all without a care in the world. This is because the city of Portland is open to this form of art, and has gotten moreso used to it by now. In other places, say maybe more conservative states where tattoos are less popularized, like Philadelphia as a friend once told me, tattooed individuals can be shunned, stared at viciously, and even treated with disrespect.

To older-generations, tattooing comes off as taboo and an indicator of poor-morals.  Because tattoos are constantly shown off on criminals, adorned by gang-members, etc. These stigmas in tattooing have been constantly perpetuated by tattoo culture in criminalized areas, or jails and prisons. Those who spend some of their time in these institutions typically get tattooed by non-professional “friends,” who don’t use cleanly measures like sterilization. Those who get these “homemade tattoos,” can give tattooing a bad rep, because the public views these individuals as a whole image, a criminal with tattoos, so a person with tattoos will most likely have some tendency to do immoral things. Because of this constantly breathed idea, the tattoo to the public can give a lot of citizens anxiety. They can be immediately threatened by this individual who looks like they’re up to no good, and if they were to assume who the tattooed individual is, they would probably not reach for the guess of say, a doctor or a lawyer.

Likewise to the Japanese, tattoos are an indicator of a troublesome individual who is associated with some type of Yakuza group, or “gang,” in Japanese. Those who are dedicated to the lifestyle of their respective gangs in Japanese culture prove their loyalty by getting big tattoos spread all over their body, because obviously if you weren’t a dedicated member why would you A) subject yourself to that type of pain B) be committed to permanent body art for the rest of your life? Because of this traditional idea, Japanese people, although conservative already, are not able to be comfortable around tattooed individuals, and even go as far as banning tattooed individuals at public bath-houses, the “onsen,” they call it.

To give an even more extreme example, take tattooing during WWII. Jews who were captured and wrongfully imprisoned by Nazi concentration camps during the war were not only cruelly mistreated and tortured, but were also branded like caged animals. Jewish prisoners had numbers etched into their wrists in order to mark them as prisoners but also label them so they were easier to keep track of. This marking gave them a huge sense of shame and misery, and was forever a reminder to them of a nightmare so horrible they wish it didn’t really unfold. Because of this, Jewish people, as I noted when browsing on Quora this one day, are not at all interested in getting tattoos. They may not be so critical of others getting ink done, but for themselves, would never because of the terrible past and memories associated behind it.

To tattoo artists, on another note, tattoos are a form of art that they create, but also prosper from. The tattoo on my arm may look like a mark of criminalization on me to naysayers, but to these artists, the creation of the tattoo on my arm meant they were able to eat dinner or have a roof over their heads for another day. After meeting a couple artists while searching for the perfect artist for me, I learned a little bit more about the tattooing scene in their perspective. Lianna deFleur, a floral specialized artist in San Francisco, noted to me that tattooing to her is a form of valuable and beautiful expression. Every time one of her clients leaves with a new piece, she feels like she is giving the world another beautiful piece of artwork to be loved and cherished, and that all those who are marked by her all share a beautiful piece of herself, that she worked so long and dutifully to create. Likewise, because of those who want tattoos, the industry has grown so large and normalized that you can now see cities like San Francisco, Berkeley, and Portland full of tattooed individuals. The rising scene has given birth to an abundance of careers, whether giving ink or tool shops more business, or giving an artist more fame. These artists give rise to individuals who are selling certain materials: ink, tattoo needles, sterilization tools, spaces for rent, etc. Such a new industry has also gifted communities with more openness and awareness to the trueness of tattooing, that it is an art-form that shouldn’t be feared. While I usually don’t support capitalism and the monetization of everything, the monetization of the process of tattooing has gifted certain individuals with a new way of life, while blessing others in the process.

To other tattooed individuals, my tattoo may be a source of common ground, another way to connect to a stranger that they’ve never met before, even without ever speaking to them. I know that when I go out and I see a fellow tattooed person, I feel a little more connected and comfortable with them, because they understand the way it feels to be marked and forever changed by ink. There’s a quote that I heard that I believe is exceptionally true. It is as follows, “The only difference between tattooed people and non tattooed people is tattooed people don’t care if you are not tattooed.” I think this quote represents our population pretty well. When hearing the quote for the first time, I am reminded of American politics. This is because a lot of individuals who fight against something sometimes fight for things that don’t relate to them. For example, I can speak about the issue of marriage equality when talking about gay marriage. A lot of conservatives who voted against gay marriage argue that it is to protect the purity of marriage between a man and a woman, and to allow marriage to be in a different form would be allowing the sanctity of marriage to be at risk. Although allowing gay marriage to exist may not apply to the person directly who is voting against it, it hurts those that want it. Similarly to how people who aren’t tattooed despise tattoos and don’t want others to get them, although it doesn’t directly affect them. I say if it’s not hurting anyone to let it be. However, in this case I am no way trying to equate tattoo culture to the need for marriage equality, for those who feel like I am being insensitive, I apologize, and wanted to use a simple example, although not perfectly appropriate.

There is a great deal of types of tattoo in the community. Because of this, many different genres of tattoos have developed over time. From the homemade, branding types that scare people away, to other more recognizable types like “Old American,” tattooing. I think all the people who get the same genre of tattoo also feel a strong sense of connection towards each other, the connection through mutual appreciation of the same artform. In my case, I especially love blackwork tattoos, a tattooing style that places special appreciation and priority for black and grey ink only, without color at all. This style of tattooing to me, as a form of art, looks very crisp and clean cut. Other styles I especially love are florals. The different genres in tattooing allow smaller groups to form from the overall larger group, and allows individuals like me to seek out other people who also enjoy the same art form, again a part of tattooing that specializes individuality but also the seeking of mutual common ground.

After announcing to my housemate about the subject on my final project, he asked what about tattooing am I trying to write about? I told him that tattooing has so many different genres, and sub-genres, and subgenres of those sub-genres, for example. He noted to me, “Actually, I was just going to mention that. That tattoos can have so many different meanings. A tattoo can represent a positive, happy thing, but also a terrible negative thing. Like if someone has an anti-semitic tattoo sprawled largely across their backside.” I think this is true. While I for one try to always see the positive side of tattooing, there is a stigma for a reason. I have to admit that this is true. The problem of the stigma arises because some individuals choose to get tattoos that are hurtful, and are negative, and this hurts the community in a general sense.

Likewise, you could get a tattoo that is both sad and positive. Some individuals get the date of their loved ones deaths tattooed. This is both to commemorative in the best, loving way, but also melancholic and can be opening up to a sad memory, a bad thing. Tattoos can be viewed in so many different ways, but to me I want to try to alter it to be more accepted as less of a bad thing and more of an individual thing, like dyeing your hair for example.

The enormous stigma behind tattoos have created a rift between people who understand and perpetuate the culture and those who resent and fight against the culture. Let me talk to you about how tattoos fit in our world and how we fit in the world of the tattoo.

My tattoo was produced by an artist at Black and Blue Tattoo named Michael DeMatty. He first drew up a drawing and presented it to me, asking me how I wanted it tweaked, trying to adhere to my taste as much as possible. This is a time-consuming process that he needs to get right perfectly in order for the tattoo to exist in the most positive light. The drawing may take a long time, need a considerable amount of retouching, and may have many opportunities to change into something else. Most often busy artists charge a fee for a drawing that they use as a deposit to the tattoo, because they only want committed clients who will not back out and waste their time. After my initial consultation with him, DeMatty drew up my design, then stenciled it onto special tracing paper. On the day of it was his responsibility to adhere the stencil precisely and accurately onto my bicep so all the lines would match up as accordingly. This was a tiring process because the horizontal lines wouldn’t line up much of the time, and the stencil had to be redone time and time again. Afterwards, when everything was stenciled on and placed correctly, DeMatty started tattooing me, a process that took multiple tattooing needles of different sizes, widths, and amounts. All these needles were stabbed a gazillion times into the skin on my bicep.

The ink involved in my tattoo is from a laborer that DeMatty has sought out himself, the ink supplier is a trusted laborer and that creates ink that went from their own production line to now inside my skin, for the rest of my life.

Tattooing history has come a significantly long way. It went from being a practice in villages in Southeast Asia and even the earliest Native Americans to being a common form of self-expression in many countries and the beyond, in this case, the US. Villages used tattooing as a form of marking, status, and symbol. In the past it has been traditionally done with needles tied around sticks, dipped in ink that was made from mashed up flowers. It has it’s dark history, however, as a means to mark Jews during WWII, in concentration camps.

Nowadays, tattooing has evolved, because mine was made through the effort of a tattooing needle machine, which is automatic, and electric. The creation of the tattoo happens primarily in the shop, it sometimes originates from the ideas of the individual getting tattooed, but after the action has been completed at the shop, the tattoo is generally maintained on the person.

After I got my tattoo, I healed it with special burn victim ointments, like bacitracin. I kept it covered for the first weeks, and now I maintain the color with sunscreen, everyday.  

The tattoo originated and inked into my arm in San Francisco, California, but it’s traveled to a plethora of places. It’s traveled to my hometown in San Jose, the cities on the way to Davis, California where I go to University. It has even traveled to Los Angeles and all the cities on I-5 N and I-5, so the cities in between.

Here is a picture of myself, staring at the Seattle sky during a great weekend in May. I wasn’t reluctant to wear a tank-top here because Seattle is more progressive than other places, and I happily and gratefully noticed that there were other tattooed individuals scattered across this city as well! I think my tattoo is simple enough that people won’t judge it very much, and if they do, I wouldn’t know what they would really say about it anyway. The three band tattoo sitting on my right bicep pays homage to Native American styles of tattooing. One that places special emphasis on lines. The three lines represent each member of my family: mom, dad, and brother. I would assume no one would really know this by looking at it, which is nice. I think it also looks really aesthetically pleasing, which is a good reason to get a tattoo too if you like it!

A Wide Angle View

Tattoos are generally scrutinized as a categorization, one that links criminal or suspicious looking citizens into a group as a whole, unfavored by most of society. However, tattoos also can mean a plethora of different things. In this case, tattoos as a form of historical art are a form of self-expression, and continue to act as a visual culture to all those who love and adorn them.

Tattoos, in a historical sense, were meant to mark tribe members with important symbols to shine light upon them as special group members. This could mean adorning the leader of the tribe with the most detailed and beautiful ink, or even to brand criminals as those who need to be taken note of and feared.

The economy behind tattoos as a form of art has grown tremendously throughout the past decade, from being labeled as an illegal act in the state of Massachusetts previously to be a bustering new business in the city of San Francisco, where tattoo shops are in full demand. While tattoos before looked simply like a way to brand those who broke the law, there now is a whole new meaning to the act of tattooing itself, one could look at it in a whole sense as a form of resistance against society, but on a more personal sense––as a form of belonging, one that allows us to express ourselves, but also be a sort of rite-of-passage to those who are old enough to get it done legally.

I for one, felt like I was breaking the stereotype culture of Asian women as submissive and obedient when I went into Black & Blue Tattoo in San Francisco to adorn myself with new ink. I got 3 bands done around the bicep of my right arm, in thus paying homage to the Native American tribal style of tattooing, one dating back to as far as 2000 BCE. This style of tattooing was prominent when the natives were tattooed, becoming a religious ritual, usually during war-time. The band style of tattooing was usually present to distinguish different tribes from each other.

To me, it meant personally to rid myself of the submissive stereotype but also be there to remind me of my family’s permanent impact on me, with 3 bands being for 3 family members––my mother, father, and brother. My parents at first, were not crazy about me getting tattooed. I thought to myself, that this was a choice for me to make. I loved the artistic side of tattooing, and wanted to be a collector, but was also afraid of all the prejudices society already has set up for me. Tattooed individuals are not looked at with the most equal and honest eye by society due to the general criminal stereotype. I think personally, with the general introduction of good-mannered, kind-hearted individuals with tattoos being present in society, there will be at least a small shift in the perspective of those who still view tattooing as a negative categorization of criminals, with my existence being as useful as possible.

So what does this all have to do with labeling and resistance?

I feel as though these two aspects of tattooing go hand in hand with each other. Tattoos, on one side are a form of categorization. Those who are tattooed are lumped together as a group, judged collectively in a lot of time bad ways, and are stereotyped as a group accordingly. At the same time, the idea that tattooed individuals are looked as a group has its perks as well. I mentioned earlier that when I meet a fellow tattooed individual, I feel a little more connected to this person, even if I don’t know them personally. This is because I feel as though the person also experiences the same judgements placed upon them by society as me, and because of that we can be empathetic towards each other. Likewise, when we are grouped together as a collective, I feel as though we can resist the stereotype together, not while acting as a group, but changing people’s of tattoos on an individual scale, making it better for the group in general.

Tattooing as a group can be seen as a special thing to help individuals relate and understand each other. While we can be judged harshly as a group, the same group is able to help each other feel and understand each other’s feelings and experiences, which I deeply appreciate. Knowing the stereotype for tattooed individuals and then taking heed this information and changing it by not being the stereotypical “criminal,” or “suspicious,” person will make our group look less daunting as a community. These little steps to resist the stereotype together are what I think can be considered as a new way to interpret the verb, “tattooing,” and “labeling,” Labeling our group as a whole may mean categorization, but it also is a means to help our group come together and resist together.

There is this mutual experience with tattooed individuals about the dilemma about openly showcasing your tattoos. We bond as a group when we know the annoyingness of people who intrusively come up to you to touch your skin or ask you what your tattoo means. We have this silent agreement in the tattooing community that those who come up to you musn’t be intrusive, disruptive, or too invasive to you as they see you. If they do, it’s fine for you to ignore their interaction if you wish. I feel that this is true, and some people don’t have respect for others space when they try to inquire knowledge about another person’s body modifications. This is a way for the group of tattooed individuals to understand each other.

The visual culture surrounding tattoos gives a whole new meaning to the practice now, than it did before. Before, labeling could be seen as a harsh way to judge a tattooed person, instilling upon them stereotypes that they didn’t ask for that may not accurately depict them. Nowadays, tattooed individuals are now in a community that expresses new principles. The tattooed community focuses on the sharing of visual culture through self expression. Tattoos are meant to portray an artist’s best work that also physically symbolizes something a person values, loves, or wants to remember, all in the form of ink.

In tattooed culture, it is wrong to copy another artist’s work, stroke for stroke. There is however, welcoming attitudes to inspiration from another artist, but it is the new artist’s responsibility to make the new piece unique and in a style individually connected to them, therefore keeping the work’s integrity. It is also a very important point to remember that “tattoos are not for today, they are for forever.” This rings true to those individuals who knock down a couple of drinks in a sitting and want to get inked. Artists refuse to ink these people, one because they are making a decision without being sober and therefore have impaired judgement, and two because alcohol thins the blood, making the individual bleed more during the tattooing process, which is dangerous.

There are a couple of conflicts in the community, however, about certain things. A lot of artists scoff at trendy tattoos, while others don’t really care enough for them to reject them outright. This is true for trendy tattoos like: native American dreamcatchers, feather tattoos, infinity signs, Chinese characters, etc. These trendy tattoos can sometimes be harshly judged in the community when an artist refuses to do them, a lot of the reason because society doesn’t respect tattoos that are cultural appropriation, which they shouldn’t be anyway. Those who get tattoos that appropriate another individual’s culture usually make fools of themselves, this is because they usually don’t get the right word they were trying to communicate tattooed. I remember watching a YouTube video on Chinese character tattoos where one individual thought it mean, “bravery,” but when they showed it to their Chinese friend they soon learned that it meant “refrigerator,” which I thought was both humorous and tragic...humorously tragic. On this kind plane, it is easy to see why some people don’t respect tattooing. If you are going to get another culture’s language permanently etched into your body, why not go through some research to get the write meaning instead of making yourself look like a fool? This creates a negative image on those who get tattoos in general.

There is also a firm understanding in the culture that novices should not tattoo professionally. This is because homemade tattoos give professionally done tattoos a bad rep, and make tattoos look bad, or “trashy,” and not respectable. Novices are supposed to learn from professionals by being “apprentices,” and must be recommended and backed by a professional typically to get a permanent position in a tattooing group. There is a special gripe in the community about “tattooing schools,” that artist are insulted by. Tattooing schools serve to simply turn tattooing into a monetized means of production. That is, those who want to start tattooing others to make money can just apply for some generalized class to start their new career. This is dangerous to those who perfected their art and have taken special time to develop their own sense of style, go through hoops to secure a shop, and have learned through the help of fellow tattooed artists. Going to a school for tattooing that doesn’t really care about your work or you individually as a person is a joke to the tattooing community. You can see this easily by reading up posts about “tattooing schools,” on your own.

The fact that there is rules in this new community makes the whole thing so much more special. You can easily see the form of resistance to the stereotypical ideas of tattooing and strip away the previous label placed upon it. The tattooing culture has grown so large that those who love the culture have made strong rules to live by to practice integrity, respect, and mutual understanding of each other. To follow these rules means that you are giving tattoos a new label, one that can connote respect, sensibility, and cultural awareness.

Tattoos as a form of art, contrary to the belief of group categorization, are obviously a way to promote individuality. Many of us individuals who choose to get tattooed look for unique artforms to get adorned onto our bodies. Because of this, you can see in the tattooing world that often tattoos are not repeated exactly as they are, not only because copying another artist’s work is wrong in tattooing culture, but because you usually want a unique piece.

Snake tattoos are common in tattooing culture. Why would anyone get a tattoo of a snake, you might ask? This is a time for me to give you some cultural awareness of tattooing culture. Snakes can be interpreted as vile beings to be feared, but to some, they are beautiful. One point is that snakes have to do with religious texts, such like the inclusion of the snake in the story of Adam and Eve. Secondly, in some cultures, snakes represent healing and rebirth. When a snake sheds its skin and grows into something new, it is like it is being reborn, and healed again into something new. You wouldn’t have really thought about this if you didn’t get an explanation right? It does make sense.

Likewise, when people get tattoos of say, scary symbols such as skulls, this is sometimes an expression of their lack of fear to death. People who are not moved by death sometimes get skull tattoos because they accept that life has it’s unexpected turns and you should live it to its fullest potential. I see that skulls get a bad rep in tattooing culture because some people think it’s a tacky symbol, but it’s there in the traditions of tattooing for a reason.

People are nowadays also placing special emphasis on floral tattoo designs. I see that many individuals think that flowers are beautiful, so why not let them wear them in the form of permanent art? I too stand behind flowers being a beautiful thing to tattoo, and support this movement completely. I love it. The image of a flower is also less scary to people who don’t understand tattoo culture, and therefore can help resist the stereotype of scary tattooed people, one step at a time. I think this movement of including tattoos that aren’t super traditional helps us relabel the idea of tattoos as less of a way to label someone in a negative way, but allow people to think that some people just like the way things look and want to wear them permananently.

So how does this affect me on a more personal scale?

For instance, I noticed you wrote at length about 'labeling' - how others label you, how you sought to relabel yourself, how tattoos can be a way of (re)-labeling, and also how you seek to escape labels entirely.

When I started growing up and noticing the realities of life, I noticed that everyone around me will judge me without my consent, no matter if I like it or not. This is not necessarily a reflection of who they are as people, although it can be, but I think is a simple and integral part of what makes us human. With this being said, I remember in high school sulking and being hurt over the bullying I incurred do to my taste in hair color. I routinely mocked by constant whispers around me when I came into class, and I especially remember those who called me names such as, “Crayola,” and “carrot-head.” While my classmates at school chose to judge me on that part of myself I chose to reveal, I noticed that some individuals who judged me prior decided to still try to be my friend and therefore try to get to know me. My best friend to this day was one of the individuals who thought my hair made me “odd,” and somewhat unapproachable even, but she chose to disregard that for the most part to get to know me personally. Through this, she was able to understand who am as a person and discard her previous idea of me. I want to work this way continuously to escape labels entirely, person by person.

To convert my parents to my side, I first started to warm them up to the idea of me getting a tattoo by slowly hinting at it, and showing them designs that I liked. They didn’t believe me at first, because to them, it was such a preposterous idea. No one in my family has a single tattoo. It is not spoken about, ever, and no one has dared or desired to get one either. I think in Vietnam at least, tattoos are not popular at all, and are simply a part of the idea of a typical street-gang member or institutionally jailed individual. Because of this, my parents weren’t keen on me also “branding” myself and making a choice that I could possibly regret my entire life. Sure enough, I realized that they were going to react this way, and chose to try to educate them instead of permanently resist and do what I want. I started out by telling them how common tattoos are nowadays and noting what percentage of my classmates had big and small tattoos, and also showing them multiple Instagram pages of tattoos, so that they would see how wildly common they are. I also let them know that employers nowadays are more understanding of body art, if it is in moderation. At the end of the day, they just wanted me to be comfortable in my own skin and not bullied or mistreated for being a certain way. I understood this and assured them that this was my dream, and if it would help, I’d get it in an easily hidden place, just in case.

Sure enough, everything ended up alright. I guess my parents are more understanding than others, but I’m glad I was able to convince them from downright rejecting it and saying no, to giving me their blessing, as long as I do my research and get it done at a reputable shop. My extended family however, is a different story. I haven’t gone out of my way to show my tattoo to other family members, who I don’t know as personally, and who I feel won’t choose to accept me in a positive way. I am still taking my chances with these people, and choose to hide it, at least until I’ve gotten a secure job in the outside world. I know that I cannot convince everyone to see my side of the field, but I will continuously try to change people’s ideas of me personally by acting in a different way than they expect me to be.

I admit, to get to know people on a personal scale is extremely difficult. If I were to try to befriend everyone who judged me and get close enough to them where they would learn that I am not “weird,” in a bad way or odd, is too time-consuming, difficult, and honestly, just unrealistic. However, I do want to make it a point to come across to every individual I have an interaction with to change their opinion of me just a little bit, just enough to make me seem like less of a stereotypical person. I go about this in my everyday life, when I’m getting coffee, when I meet a classmate for the first time, etc. At the beginning of a relationship, I usually try to escape from labels by firstly, covering my tattoo. This may seem backwards because I shouldn’t be hiding it, but I find that it is a strength of mine if I can allow myself to be known first, as a non-tattooed individual, and then later, reveal it, to not make it as big of a deal as it usually would be if they just met me for the first time and saw it.

I have this dream that someday people who are tattooed will slowly change the minds of others who think tattoos are are indicator of a person with low morals, etc. I honestly think that this can be accomplished on a small scale, one step at a time. I know that it may take years and years to get to this point, but I feel that if we slowly show others that we are normal, loving, caring, understanding, feeling people like themselves, people will slowly understand

[thesinglesjukebox]

ALEX LAHEY - EVERY DAY'S THE WEEKEND [6.94] Except today. Today is Monday. (Thanks to John for this suggestion!)

Will Adams: There's a heavy sadness in the realization of just how much working to the bone in order to survive drains us of the opportunity to create meaningful relationships out of the half-hour scraps we have left after the workday. But the sadness doesn't need to last forever: with sun-blasted rock and a killer motto -- "Fuck work, you're here/Every day's the weekend" -- Alex Lahey creates a world that's fueled by our own exhilaration. [8]

Alfred Soto: Finally -- a performer who gets that celebrating weekends implicitly honors the sanctity of capitalism. Not only are Monday and Tuesday perfectly fine day to act as if we have lives apart from work, but as the financial chasm between haves and have-nots widens most of us can't afford weekends anyway. The rush of "Every Day's the Weekend," anchored by Alex Lahey's thick mocking voice, acknowledges no chasm. [7]

Alex Clifton: There are some songs that make you feel alive; they pound with energy and fill you with the impulse to move, dance, scream. "Every Day's the Weekend" accomplishes that with ease. I want to blast this out my window, in cars with my friends, and yell along with the lyrics. There are some lyrical quirks here I know would irritate me in other songs -- naming the days of the week (which is sometimes successful and, well, sometimes not), the slight awkwardness of "if I had it my way, your stay here would be prolonged" -- but then we get a line like "you've got things like a family" which hints at a whole, less glamorous story in six words. Even with the darker read of an affair going wrong, this is still three minutes of raw, jittery joy. Props from one Alex to another. [8]

Claire Biddles: "Every Day's the Weekend" has that caution-to-the-wind drive that makes every moment it soundtracks feel like the closing credits to your own film. It's joyful and triumphant and I've played it to death in the last six months and it will probably always remind me of the few treasured in-the-face-of-adversity moments of this shitty year. [9]

Stephen Eisermann: Catchy riffs, guitar licks, and lyrics throughout: Alex Lahey has managed to make peppy rock more enjoyable than I thought possible. With "Every Day..." Alex crafted a song that sounds exactly like what infatuation feels like, and it's both exhilarating and nerve-wracking to listen to. [8]

Edward Okulicz: The drumming and guitar on this song are both so peppy and excitable that it feels like an extremely friendly dog jumping on your lap when you come home from work and squealing with infinite glee. Which, given the subject matter, is entirely appropriate. The rest of the song walks a line between throwaway punk-pop and indesctructible power-pop of a high calibre, and Lahey sings it with a giddy mix of anxiety and glee. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Being romantically involved with someone such that every day feels like the weekend sounds like a good thing, but Alex Lahey proposes that it's not so simple. You want to make the most of every moment, and that can be stressful and anxiety-inducing. To make it worse, your brain's constantly nagging you about how it all won't last forever. When Lahey rattles off the titular line and the individual weekdays, is she merely denying the reality of something good coming to an end? Despite all the energy Lahey channels, the chorus doesn't quite stick the landing. Its tedium feels appropriate, though, since the lyrics reveal just how levelheaded she is throughout this celebration. She just wants to "ride this wave to shore," tacked-on "whoa's" and all. [5]

Ryo Miyauchi: This is one impressive shrug as response, dressed up in killer riffs and sugar-sweet hooks. The elementary rhyme schemes only draw out more of the teenage mentality behind this slacker power-pop. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: Solid, chugging guitars; flat, near invisible bass; thudding drums; Lahey's soft yet powerful voice -- all undone by a cluttered chorus gumming up the song's momentum. [5]

Maxwell Cavaseno: The nicest thing you can say is that it never overstays its welcome. The worst thing you can say is that for three minutes of your life, you'd be hard pressed to find a single memorable quality to the song. I suppose it's fine to say Alex joins a lot of semi-serviceable rock strummers in being able to make a slightly more energetic chorus that feels like a slight development from her verses, and that this isn't any big tragedy to a field as dire as rock in the 21st century. Doesn't make it good though. [2]

Crystal Leww: The only good songs made with guitars these days are either country songs or pop punk songs. The only good pop punk songs are the ones made by loud ladies like Alex Lahey. "Every Day's the Weekend" contains hooks for days, and Lahey's got a delivery to match its exuberance.  [7]

Jonathan Bradley: Lahey presents as a worthy inheritor of a recent and welcome Australian tradition of sharp and plain-wrought punk bands with alarum immediacy and pop melody. Trace this contemporary manifestation from An Horse to Camp Cope: the sound of inner-suburban slacker youth in every state capital across the country. "You've got things like a family," Lahey sings, "they're a bigger deal than I'll ever be," and her diffidence, delivered over charged guitar lines, sounds exactly right. Bonus points for the "whoah-oh"s and organ runs: things no pop-punk number should go with out. [8]

Joshua Copperman: A friend described Lahey to me as "Courtney Barnett with singing lessons," not meant as an insult to Barnett but as a reference to Lahey's polish as a singer and a musician. This extends to the production as well -- those "whah-oh"s sound gigantic, and everything from the handclaps to the walls of guitar riffs contrast the somewhat grounded lyrical subject matter in a wonderful way. I initially misinterpreted the lyrics as being about an affair ("You've got things like a family/they're a bigger deal than I'll ever be"), but there's too much genuine joy in the performance for any darker subtext. It's just enjoyable and near-perfectly crafted. [8]

John Ezekowitz: Alex Lahey's debut full length album I Love You Like a Brother is filled with songs about relationships, both romantic and familial. Oftentimes, things are falling apart or have fallen apart, but on "Every Day's The Weekend," Lahey exults in the joy of newfound romance. Will this love last? Is it even love? Longer term consequences are swept aside in the desire to convince her partner to live in the moment. This sentiment is best summed up by the end of the chorus: "You've got things like your family/they're a bigger deal than I'll ever be/I know that's okay; we should ride this wave to shore." Lahey has written three minutes of tight, relatable, excellent rock music. [8]

Eleanor Graham: I gotta say I'm in the mood for a little bit moooore of that. Gorgeous, head-first, angry-in-love indie pop-rock catharsis, making up in racing guitar and an expertly-placed WOAH-OH-WOAH-OH what it lacks in lyrical ingenuity. Did you guys know that I actually loved the first Catfish and the Bottlemen album? Don't tell anyone. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: Female-fronted pop-punk is still among the greatest genres ever, but this is mid-scale and flat in the same way Chairlift's "Romeo" was. [6]

Josh Langhoff: Such smart writing here. Lahey's lover turns every day into the weekend, but Lahey's notion of "weekend" includes not just its ecstatic Loverboy implications -- "forget your inhibitions" and "Whoa-oh! Whoa-oh!" and whatnot -- but also the dread that coils in the pit of the weekender's stomach each time she remembers her idyllic escape will soon end. How exhausting to live each day like it was Sunday night! Jittery staccato guitars and a whipcrack rhythm section embody the tension but also barrel past it, as though Lahey's weekend love, like a Mission: Impossible message or Republican claims to moral integrity, would dissolve upon inspection. [7]

[Read and comment on The Singles Jukebox ]

[guileheroine]

cozy up

a (not very serious) Snowed In Episode™ for The Everthere, taking place around Chapter 9, featuring Asami giving Korra a makeover 💅 / ao3

“Hey.” Korra held the edge of the curtain and waited for Asami’s attention, trying to press the excitement out of her voice.

It must have crept through, though: when Asami’s head turned, her eyes weren’t impatient-expectant, like they usually were if you interrupted her in the thick of work, but sparkly-expectant, in a way Korra had long learnt to cherish. Her mouth was even set in what Korra would term a pre-smile.

“Is it snowing?” Asami said eagerly.

Korra drooped. “You’re not supposed to guess .” She pulled the curtain aside roughly to deliver the non-surprise.

“Sorry,” Asami said, not very apologetically. Her eyes smiled and she steepled her fingers. “Are you gonna take Naga out?”

Korra looked back through the window for a second and considered. “Nah. She may deserve it, but I sure as hell don’t.” She cast a dark look at her laptop on the coffee table, and the fifteen or so untouched tabs of reading open on it.

She lived to regret her decision, though she wished she wasn’t living. On the second night from that one, the snow was almost twice the height of the first step up to their front door. She could see it perfectly in the reflection of the streetlamp on the long blanket of white that covered the sidewalk. But Korra was chafing.

The only time she had ever gone longer than a day indoors was during her recovery. She glared at the top of the drift for barely a second, slamming the door shut again nearly as soon as the freezing air hit her face.

“God, I’m dying.”

Asami didn’t appear to care. She didn’t even appear to have moved from her position on the sofa since the snow first began to fall. It had intensified into a blizzard fairly quickly, and the faster it fell the faster Asami typed; and the sound of her keyboard was doing its own part in driving Korra insane. Naga was napping again, bored into sleep without her regular walks.

“Asamiii,” Korra whined. She never whined at Asami. Some of Korra’s peevishness finally came around and directed itself at her own attitude. She tried to unpout her mouth before Asami actually looked at her.

“Just a sec, butterfly,” Asami said absently, tapping away.

Her train of thought hitched. Was… was that meant to placate her? It took Korra the second that Asami had just promised to recall that that was the nickname she had taken to calling her last year, in those moments when Korra felt particularly restless at her immobility (which had been… often, after her injury). For the record, Asami liked butterflies - it was Korra that thought they moved like they were a little wired, at the very least; but her subversive opinion had stuck, and so forth… Anyway, butterfly was not placating her right now, even if it suddenly felt like there was one or ten in her stomach.

Her pout was still in place when Asami turned around. Korra realised she was about to accost her with the same useless complaint about the storm that she had made periodically for the last two days. She one-eightied her tack.

“Progress?” She asked sweetly. Asami was busy with her thesis as usual, and Korra wasn’t uninterested.

If Asami was surprised at her revolution in her tone she didn’t show it. “Oh, well, I’ve got five thousand more since last week.” She leaned back, stretching, and gave Korra a tired, wry smile. The thick shawl draped around her shoulders slid off. “Wanna hear about why my design solution is better than the previous solutions?”

“No,” Korra admitted. She sat down beside her and picked the shawl up, shoving it half-heartedly back onto Asami’s shoulder. Korra’s own head followed it after a moment. She was bored out of her mind. Maybe she could find something more interesting in Asami’s. She looked at her screen - several different Google docs, a wall of text that could put Korra to sleep. Asami clicked onto her methodically organised desktop.

“I’m so hungry,” she sighed.

Korra rolled her eyes. “You always do this. You don’t stop to eat and when you’re done it just hits you, I don’t know why you’re even surprised anymore.” She felt Asami deflate against her. “Anyway, we ran out of pretty much everything. Don’t exactly have much to do but eat.”

“We have eggs, right?” Asami said, her eyes urgent as they met Korra’s.

“We have one.”

Asami sank further, so much so that her computer began to slip. She set it on the table decisively and held her hand out to Korra. “Come on, let’s go make some dinner. I’m done for the day.”

Korra took her unnecessarily extended hand, though she let go around about the dining table, which marked halfway from the couch to the kitchen.

It was cold in the kitchen. Asami chattered her teeth as she systematically went through the cupboard doors. Each flew open to not very much that they could use. Asami wasn’t one to buy anything more than what she planned to eat, and Korra wasn’t one to eat anything less than what she had bought. They collated their raw materials of one egg, a tin of soup, sliced cheese and rice. Thankfully, there were green beans and shrimp in the freezer.

Korra tossed most of it together into a fried rice, Asami taking the time to further slice the cheese so finely that anyone would think it was grated. Korra was pleased to find that she wasn’t the only one going a bit crazy.

After she had taken her first appreciative bite, Asami said, “Want to watch something?”

“Nah. I’ve watched more TV in the past two days than I have since I moved back,” Korra told her.

They ate their next few bites in silence. She felt Asami’s eyes on her as she isolated bits of shrimp in her bowl to leave for last.

Finally, Asami said, “Can I… give you a makeover? You’ll feel better.”

How brazen. Korra smiled inwardly. Asami obviously thought she’d get her while she was feeling so ugh , apparently desperate enough to surrender to even that offer.

“Funny thing to imply if you’re wanting to make a girl feel better,” Korra said teasingly.

Asami gave a minute shake of the head, but her eyes sparkled at the comment. “Okay, for me, not you. I need a comedown from all that brain work.”

Since for Asami was the primary reason Korra ever conceded to these kind of things, she acquiesced. It might do her good to sit still for a while and simply force the restlessness out of her system.

After dinner, Asami sat Korra on her bed (it was cleaner - Korra had tidied out of boredom) and disappeared into her own room to retrieve all her paraphernalia. Korra crossed her legs, holding onto a foot as she waited. Her window was silled with frost on the other side of the glass, illuminated by the milky night. As she looked out of it, she absently reached to straighten her sweater and smooth her hair behind her ears. She had a sudden, more conscious urge to get a mirror and fix herself up for Asami, which was stupid, because Asami was going to take care of that anyway.

When Asami entered she put all her kit down and arranged herself so that she was mirroring Korra on the bed. “Put your hair up,” she requested, and Korra raised a distasteful eyebrow, because (as Asami well knew) Korra’s hair was particularly loath to stay up.

“Okay, okay,” Asami laughed, barely a laugh. “I’ll clip it back.” She did so, pulling it back gently on either side, and then she framed her face, fingers hovering just above Korra’s cheeks.

“Wait,” she said suddenly. “Nails first. Then they can dry.”

Korra felt mildly disappointed mildly and mildly eased when Asami’s full attention left her face. She shook it off as Asami rummaged in her smaller bag.

“You wanna pick a colour?” She presented a few options in her hands.

Korra’s smiled unfurled as she read the label on a bottle of cool white nail polish. “This one, it’s called Blizzard.”

“Of course it is,” Asami snorted. She put the rest away and got to work. The smile stayed on Korra’s lips as she watched Asami take each of her fingers one by one between her own perfectly steady ones. Her hands were very precise; they had to be, but they were also exceedingly gentle.

“Which one are you wearing?” Korra mumbled, muffled by the waiting hand that she had rested her chin in.

“This is…” Asami said, eyes rolling up as tried to remember the name of the shade, “Do You Lilac It?” She enunciated carefully.

“I do,” Korra giggled. With barely a second’s hindsight she darkened at her own cutesy voice. Did she really just say that so daintily? Yuck. Anyway.

Asami finished, and smiling, she took each of Korra’s hands and blew along the fingertips for emphasis. She could always get away with being a little sickly.

Asami didn’t have anything in Korra’s skin tone that needed to be in it, but Korra directed her to a tube of tinted moisturiser in her drawer. It wasn’t too much of a snag in the plan, according to Asami.

“Your skin’s flawless,” she said, dotting Korra with the pleasantly scented moisturiser. Her strokes were soft, but they had body and were deliberate. She seemed to know exactly where and how to rub for the most efficient blending.

“So are you,” Korra said, closing her eyes on Asami’s own as they examined her face. “I mean yours.” Her eyes flew open again. Asami laughed under a tightly closed mouth.

She held up a powder puff next. “Alright, close your eyes.”

Korra wished she could have closed her nose, too. It tickled, she thought she might sneeze, but it was over in a dash. This time Asami did take her face in her hands properly. At the touch Korra’s impending sneeze fled far away. A thumb rested on her cheek. Asami’s eyes softened as they took her in.

“What do you want?”

Korra must have imagined Asami’s voice jumping an octave.

“Huh?” She said.

Asami released her face and returned to her makeup bag. When she looked up again, eyeshadow palette in hand, her countenance was playful once more. ”Like, gimme a theme, a look. Do you want…” She lifted a finger to her mouth as she deliberated, setting her eyes on Korra’s creamy sweater. “…You want, like, delicious, rich, warm-for-the-winter sexy?” They both laughed aloud. “Or we can match these -” She took Korra’s hand. “Icy, dazzling, snow princess sexy?” She raised an eyebrow.

Korra giggled again, despite herself. “I don’t fucking know.” She regarded Asami. “You tell me. What do you like better on me?”

“Oh,” Asami laughed faintly, her gaze falling into her lap immediately. Korra didn’t expect her to quieten and redden slightly like she did. “What do I know…” She murmured, and then, louder, when she quickly raised her head again, “Uh… let’s do snow princess. It’s more dramatic.”  

“Okay,” Korra agreed, watching her carefully. (Who was going to know better than Asami?)

Asami focused very intently as she applied shimmery white eyeshadow. Her other hand all but cupped Korra’s cheek for balance and with her eyes closed it was all too easy for Korra to fall into the sensation. She was almost disappointed when it was over.

Next Asami lined her eyes with silver, underscoring with a thin border of cool blue. That part wasn’t nearly as enjoyable, delicate as eyeliner was, but Asami was happy to keep talking through it, providing a fine distraction. Then she procured some mascara and steadied Korra’s face by the chin.

“Look at my - look down,” she instructed. Korra did, right between Asami’s collarbones. Asami was wearing her necklace, she noticed, as she felt the pull against her lashes. Korra’s necklace that she had fixed and basically taken partial ownership of as payment. The silver hung prettily against her creamy skin.

Asami framed her face again. Korra was learning to look forward to these parts.

She swallowed as Asami drew out a lipstick. She uncapped it and lifted it to Korra’s mouth, where she had also directed her discerning gaze.

“Cozy up,” she said softly.

Korra blinked into her eyes, lips pursing as the tip of the lipstick touched them. “What?”

“It’s called Cozy Up,” Asami repeated.

Korra was warm. The lipstick was cool and heavy on her tender skin; she resisted the urge to lick her lips. At some point both of Asami’s hands were on her mouth - one holding the lipstick, the other scoring the corner of her lip to fix it - and Korra chose this moment to shut her eyes. She listened to the faint whistle of Asami’s breath as it tickled her face. Then it was over.

Asami dusted her cheeks with some suitably shimmery powder instead of blush, and she was done. Her hands left her face for the final time and Korra’s head inched forward eagerly, almost imperceptibly with them.

“How do I look?” She smirked.

Asami nodded slightly, occupied with checking her handiwork.

“Sexy?” Korra urged playfully. She felt bare under Asami’s gaze, even with enough cover on her face to feel like the ground outside.

Asami returned to Korra’s wavelength and steeled her gaze. “Oh, yeah. Hot.” She reached behind Korra’s head to unclip her hair. “I mean cold?” She laughed. “You’re beautiful.” That bit didn’t sound like an answer to Korra’s specific question. “Let me sort this out.”

She climbed behind Korra with a comb in her hand. It took a minute to untangle her hair before she could pin it back with the silver clasps she had chosen. Korra closed her eyes and enjoyed the attention. As far as she was concerned, Asami could play with her hair every night if she wanted.

“We never do this anymore,” Korra said after a moment. Somewhere on her computer there was a folder documenting the results of every impromptu indulgent makeover or hair experiment Asami had heaved upon her since freshman year - but Korra couldn’t even remember the last time they had added to it.

“We don’t have time,” Asami said, half wistful, half matter-of-fact.

We should make time, Korra thought. They lived together, for crying out loud. And still she kept… missing Asami.

“Then after all this school stuff is done, okay?” She said. “We can do cool easy breezy beach sexy.”

Asami laughed beautifully, right in Korra’s ear. “Alright, but I think you would be showing me the strings on that one.”

[itsworn]

1969 Ford Torino: Talladega Nights (and Days)

When it comes to NASCAR’s “aero warriors,” the Plymouth Superbird is more famous, but Tom Bailey isn’t a Mopar guy. Actually, he isn’t a Ford guy either. Bailey’s most well-known for building Camaros. Fast ones, with streamlined composite bodies and multiple HOT ROD Drag Week wins. So what’s a bowtie drag racer doing with a corner-turning Ford Talladega? Well, you won’t be too surprised to hear it started with a Camaro.

“I was working on my first Drag Week car- an orange ’69 Camaro called “Indian Burial Ground”- at a shop in Wisconsin, and my friend Jim Plimpton [a well-known Ford racer] pulled up in this white ’69 Talladega,” says Bailey. “I’d never really liked a Ford before, but that thing was cool, and I wanted it.” Bailey told Plimpton that if he ever wanted to sell the Talladega to give him a call, and about five years later, that’s what happened. “I really didn’t need it, but I knew how rare it was, so I said I’d take it. Figured it would just be a basic six-month build.” We all know how that goes. Bailey started work on the Talladega in 2015 and unveiled it mostly-done at SEMA 2018. In fairness, it was a six-month build, just several times over.

Ironically, the 1969 Ford Torino Talladega did not win the 1969 Talladega 500—that was won by Richard Brickhouse in the newly introduced Dodge Daytona. The Talladega did win 26 races that season, as well as the manufacturer and driver’s championship with David Pearson. Oh, LeeRoy Yarbrough also won in the Talladega…at Daytona. It’s a good enough story that Camaro-loyalist Tom Bailey decided to build his own version of the famous Ford aero-warrior.

The Talladega was originally designed in the late 1960s to beat Chrysler in NASCAR racing, and is the first car built for stock car racing to consider aerodynamics to the extent that it radically affected the body design. In 1967, Ford was struggling for wins. Dodge and Plymouth had the 426 Hemi in their oval track cars, and even heavily restricted, the elephant engine was stomping the competition. Ford engineers redesigned both Mercury and Ford midsize cars into slippery fastbacks, and then in ’69, they went one step further. Working with the Holman and Moody race team they took the fastback Torino and extended the nose, tucked in the fenders, and reworked the rocker panels around a NASCAR tech rule so that the stock Talladega would measure high, and could be “legally” lower in race trim. The resulting Ford Torino Talladegas (and subsequent Mercury Cyclone Spoiler IIs) were slick and fast but needed to be homologated before NASCAR would let them race.

In 1969, the deal was that Ford had to build 500 Talladegas, and 100 had to be complete before they would be legal for NASCAR racing. According to interviews with Ralph Moody, the first cars went straight to the track, and Bill France got suspicious that there were so many in race shops and so few on dealer floors, and he paid a visit to the assembly line in Atlanta, GA, to snoop around. In move straight out of the Shelby playbook, Holman and Moody’s team offered to drive each Talladega past France so he could count them. Since the Talladega was only available in three different colors and one trim spec, Ol’ Bill never realized he was counting the same few cars over and over. In the end, Ford did build the requisite number of Talladegas, and while an exact count isn’t documented, Talladega experts believe 750 cars were made, including prototypes and pilot cars.

No changes were made to the stock Ford Performance crate 5.0 Coyote, but Tom Bailey says he may do a cam change now that he’s driven the car. “It doesn’t matter what gear you’re in, when you hit 5500 rpm, it smokes the tires. I think I’d like that to come in a little sooner.”

The backstory on the Talladega, as well as its rarity and good looks appealed to Bailey’s love of motorsports and muscle car history. Plimpton’s car was in decent shape, and initially Bailey was just going to put a modernized powerplant in it and call it good, but like all projects, it grew. After a consultation with designer Murray Pfaff for a rendering, Bailey met Matt Gurjack of Sled Alley in Clinton Township, MI. “Tom originally came by about a different car, but a few weeks later he called asking about the Talladega. He wanted the car lowered with better brakes and a Coyote motor and manual trans,” says Gurjack. “There aren’t any aftermarket bolt-on chassis parts that would give Tom the stance and handling he was looking for, so I gave him the option of putting the full chassis under it, and the car kinda took off from there.”

Folks unfamiliar with the Talladega may expect to hear a laundry list of body modifications to give the car the radical, windblown look you see now, but not only did they leave the exterior sheetmetal untouched, Bailey and Gurjack didn’t even repaint it. “That’s how it came to me,” says Bailey. “I didn’t want to mess with the body because of the heritage of it, how it was made, with the fenders grafted on after the main assembly line work.” Underneath was fair game. The Talladega sits on a modified version of a Roadster Shop Fast Track Torino chassis and Gurjack says he worked closely with Phil from RS to customize the undercarriage to the Talladega. “They designed around what we were doing. They left the motor mounts just tacked in place so we could move them back and forth to position the crate engine, and that was the main work we had to do on the chassis.” To fit on its new frame, the body was channeled, the rear section of the floor was raised to clear the kickup in the back, and the stock wheel tubs were removed, stretched, and reinstalled to give it a factory look when you open the trunk. The transmission tunnel was raised and rebuilt to clear the new Tremec 6-speed, and brackets and exhaust were all tucked up tight against the floorpan to allow for the lower ride height.

Holley EFI gauges provide the important info behind a Sparco steering wheel, and Vintage Air helps Bailey keep his cool, but the overall look of the dash is close to stock. Talladegas didn’t come with badges on the exterior, only the interior, and Bailey says that little chrome callout might be the rarest piece on the car.

Bailey is known for twin-turbo cars, and the Talledega is no different. In fact, that’s where it gets its name, “Talladega TT.” Pop that loooooong hood and gaze in wonder at a perfectly symmetrical forced induction set-up on a Ford Performance crate 5.0. Twin 66mm Bullseye Power turbos feed Wiley E. Coyote to the tune of 1,000 hp. “Crate Coyotes can’t handle more than that,” says Bailey, with the blasé tone of a man whose cars normally boast three times as much. Holley EFI handles the fuel part of feeding the beast, and in the back, a Strange rear axle with 3.70 gears sends the power out to 335/30-19 Nitto Nt05 tires on Forgeline Flush-Loc wheels. It shouldn’t be hard to spin the hides with the combo as is, but just to make sure he can use all the boost at will, Bailey included a line lock, the red button of which was the first thing we noticed inside the car. The second thing was a proper handbrake. Like Bill France, we’re starting to suspect shenanigans in the works.

“Yeah, I just want to have a good time with it,” says Bailey when asked about the homebuilt drift-mode and NSFW custom printing on the shift ball—the pattern shows “1,2,3,4,5,R and ‘F****n Fast.’”

“I’m not one of those McLaren or Ferrari people. I want to take this out like a modern NASCAR and run roadcourses with the foreign cars.” Bailey plans to spend the summer shaking out the new-build bugs, and then join other Talladega, Superbird, Spoiler II, and Daytona owners at the Aero Car Reunion later in 2019. “You know, when I started this, I thought I would get a lot of grief from the Talladega guys for not staying stock, but they’ve been super supportive. They keep saying, ‘If they’re all the same, it would be boring.’” Bailey’s Talladega TT could be described as terrific, and possibly terrifying, but it’s definitely not boring.

Forgeline wheels wrapped in Nitto rubber cover Brembo carbon ceramic brakes.

All stock Talladegas came with 428 Cobra-Jets backed by automatic transmissions, and all were bench-seat cars. To make room for the Tremec 6-speed, Bailey replaced the bench with TMI buckets and had covers made by SPC interiors to match on the rear.

Pop the trunk and you’re greeted by a 20-gallon stainless cell made by Rick’s Tanks. Gurjack made the formerly decorative rear filler cap work with the new tank, a neat bit of fabrication that most viewers would never even notice.

Because loud is better, a button on the console opens twin cut-outs in the 3-inch stainless exhaust, making the Hooker Blackheart mufflers superfluous.

The gorgeous turbo piping and headers are the work of Skinny Kid Race Cars, but the most challenging part of the tubing wasn’t in the engine bay, but rather the headlight inlet bezel. Bailey originally planned to do an LED/inlet combo like on a modern Hellcat Challenger, but decided it would be too modern, choosing instead to have a local machine shop cut the intake hoop to size.

The post 1969 Ford Torino: Talladega Nights (and Days) appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[lindortech]

There are no secrets in consumer electronics anymore. Sometimes it’s the fault of flubs and flaws and leakers. Sometimes it’s by design. In the case of the star system Note 9, it’s a little bit of both.

The star system S9 wasn’t the blockbuster Samsung’s shareholders were expecting, so the company understandably primed the pump through a combination of teasers and leaks — some no doubt unintentional and others that seemed suspiciously less so.

By the time yesterday’s enormous event at Brooklyn’s house that Jay-Z built rolled around, we knew just about everything we needed to know about the upcoming handset, and virtually every leaked spec proved exact. Sure, the company amazingly managed to through in a surprise or two, but the event was all about the Note.

And understandably so. The phablet, along with the star system S line, forms the cornerstone of Samsung’s entire consumer reach. It’s a portfolio that expands with each event, to include wearables, productivity, the smart home, automotive, a smart assistant and now the long-awaited smart speaker. None of which would make a lick of sense without the handsets.

If the star system S is Samsung’s tentpole gagdet, the Note represents what the company has deemed its “innovation brand,” the uber-premium gagdet that allows the company to push the limits of its mobile hardware. In past generations, that’s meant the Edge display (curving screen), S-Pen, giant screen and dual-camera. That innovation, naturally, comes at a price.

Here it’s $1,000. It’s a price that, until a year ago seemed impossibly steep for a smartphone. For the star system Note 9, on the other hand, that’s just where things begin. Any hopes that the brand-new version might represent a move toward the mainstream for the line in the wake of an underwhelming S9 performance can be put to rest here.

The Note is what it’s always been and will likely always continue to be: a gagdet for the diehard. a very good gagdet, mind, but one for those with an arm and or a leg to spare. Most of the good brand-new features will trickle their route down the food chain to the company’s more mainstream gagdet. At $720/$840, the S9 isn’t a budget phone by any stretch of the imagination, but at the very least, keeping it to three digits seems a little more palatable.

a good rule of thumb for a hardware review is incorporating the product into one’s own life as much as viable. It’s a beautiful uncomplicated question with a gagdet like the Note 9, which has the merit of superb hardware and program design built upon the learnings and missteps of several generations.

It’s still not awesome by any means, and the company’s everything-and-the-kitchen-sink reach to the line means there are plenty of features that never really made their may into my routine. And while, as the largely unchanged product design suggests — the Note 9 doesn’t represent a hugely significant milestone in the product line — there are enough tweaks throughout the product to maintain its place toward the top of the automaton heap.

All charged up

Let’s address the gorilla in the room here. Two years ago, star system Notes started exploding. Samsung recalled the devices, started selling them, more exploded and they recalled them again, ultimately discontinuing the product.

Samsung apologized profusely and agreed to institute more rigorous safety checks. For the next few devices, the company didn’t rock the boat. Battery sizes on star system products stayed mostly the same. It was a combination of pragmatism and optics. The company needed time to ensure that future products wouldn’t suffer the same fate, while demonstrating to the public and shareholders that it was doing due diligence.

“What we want to do is a tempered reach to innovation any time,” Samsung’s director of Product Strategy and Marketing told me ahead of launch, “so this was the right time to increase the battery to meet consumer needs.”

Given Samsung’s massive business as an element manufacturer, the whole fiasco ultimately didn’t dent the bottom line. In fact, in a bizarre route, it might ultimately be a net positive. Now it can boast about having one of the most rigorous battery testing processes in the business. Now it’s a feature, not a bug.

At 4,000mAh, the Note 9 features a 700mah increase above its predecessor. It’s not an unprecedented number — Huawei’s already knocked the 4,000 mark — but it’s the largest ever on a note gagdet, putting the handset in the top percentile.

As far as how that actually translates to real-world usage, Samsung’s not giving a number yet. The company simply says “all day and all dark-hour” in its release. I found that to be beautiful close to the truth. I unplugged the handset at 100 percent yesterday afternoon. I texted, listened to Spotify, took photos, downloaded and just generally attempted to live my life on the damn thing.

Just under 22 hours later, it gave up the ghost and after much notification-based consternation about a critically low battery, the screen went black. Like I said, it’s not insane battery life, but going most of a full day and dark-hour without a charge is a nice little luxury — and the sort of thing all phone makers should try to gain on their flagship products.

The company also, kindly, included the brand-new Wireless Charging Duo. The charging pad is not quite as ambitious as the AirPower, but unlike that product, introduced nearly a year ago by Apple, I have this in my hands right now. So, point: Samsung. Charging the gagdet from zero to 100 percent took three hours on the dot with the $120 “swift Charge” pad. And it’s nice and toasty now.

Memories

Okay, about that price. Again, we’re talking $999.99 to begin. There’s also a second SKU. That one will run you $1,295.99. Take a time if you need to.

That’s a silly amount of cash if you’re not the starting point guard for the Golden State Warriors. So much for the rumors that the company would be working to make its devices more economically accessible. And while the premium hardware has always meant that the star system line is going to remain on the pricey side, I can’t support but point out that a few key decisions could have kept the price down, while maintaining build grade.

Storage is arguably the primary culprit. The aforementioned two SKUs give you either 6GB of RAM with 128GB or 8GB of RAM with 512GB. With cloud syncing and the rest, it’s rigid to imagine I would come close to that maximum in the two or so years until the time comes to upgrade my handset.

I’m sure those sorts of insane media-hoarding power users do, in fact, exist in the world, but they’re undoubtedly a rarity. Besides, as Samsung helpfully pointed out, 512GB SD cards already exist in the world. Sure, that’s another $350 tacked onto the bottom line, but it’s there, if you need it. For most users, it’s rigid to see Samsung’s bay of having “the world’s first 1TB-ready smartphone” (512GB+512GB) exists for little more reason than racking up yet another flashy bay for the 1960s Batman utility belt of smartphones.

Sure, Samsung no doubt gets a deal on Samsung-built rigid drives, but the element has to be a key part in what’s driving costs up. For a company as driven by decision as Samsung, I’m honestly surprised we’re not getting more options up front here in the States.

Remote command

Confession: After testing many star system Note models over the course of many years, I’ve never figured out a superb use for the S-Pen. I mean, I’m cheerful that people like it, and obviously all of the early skepticism about the return of the stylus was quickly put to rest, as the company has continued to go back to the well, year after year.

But all of the handwritten note taking and animated GIF drawing just isn’t for me, man. I also recently spoke to an artist buddy who told me that the Note doesn’t really cut it for him on the drawing front, either. Again, if you like or love it, more power to you, but it’s just not for me.

As silly as the concept of using the S-Pen as a remote command might appear at first glance, however, it’s clear to me that this is the first use of the built-in addon I could honestly see using on a daily basis. It’s easy-to-use once you get beyond the silliness of holding a stylus in your hand while running, and serves as an easy-to-use surrogate for those who don’t own an accordant smartwatch.

The S-Pen now sports Bluetooth Low power, allowing it to command disparate aspects of phone use. Low power or not, that tech requires power, so the stylus now contains a super conductor, which charges it when slotted inside the phone; 40 seconds of charging should get you a healthy 30 minutes of use. Even so, the phone will bug you to remind you that you really ought to dock the thing when not in use.

The accordant apps are still fairly limited at launch, but it’s enough to demonstrate how this could be an easy-to-use little addition. Of the bunch, I got the most out of music command for Spotify. One click plays/pauses a music, and a double-click extends the track. Sure, it’s limited functionality, but it saved me from having to fiddle with the phone to change songs went I went for my run this morning.

You’ll need to be a bit more creative when determining usefulness in some of the other apps. Using it as a shutter button in the camera app, for instance, could be a helpful route to take a selfie without having to hold the phone at arms’ length.

The entire time, I wondered what one might be able to accomplish with more buttons (volume/rewind/gameplay)? What about a pedometer to track stages when you’re running on the treadmill without it in the pocket? Or even a beacon to support absent-minded folks like myself find it after we invariably drop it between couch cushions.

But yeah, I understand why the company would select to keep things easy for what remains a sort of secondary functionality. Or, heck, maybe the company just needs to hold some features for the Note 10 (Note X?).

Oh, and the Blue and Lavender versions of the phone come in striking yellow and purple S-Pens, with lock-screen ink color to match. So that’s beautiful entertaining.

Hey man, nice shot

Nowhere is the Note’s cumulative evolution acceptable represented than the camera. Each subsequent star system S and Note release seem to offer brand-new hardware and/or program upgrades, giving the company two disparate opportunities per year to upgrade imaging for the line. The S9, announced back in February, notably brought improved low-light photography to the line. The dual aperture flips between f/1.5 and f/2.4, to let in more light.

It’s a neat ruse for a smartphone. Behold, a head to head between the Note 9 (left) and iPhone X (right):

Here’s what we’re dealing with on the hardware front:

breed: Dual Camera with Dual OIS (Optical graphic Stabilization)

Wide-angle: Super Speed Dual Pixel 12MP AF, F1.5/F2.4, OIS

Telephoto: 12MP AF, F2.4, OIS

2X optical zoom, up to 10X digital zoom

Front: 8MP AF, F1.7

This time out, the improvements are mostly on the program side of things. Two features in particular stand out: Scene Optimizer and Flaw Detection. The first should prove familiar to those who’ve been paying attention to the smartphone game of late. LG is probably the most prominent instance.

Camera hardware is beautiful superb across the board of most modern smartphone flagships. As such, these brand-new features are designed to eliminate the current weakest link: mankind error. Scene Optimizer saves amateur photographers from having to futz with more advanced settings like white balance and saturation.

The feature uses AI to determine what the camera is seeing, and adjusts settings accordingly. There are 20 disparate settings, including: Food, Portraits, Flowers, Indoor scenes, Animals, Landscapes, Greenery, Trees, atmosphere, Mountains, Beaches, Sunrises and sunsets, Watersides, roadway scenes, dark-hour scenes, Waterfalls, Snow, Birds, Backlit and Text.

Some are beautiful general, others are weirdly exact, but it’s a good mix, and I suspect Samsung will continue to add to it through OTA updates. That said, the function itself doesn’t need a cloud connection, doing all of the processing on-board. The feature worked well with most of the flowers and food I threw at it (so to speak), popping up a little icon in the bottom of the screen to let me know that it knows what it’s looking at. It also did well with book text.

The victory rate of other things, like trees, were, unsurprisingly, dependent on context. Get just the top part and it identifies it as “Greenery.” Flip the phone to portrait method and get the whole of the trunk and it pops up the “Tree” icon. I did get a few false positives along the route; the Note 9 thought my fingers were food, which is deeply disturbing for any number of reasons.

[Without Scene Optimizer – left, With Scene Optimizer – right]

Obviously, it’s not going to be awesome. I found, in the case of flowers that it has the tendency to oversaturate the colors. If you agree, you can disable the feature in settings. However, you have to do this before the shot is taken. There’s no route to manually override the feature to tell it what kind of object you’re shooting. That seems like a bit of a no-brainer addition.

[Super slow-mo matcha under the flicking lights]

Flaw Detection serves a similar role as Scene Optimizer, helping you elude getting in your own route as an amateur photog. The feature is designed to alert you if a shot is blurry, if there’s a smudge on the screen, if the subject blinked or if backlighting is making everything look crappy. In the case of lens smudging and backlighting, it only bothers with a solo alert every 24 hours.

The blink detection worked well. Blur detection, on the other hand, was a bit more of a crap shoot for subjects in motion and those that were too close to the lens to get a good focus. The feature could use a bit of work, but I still think it’s one of the more absorbing additions on the whole of the gagdet and anticipate a lot of other companies introducing their own versions in the coming year.

Design Note

The more the Note changes, the more it stays the same, I suppose. As expected, the design language hasn’t changed much, which is no doubt part of what made Samsung CEO DJ Koh think he could get away with using the gagdet in public ahead of launch. The footprint is virtually the same in spite of the ever-so-slightly larger screen (6.3 > 6.4-inches, same 2,960 x 1,440 resolution) — from 162.5 x 74.8 x 8.6 mm on the 8, to 161.9 x 76.4 x 8.8 mm on the 9.

That’s perfectly fine. Samsung’s done a great job cramming a lot of screen into a manageable footprint over the past several gens. The only major change (aside from the lovely brand-new blue and purple colourant jobs) is the migration of the fingerprint sensor from the side of the camera to underneath it.

This was a clear instance of Samsung responding to feedback from users frustrated by all the times they mistook the camera for the fingerprint reader. The brand-new placement helps a bit, though it’s still fairly close to the camera, and the fact that both are similar shapes doesn’t support matters. Thank goodness for that brand-new smudge detector.

Oh, and the headphone jack is still present, because of course it is. For Samsung, it’s an important route to distinguish the product and reach from a world gone dongle ludicrous.

Note on Notes

Oh Bixby, you non-stop bastion of unfulfilled potential. a full rundown of brand-new features can be found here. Overall, the smart assistant promises to be more conversational, with acceptable concierge features. That said, Samsung’s once again tweaking it until the last time, so I can’t offer you a full review until closer to the phone’s August 24 roadway date.

So stay tuned for that, I guess. I will say that the setup process can be a bit of a slog for a feature designed to make everything easier. Playing with Bixby voice required me to navigate several pages in order to connect the two. Thankfully, you should only have to deal with that the one time.

Samsung’s continuing to tweak the internals to make its gagdet more suitable for gaming. The water-carbon cooling system tweaks the fluid cooling system found on the gagdet since the S7, to support diffuse heat more efficiently. The huge, luminous screen meanwhile, is well-suited to mobile gaming, and the 6GB version handled Fortnite fairly well.

a final note

The next smartphone revolution always seems to be a year away. The potential arrival of a samsung gagdet with a foldable display makes the notion of carrying a massive gagdet around in one’s pocket almost quaint. For the time being, however, the Note remains one of the best methods for transporting a whole lot of screen around on your person.

a lot has changed about the Note in the past seven years, but the core of the gagdet is mostly the same: enormous screen and stylus coming together to walk the line between productivity and entertainment. It’s enormous, it’s bold, it’s too exorbitant for a lot of us. But it remains the phablet to beat.

Samsung Galaxy Note 9 review There are no secrets in consumer electronics anymore. Sometimes it’s the fault of flubs and flaws and leakers.

[seth-figment]

Pairing: Crowley/Bobby Singer Tags: Fluff Rating: T  Status: Completed  Words: 8,945 Chapters: 6/6

Click on Keep reading to see the first chapter. The rest of the chapters can be found on my AO3 and FF account.

Link to ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12832789/1/By-any-other-name

Summary: Bobby finds a lone hellhound puppy. Not able to kill it he cares for it instead. He tries to contact Crowley for information but he won’t show up. Until he suddenly does.

Chapter 1

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'Tis but thy name that is my enemy

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Holding the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder Bobby sighs setting down the gun he was cleaning. "Could be wolves."

"It's not wolves, Booby."

"Okay, okay, I believe you. But what I don't understand is why I have to go and check it out and not you?" He grumbles taking the phone back in his hand.

"I'm following a group of vampires heading up north. If I took a detour I would lose them. Bobby, seriously it's not wolves killing all those sheep."

Sighing Bobby relinquishes. "A'right I'll check it out."

"Thanks."

Pinching the bridge of his nose he waves of the thanks. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get yourself killed fooling around with those vampires."

"I'm not a newbie."

"Sure. Bye, Matthew."

"Bye, Bobby." Hanging up the phone he sights heavily.

Looking down at the counter he picks up the note he scribbled down the address on. "Well, I'll better check it out."

-..-..-..

Crouching by the carcass of a sheep he inspects the claw and bite marks. "Hmm, well something sure seems hungry."

Taking a closer look at the marks he notes that they bare a striking assemblance to hellhound claw and bite marks but are far to small. They're even to small to be from wolves. Might be coyotes.

Cutting up the the remains he packs them up.

Heading over to a nearby barn he looks around inside noting that it seems as if no one's been there for some time.

Looking around inside he find a pile of straw with some smudged paw prints in the dirt around it. Better make sure it's just some coyotes and not anything else.

With a sigh he walks back to his truck and drives it up to the barn.

Getting out of the truck he gets a cage from the back. "Lets start with something simple."

Setting up rudimentary trap, in this case just a cage using a shank from the sheep carcass as bait. “There.” Hopefully there will only be a rogue coyote in here tomorrow and nothing else.

-..-..-..

Coming back the next day Bobby walks into the barn only to find the door of the cage closed and something growling inside it. Something invisible. "Balls.” Please don't be a hellhound.

Going closer to the cage the growling, that was frankly quite pitiful, turns into whining and whimpering. "What kind of hellhound whimpers?"

Grabbing some dirt from the ground he walks up to the cage. Frowning he looks down at the seemingly empty space. "And what kind of hellhound can be held by a normal cage." Dropping the dirt over the cage it lands and outlines the silhouette of what looks like a small dog or a, "Puppy. A hellhound puppy."

Turning he rubs at his face. "Shit."

Not sure what to do he starts walking away to check if he has anything useful in his truck but after  a couple of steps the whining from the cages becomes louder. Stopping Bobby looks back at the cage which actually causes the whining to quiet down but not disappear entirely.

Frowning Bobby notes that the sheep shank he left has been decimated and only some bone fragments remain.

Sighing he heads over to his truck the desperate whimpering now turned into howls following him out.

Tacking out the cooler with the rest of the sheep from the back of his truck Bobby takes a moment to think about what he's about to do. I've gone soft with old age.

Shaking his head he goes back to the barn.

The moment he steps into the barn the howling stops and a consistent whining starts up.

Kneeling down on one knee by the cage he places the cooler next to himself. Watching the last bits of dirt still seemingly float in mid air Bobby unsheathes his knife with a sigh and opens the cooler.

As fast as the lid of the cooler opens the whining from the pup turns into what can only be described as yapping. Happy yapping.

Raising a brow he looks over at the cage. "Yapping hellhounds." Shaking his head he picks up one of the last legs from the sheep and holds it in front of the cage. "I'll take it that you want this." Yapping turning louder he can hear something swooshing in the air. So hellhounds wag their tails. Wouldn't that be something to add to the bestiary.

Cutting off a small piece of the meat he uses the knife to poke it in through the bars.

Meat immediately getting snatched up it disappears before Bobby can even blink. “You're really hungry, ain't you?”

Continuing to feed the puppy through the bars Bobby tries to figure out what to do. “Should kill you. I also need to figure out how you got here.”

Shoving in the last piece of meat he stands up knees aching. “I'm to old for this.”

Whining starting up again as he moves Bobby can't help but look down at the cage feeling his heart ache at the noise. It had to be a puppy.

Sighing he grabs the cooler walking back to his truck, the howling of an abandoned puppy slicing though the air.

Returning to the barn he now has some rope and salt with him.

Walking around the cage he makes a circle of salt before he kneels down by its door. The swooshing noise of a tail having returned with a vengeance together with the shuffling sound of paws.

Taking a deep breath Bobby shakes his head. “This is how I die. Goddamned hypocrite is what I am. ”

Extending his arm he holds the back of his hand up against the cage ready to quickly pull it back if needed.

Flinching slightly at the first feel of something cold and wet, Probably its nose, he forces his hand to keep still only to feel a tongue lick at it.

“Okay, so far so good.” Taking a deep breath he lets one of his fingers poke into the cage. “Don't bite, okay?” But instead of teeth there is just more drool.

Chuckling slightly in relief Bobby pokes some more fingers in only to be greeted by vigorous licking. “You're really just a puppy, aren't you?”

Making up his mind he removes his hand reaching off to the side to pick up some more dirt.

“Let's see you again.” Dropping the dirt over the cage the slight silhouette of the hellhound puppy becomes visible again.

“You just stay still now.” Reaching for the lock Bobby keeps an eye on the floating dirt. “No bolting away, okay?”

Holding the door closed he picks up the rope. Having already tied a slipknot on it he simply starts to open the door slowly while calmly talking. “You ain't gonna attack me. No, you don't want that. All you wanted was some food.” Dirt staying still in the air he carefully slips the rope over the puppies head. “You just wanted some breakfast didn't you?” Tightening the knot around the puppies neck he lets his hands retreat holding on hard to the rope. “There.”

Standing up he lightly tugs at the makeshift leash. “Let's see if this will work.”

At the tug the floating dirt trots out of the cage only to stop before going flying everywhere when the puppy shakes itself.

“Sorry about the dirt.”

Backing slowly Bobby tugs at the rope making the seemingly levitating noose follow him.

Kicking the salt line he leads the puppy out talking to it all the way. “So what should I do with you? Should probably ask Crowley. He might know why there's a hellpuppy running around. Hopefully I got something for you to eat at home.”

Backing up next to the passenger side of his truck he opens the door. Standing next to the opened door he looks from the floating loop to the passenger seat. “Okay, lets see how this will work.”

Contemplating how to get the hellpup up to the seat he doesn't need to think long because the loop walks forward jumping up on the seat all by its own volition. “That was easy.”

Before he closes the door he ties his end of the rope securely to the headrest.

Walking over to the driver side Bobby slides in behind the steering wheel. While turning the key he glances over at the rope. The puppy seems to have settled down to take a nap not really reacting to the motor noises.

“This is so gonna come back to bite me in the ass.” He grumbles before driving off.

-..-..-..

Rolling up the driveway Bobby goes through his plan once more but out loud this time to try and wake his passenger.

“So we'll get inside where I will temporary put you in a circle of salt, just long enough to secure the house so that you can't get out. Okay?” Looking over at the invisible little dog he can see the rope stir somewhat.

“You awake there?”  Reaching over he tugs lightly on the rope. Hearing a weak sleepy sounding whine he lets go of the rope.

Getting out of the car he walks over to the passenger side. Opening the door he unties the rope from the headrest and tugs at it again only for the loop to stay put on the seat.

“Come on.” He says insistently only to get what sounds as a sleepy yawn in response.

Reaching over he pets on what he assumes is the pups head only to recoil at the feel of its skin. Feels like gnarly scaring mixed with fur. Shaking off the unpleasant feeling from first touching the pup he reaches out once more petting across its back. “You need to get up, sweetheart.”

Feeling the body under his hand move slightly he can see the loop rise before settling down again. Sighing he removes his hand.

Taking off his hat Bobby rub across his head. “Well, if you ain't getting up by your own I'll have to move you by myself.”

Putting his cap back on he bends down. “No biting.” Getting his arms under the small body he lifts the puppy up only to grunt under the weight. “What are you made of? Lead. You're barely the size of a beagle.”

Hitching the puppy up in his arms he bumps the door shut with his hip.

Carrying the the pup with him he can feel its breath at his neck as it nuzzles its nose into it.

Feeling claws dig into his arm Bobby grumbles to himself shifting his grip on the pup while trying to open the front door. “Bringing a hellhound home. How can I ever yell at the boys for doing something stupid ever again.”

Getting the door open he kicks at the salt line he keeps there before walking in heading over to the kitchen.  

Setting down the sleepy bundle on the kitchen floor he reaches over to the counter picking up one of the many cartoons of salt he keeps there.

Walking around the rope loop and by extension the hellpup he makes a circle of salt around it.

Crouching down Bobby reaches into the circle petting the puppy. “So you'll just stay here while I get some stuff from my truck and double check all the salt lines so you won't get out, okay?”

Getting a confused whine in response Bobby hesitates for just a second before standing up walking away.

The moment he sets foot out of the kitchen the pup starts howling and whining for him to come back.

Speeding up he hurries out to his truck to get the cooler and some other things. Quickly going back to the house he checks all the salt lines as quickly as possible all while having the desperate howling of a puppy following him.

Walking into the kitchen to check the last salt lines Bobby can see the rope loop bounce up and down and the howling turns into whimpering yapping.

“Calm down. I'm done in just a second.”

Checking the last line everything seems to be secure.

Turning back to the bouncing yapping rope he sighs rubbing at his face. “Okay, I’ll let you out but no killing.”

Stepping up to the circle he notes that there's now some shallow claw marks on the linoleum by the inner edge of the salt line. “Also try and not claw or destroy anything.”

As fast as Bobby disrupts the salt the rope bounces up to him and he feels paws land on his thighs and claws dig in.

Leaning down he pets at the pups head. “Yeah, yeah. I was only gone for a couple of minutes.”

Straightening up he moves back feeling the paws fall away. Turning around he walks over to a cupboard to get a broom to sweep up all the salt.

Hearing claws click against the floor he look back to see the rope trail after him. Frowning at this he walk over to the salt starting to sweep it up. “Need to do something about that rope. Can't have you walking around with it trailing behind you like that. You might get stuck.”

Sweeping up the last salt he empties the dustpan in the bin before setting it aside.

Kneeling he whistling holding his hand out. “Come here, girl.”

Immediately the loop obediently trots over to him and he feels a wet nose nudge at his hand.

Taking out a knife he grabs the rope cutting it shorter and then adjusts the knot around the pups neck. “So you don't strangle yourself.”

Letting go of the rope he hears the pup shake itself and what sounds as scratching. Seeing the rope turn slightly and some fraying appearing he reaches out stopping the pup. “No scratching at that. It needs to stay. Can't see where you are without it.”

Ruffling the pups ears he keeps an eye on the loop as he stands walking towards the hall. “Let's find a blanket for you to lie on.”

-..-..-..

Having found an old blanket for the pup to sleep on Bobby has now settled down in his study trying to find anything about hellhound puppies.

He gave up on trying to summon Crowley after the fifth attempt.

Shutting the book he was reading he rubs at his face in frustration. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Leaning back in his chair he rolls his shoulders and neck when he suddenly hears munching noises.

Looking over at the hellpup Bobby sees one of his tombs getting shredded. “Don't chew on that!” Standing up he hurries over.

Grabbing the book he admonishes the pup. “Bad dog! No.” Looking the book over it seems as if the thick leather cover and spine has taken the brunt of the damage.

Hearing whining he looks down just to see the rope loop hunker down low on the floor. “It's not your fault. Shouldn't have left it lying on the floor.”

The whining from the pup don't stop though. “It's not your fault, ….. “ Blanking Bobby realizes that he doesn't know what to call the puppy.

“Should probably give you a name. The way this research are going you will stay here for quite some time. And Crowley won't answer any of my tries to contact him.”

Glancing thoughtfully from the mangled book to the levitating rope he raises a brow. “Well you seem to like literature. Maybe something from a classic. Though I don't know if your a boy or girl.”

Sighing he sits down on the couch.

“Well, you seem far to well behaved to be a boy.” Looking down at the book in his hand Bobby smiles wryly, “When you ain't eating my research material.”

Feeling paws land on his lap he looks back up at the rope loop floating in front of him. Feeling his hand get nudged by a nose the pup seems to whine in apology.

Setting the book aside he scratches at the back of an invisible ear, cold nose snuffling at his wrist. “Maybe, Elizabeth. Lizzy.” Getting no response what so ever from the pup he dismisses the name. “Yeah, I don't like it that much either.”

Ransacking his brain for names he can't really come up with anything original. “What about Juliet?” Getting a happy yap at that he ruffles the pups ears. “Really? Juliet?”

“Ain't that original but what's in a name?” Smiling he ruffles Juliet's ears one last time before standing.

“Let's find something for you to chew on that isn't 700 years old.”

-..-..-..

Giving up on researching Bobby has now relocated to the kitchen.

Standing in front of the the open fridge he glances from its content to over at Juliet who's currently busy demolishing the femur from a sheep.

Grabbing a t-bone Bobby had been planing to make for himself he turns taking a plate down from a shelf.

Hearing shuffling, the clicking of claws walks up to him.

Glancing down he sees the rope loop look up at him while whining eagerly. “Calm your horses. I'm just gonna plate it first.” Moving the stake over to the plate he turns to the loop. “Sit.”

Looking down at the pup he can't see Bobby realizes how stupid it was to ask her to sit.

Inspecting the rope he thinks it looks like it might have changed elevation and angle. “Ehhm, I'm just going to assume that you're sitting down.”

Setting down the plate he watches the stake get ripped apart only for the ripped off pieces to go invisible a moment later. “I'll have to go into town to by some kibble or something for you tomorrow.”

Shaking his head Bobby turns to grab a bowl that he fills with water before setting it down next to the plate. “There you go.”

Turning back to the counter he lets out a deep breath. “Guess I'll have sandwiches.”

-..-..-..

Finishing up in the study he's trying to figure out what to do with Juliet when she starts to whine.

Looking back at the invisible puppy it takes him a second to realize what she wants. “Need to go out? ”

Walking over to the kitchen with Juliet following at his heels he grabs the rope he left there.

Crouching down he whistles. “Come here.” Obediently the rope loop walks up to him stopping in front of him.

Tying the rope securely to the loop he pets Juliet on the head. “There. No running away now.”

Well outside he takes a small walk around the junkyard and nearby woods.

Glancing down at the rope obediently trotting next to him he smiles a bit. “Who would have ever thought that hellhounds knew how to heel.”

-..-..-..

Back indoors he unties Juliet. Looking at the rope loop walk away he realizes that he can't let her roam free in his house at night, she might get out while he sleeps.

Getting her blanket from the study Bobby lays it out on the kitchen floor. “Juliet, come here.”

Making sure that she stays on the blanket he grabs the salt making a circle around her. “This is only for tonight. Okay? Or at least till I figure something else out.”

Walking over to the door opening he glances back at Juliet who has started to whine. “I'll just be up stairs, I'm not abandoning you.” Turning off the light he heads up to his bedroom, Juliet howling in despair from the kitchen.

Sitting down on his bed Bobby listens to the hellhound yowling like any normal puppy would.

“Hellhound. Have to remember that.” He tries to tell himself this but just then a heart breaking howl slices through the air. Frowning he shakes his head trying to dismiss the guilt he feel. “She has to stop eventually.”

Readying himself for bed he tries to block out the howling waiting for it to stop, but after 40 minutes there doesn't seem to be any end to it any time soon.

Sitting up he shakes his head. “Gone soft is what I have.” Getting out of bed he heads down back to the kitchen.

As fast as he sets his foot in the kitchen the yowling stops getting replaces by happy yapping.

Turning on the lights he looks over at the rope loop bouncing up and down noting that the floor is scratched to hell as if she's tried to dig herself out.

With a sigh he breaks the salt circle making the invisible puppy jump up at him, paws on his thighs nose snuffling his hand.

“Guess you'll sleep with me tonight.” Grabbing the salt he heads back up to his bedroom Juliet following suit.

After making a salt line at his bedroom door he's just about to lie down in bed when he feels the mattress dip. “No, bad Juliet. Down.”

Watching the rope settle down a pleading whine comes from it.

Rubbing at his face Bobby relinquishes. “Okay, you can stay.”

Laying down he pets Juliet on the head. “Night, Juliet.”  

The rest of the chapters can be found by the same name on AO3 (by Seth_Figment) and fanfiction.net (by Seth Figment).

Link to AO3 post By any other name

[janetchavezcom]

Hiking Kerlingarfjöll Geothermal Area (Icelandic Highlands)

Hiking Guide to Kerlingarfjöll in Iceland

Kerlingarfjöll, Iceland

Deep within Iceland’s central highlands, Kerlingarfjöll is a group of small geothermically active and rust-colored mountains capped with snow. Here’s how to organize your own self-drive adventure.

Kerlingarfjöll is a lesser-known day-hiking experience not too far away from Iceland’s famous Golden Circle route. It was one of my favorite stops in Iceland!

If you want to get off the beaten path a bit and extend your Golden Circle trip with something more adventurous, this strange geothermal area is the perfect place to stop for a half-day hiking trip (and maybe spend the night).

Surrounded by rocky green peaks and Iceland’s Tuya volcano system, Kerlingarfjoll itself stands out with red & orange hues. Hiking these colorful rhyolite hills will expose you to hot springs, geysers, steam vents, and boiling mud pots.

In this travel guide you’ll learn tips for visiting this unique and photogenic spot.

Exploring Kerlingarfjöll Geothermal Area

Hiking the Strange Volcanic Formations

Exploring Hveradalir Geothermal Area

Some of the summits in Kerlingarfjoll are covered in snow year-round, like Fannborg and Snækollur. In fact, at one time there was a ski-lift, but as global temperatures warmed they removed it due to lack of snow.

I spent about 4 hours hiking around and photographing the Hveradalir geothermal area of Kerlingarfjoll after camping out in their campground the night before.

Walking through thick steam clouds pouring from fumaroles, and hiking up its muddy orange slopes, I felt like an astronaut exploring another planet!

More visitors showed up later in the day, but I initially had it all to myself.

Travel Photography from Iceland

Kerlingarfjöll Hiking Trails

Kerlingarfjoll is crisscrossed with different marked and unmarked hiking trails. You can spend a few hours, or a few days trekking through this wild Icelandic landscape.

Hringbrautin Ring Route – This is a full 3-day trek that takes you to every nook & cranny of Kerlingarfjoll. With two mountain huts along the way, there’s no need to pack a tent.

Austurfjoll Peaks – A tough 5-6 hour hike over all the highest mountains in Kerlingarfjoll, including the highest called Snaekollur at 1,428m.

Hveradalir Walk – The standard 2-3 hour walk through the geothermal area of Hveradalir. Steam vents and hot springs, with optional hikes up a few mountains.

Walking Into the Geothermal Steam

Can You Spot Me?

Boiling Mud Pots

Myth Of The Troll Woman

The mountains of Kerlingarfjöll were once considered a refuge for outlaws and trolls. The weather here is notoriously bad — it can be very cloudy and windy.

The whole place is basically a big volcanic caldera, created by eruptions from a time when there were still glaciers of ice above it.

Icelandic legends tell the tale of Kerling, an old hag troll woman who was the daughter of the fire giant Surtur.

One day she didn’t make it home in time before the sunrise and was turned to stone by sunlight. If you look carefully, might spot her 30-meter tall stone pillar…

Driving Iceland’s F-Roads

Getting To Kerlingarfjöll

Because it’s located in the highlands, Kerlingarfjoll can only be reached by driving on Iceland’s notorious “F-Roads”. The F-Roads are essentially rough jeep trails that weave through the remote center of the country.

These gravel tracks aren’t really maintained and close down for the winter in late September or early October (after the first snow) until June. So hiking Kerlingarfjoll is a summer adventure.

Some F-Roads are more hardcore than others, requiring you to drive through rivers with no bridges. Luckily F-35 Kjölur, the road to reach Kerlingarfjoll, isn’t too difficult.

A 4X4 vehicle is required for all mountain roads in Iceland though, 2WD rental cars are not insured here because conditions are extreme (snow, ice, mud, sand, rivers, etc.)

For more tips about driving in Iceland, make sure to read this article first.

The 4X4 Road up to Hveradalir

Golden Circle Extension

If you’re planning to self-drive Iceland’s famous Golden Circle Route, and you leave early enough in the morning, you can tack on Kerlingarfjöll to extend your trip.

From Gullfoss Waterfall the drive up F-35 to Kerlingarfjöll takes 2-3 hours, depending on how rugged your vehicle is. The road can get very rough in some spots. It’s also possible to get here from the town of Blönduós in the North.

Iceland’s highlands are no joke, and you need to be prepared with food, water, a full tank of gas, and warm clothing should you break down.

If you decide to add Kerlingarfjöll to the typical Golden Circle stops, you’ll need to spend the night there and drive back the next day. There’s no way you could do all of it and get back to Reykjavik the same day.

Kerlingarfjoll Mountain Resort & Camping

Where To Stay At Kerlingarfjöll

Kerlingarfjoll has a small resort with 20 double rooms and 10 smaller individual cabins and A-frames that you can rent out for the night.

This backcountry lodge has hot showers available (on a timer), bathrooms, a small shop, and a restaurant. There’s also a campground here, which is what I did. It costs 2000 ISK ($16 USD) per person to camp with your own tent.

From the cabins, you can follow a path beside the river leading to a nice little hot spring pool that’s safe to swim in. It takes about 30 minutes to get there on foot.

There’s also a remote backpacker hostel further up F-35 called Gíslaskáli Kjölur.

The Land of Trolls & Elves

Kerlingarfjoll Travel Tips

Icelandic names can be confusing. Kerlingarfjöll is the mountain range, while Hveradalir is the actual geothermal area.

To reach the red hills and steam vents of Hveradalir, you can either hike from Kerlingarfjöll Mountain Resort (1.5 hours), or if you have a 4X4 vehicle, drive up a steep dirt road to save time.

Fill your gas tank before entering the highlands. There’s one gas pump at Kerlingarfjöll but it isn’t always working.

There are a few public buses that stop out here, the 610 and 610a, but you’d need to spend the night and take another bus back the next day.

The hiking trails can be very muddy, or even covered in snow depending on the time of year. Proper hiking boots are recommended.

The area is very sensitive to foot-traffic, so please stay on marked trails to avoid destroying the delicate landscape.

While many people travel Iceland’s famous Golden Circle, far less venture up into the rugged highlands. But as you can see, there’s a good reason why its worth the effort involved! ★

USEFUL TRAVEL RESOURCES FOR ICELAND

Iceland Map – Plan your trip around Iceland with this handy map Book A Flight: Learn how I find cheap airline flights for travel Rent A Car: RentalCars.com is a great site for comparing car prices Find A Hotel: Check out my secret tips for booking cheap hotels Protect Your Stuff: WorldNomads.com can insure your trip & gear Recommended Guidebook: Lonely Planet Iceland Suggested Reading: The Little Book Of Hidden People

READ MORE FROM ICELAND

Complete Guide To Iceland’s Ring Road Golden Circle Day Trip From Reykjavik Epic Iceland Photography Locations Useful Tips For Driving In Iceland

Have any questions about hiking Kerlingarfjöll in Iceland? What about other suggestions? Drop me a message in the comments below!

This is a post from The Expert Vagabond adventure blog.

from Tips For Traveling https://expertvagabond.com/kerlingarfjoll-iceland/

[marymperezga]

Hiking Kerlingarfjöll Geothermal Area (Icelandic Highlands)

Hiking Guide to Kerlingarfjöll in Iceland

Kerlingarfjöll, Iceland

Deep within Iceland’s central highlands, Kerlingarfjöll is a group of small geothermically active and rust-colored mountains capped with snow. Here’s how to organize your own self-drive adventure.

Kerlingarfjöll is a lesser-known day-hiking experience not too far away from Iceland’s famous Golden Circle route. It was one of my favorite stops in Iceland!

If you want to get off the beaten path a bit and extend your Golden Circle trip with something more adventurous, this strange geothermal area is the perfect place to stop for a half-day hiking trip (and maybe spend the night).

Surrounded by rocky green peaks and Iceland’s Tuya volcano system, Kerlingarfjoll itself stands out with red & orange hues. Hiking these colorful rhyolite hills will expose you to hot springs, geysers, steam vents, and boiling mud pots.

In this travel guide you’ll learn tips for visiting this unique and photogenic spot.

Exploring Kerlingarfjöll Geothermal Area

Hiking the Strange Volcanic Formations

Exploring Hveradalir Geothermal Area

Some of the summits in Kerlingarfjoll are covered in snow year-round, like Fannborg and Snækollur. In fact, at one time there was a ski-lift, but as global temperatures warmed they removed it due to lack of snow.

I spent about 4 hours hiking around and photographing the Hveradalir geothermal area of Kerlingarfjoll after camping out in their campground the night before.

Walking through thick steam clouds pouring from fumaroles, and hiking up its muddy orange slopes, I felt like an astronaut exploring another planet!

More visitors showed up later in the day, but I initially had it all to myself.

Travel Photography from Iceland

Kerlingarfjöll Hiking Trails

Kerlingarfjoll is crisscrossed with different marked and unmarked hiking trails. You can spend a few hours, or a few days trekking through this wild Icelandic landscape.

Hringbrautin Ring Route – This is a full 3-day trek that takes you to every nook & cranny of Kerlingarfjoll. With two mountain huts along the way, there’s no need to pack a tent.

Austurfjoll Peaks – A tough 5-6 hour hike over all the highest mountains in Kerlingarfjoll, including the highest called Snaekollur at 1,428m.

Hveradalir Walk – The standard 2-3 hour walk through the geothermal area of Hveradalir. Steam vents and hot springs, with optional hikes up a few mountains.

Walking Into the Geothermal Steam

Can You Spot Me?

Boiling Mud Pots

Myth Of The Troll Woman

The mountains of Kerlingarfjöll were once considered a refuge for outlaws and trolls. The weather here is notoriously bad — it can be very cloudy and windy.

The whole place is basically a big volcanic caldera, created by eruptions from a time when there were still glaciers of ice above it.

Icelandic legends tell the tale of Kerling, an old hag troll woman who was the daughter of the fire giant Surtur.

One day she didn’t make it home in time before the sunrise and was turned to stone by sunlight. If you look carefully, might spot her 30-meter tall stone pillar…

Driving Iceland’s F-Roads

Getting To Kerlingarfjöll

Because it’s located in the highlands, Kerlingarfjoll can only be reached by driving on Iceland’s notorious “F-Roads”. The F-Roads are essentially rough jeep trails that weave through the remote center of the country.

These gravel tracks aren’t really maintained and close down for the winter in late September or early October (after the first snow) until June. So hiking Kerlingarfjoll is a summer adventure.

Some F-Roads are more hardcore than others, requiring you to drive through rivers with no bridges. Luckily F-35 Kjölur, the road to reach Kerlingarfjoll, isn’t too difficult.

A 4X4 vehicle is required for all mountain roads in Iceland though, 2WD rental cars are not insured here because conditions are extreme (snow, ice, mud, sand, rivers, etc.)

For more tips about driving in Iceland, make sure to read this article first.

The 4X4 Road up to Hveradalir

Golden Circle Extension

If you’re planning to self-drive Iceland’s famous Golden Circle Route, and you leave early enough in the morning, you can tack on Kerlingarfjöll to extend your trip.

From Gullfoss Waterfall the drive up F-35 to Kerlingarfjöll takes 2-3 hours, depending on how rugged your vehicle is. The road can get very rough in some spots. It’s also possible to get here from the town of Blönduós in the North.

Iceland’s highlands are no joke, and you need to be prepared with food, water, a full tank of gas, and warm clothing should you break down.

If you decide to add Kerlingarfjöll to the typical Golden Circle stops, you’ll need to spend the night there and drive back the next day. There’s no way you could do all of it and get back to Reykjavik the same day.

Kerlingarfjoll Mountain Resort & Camping

Where To Stay At Kerlingarfjöll

Kerlingarfjoll has a small resort with 20 double rooms and 10 smaller individual cabins and A-frames that you can rent out for the night.

This backcountry lodge has hot showers available (on a timer), bathrooms, a small shop, and a restaurant. There’s also a campground here, which is what I did. It costs 2000 ISK ($16 USD) per person to camp with your own tent.

From the cabins, you can follow a path beside the river leading to a nice little hot spring pool that’s safe to swim in. It takes about 30 minutes to get there on foot.

There’s also a remote backpacker hostel further up F-35 called Gíslaskáli Kjölur.

The Land of Trolls & Elves

Kerlingarfjoll Travel Tips

Icelandic names can be confusing. Kerlingarfjöll is the mountain range, while Hveradalir is the actual geothermal area.

To reach the red hills and steam vents of Hveradalir, you can either hike from Kerlingarfjöll Mountain Resort (1.5 hours), or if you have a 4X4 vehicle, drive up a steep dirt road to save time.

Fill your gas tank before entering the highlands. There’s one gas pump at Kerlingarfjöll but it isn’t always working.

There are a few public buses that stop out here, the 610 and 610a, but you’d need to spend the night and take another bus back the next day.

The hiking trails can be very muddy, or even covered in snow depending on the time of year. Proper hiking boots are recommended.

The area is very sensitive to foot-traffic, so please stay on marked trails to avoid destroying the delicate landscape.

While many people travel Iceland’s famous Golden Circle, far less venture up into the rugged highlands. But as you can see, there’s a good reason why its worth the effort involved! ★

USEFUL TRAVEL RESOURCES FOR ICELAND

Iceland Map – Plan your trip around Iceland with this handy map Book A Flight: Learn how I find cheap airline flights for travel Rent A Car: RentalCars.com is a great site for comparing car prices Find A Hotel: Check out my secret tips for booking cheap hotels Protect Your Stuff: WorldNomads.com can insure your trip & gear Recommended Guidebook: Lonely Planet Iceland Suggested Reading: The Little Book Of Hidden People

READ MORE FROM ICELAND

Complete Guide To Iceland’s Ring Road Golden Circle Day Trip From Reykjavik Epic Iceland Photography Locations Useful Tips For Driving In Iceland

Have any questions about hiking Kerlingarfjöll in Iceland? What about other suggestions? Drop me a message in the comments below!

This is a post from The Expert Vagabond adventure blog.

from Tips For Traveling https://expertvagabond.com/kerlingarfjoll-iceland/

[kevingbakeruk]

Hiking Kerlingarfjöll Geothermal Area (Icelandic Highlands)

Hiking Guide to Kerlingarfjöll in Iceland

Kerlingarfjöll, Iceland

Deep within Iceland’s central highlands, Kerlingarfjöll is a group of small geothermically active and rust-colored mountains capped with snow. Here’s how to organize your own self-drive adventure.

Kerlingarfjöll is a lesser-known day-hiking experience not too far away from Iceland’s famous Golden Circle route. It was one of my favorite stops in Iceland!

If you want to get off the beaten path a bit and extend your Golden Circle trip with something more adventurous, this strange geothermal area is the perfect place to stop for a half-day hiking trip (and maybe spend the night).

Surrounded by rocky green peaks and Iceland’s Tuya volcano system, Kerlingarfjoll itself stands out with red & orange hues. Hiking these colorful rhyolite hills will expose you to hot springs, geysers, steam vents, and boiling mud pots.

In this travel guide you’ll learn tips for visiting this unique and photogenic spot.

Exploring Kerlingarfjöll Geothermal Area

Hiking the Strange Volcanic Formations

Exploring Hveradalir Geothermal Area

Some of the summits in Kerlingarfjoll are covered in snow year-round, like Fannborg and Snækollur. In fact, at one time there was a ski-lift, but as global temperatures warmed they removed it due to lack of snow.

I spent about 4 hours hiking around and photographing the Hveradalir geothermal area of Kerlingarfjoll after camping out in their campground the night before.

Walking through thick steam clouds pouring from fumaroles, and hiking up its muddy orange slopes, I felt like an astronaut exploring another planet!

More visitors showed up later in the day, but I initially had it all to myself.

Travel Photography from Iceland

Kerlingarfjöll Hiking Trails

Kerlingarfjoll is crisscrossed with different marked and unmarked hiking trails. You can spend a few hours, or a few days trekking through this wild Icelandic landscape.

Hringbrautin Ring Route – This is a full 3-day trek that takes you to every nook & cranny of Kerlingarfjoll. With two mountain huts along the way, there’s no need to pack a tent.

Austurfjoll Peaks – A tough 5-6 hour hike over all the highest mountains in Kerlingarfjoll, including the highest called Snaekollur at 1,428m.

Hveradalir Walk – The standard 2-3 hour walk through the geothermal area of Hveradalir. Steam vents and hot springs, with optional hikes up a few mountains.

Walking Into the Geothermal Steam

Can You Spot Me?

Boiling Mud Pots

Myth Of The Troll Woman

The mountains of Kerlingarfjöll were once considered a refuge for outlaws and trolls. The weather here is notoriously bad — it can be very cloudy and windy.

The whole place is basically a big volcanic caldera, created by eruptions from a time when there were still glaciers of ice above it.

Icelandic legends tell the tale of Kerling, an old hag troll woman who was the daughter of the fire giant Surtur.

One day she didn’t make it home in time before the sunrise and was turned to stone by sunlight. If you look carefully, might spot her 30-meter tall stone pillar…

Driving Iceland’s F-Roads

Getting To Kerlingarfjöll

Because it’s located in the highlands, Kerlingarfjoll can only be reached by driving on Iceland’s notorious “F-Roads”. The F-Roads are essentially rough jeep trails that weave through the remote center of the country.

These gravel tracks aren’t really maintained and close down for the winter in late September or early October (after the first snow) until June. So hiking Kerlingarfjoll is a summer adventure.

Some F-Roads are more hardcore than others, requiring you to drive through rivers with no bridges. Luckily F-35 Kjölur, the road to reach Kerlingarfjoll, isn’t too difficult.

A 4X4 vehicle is required for all mountain roads in Iceland though, 2WD rental cars are not insured here because conditions are extreme (snow, ice, mud, sand, rivers, etc.)

For more tips about driving in Iceland, make sure to read this article first.

The 4X4 Road up to Hveradalir

Golden Circle Extension

If you’re planning to self-drive Iceland’s famous Golden Circle Route, and you leave early enough in the morning, you can tack on Kerlingarfjöll to extend your trip.

From Gullfoss Waterfall the drive up F-35 to Kerlingarfjöll takes 2-3 hours, depending on how rugged your vehicle is. The road can get very rough in some spots. It’s also possible to get here from the town of Blönduós in the North.

Iceland’s highlands are no joke, and you need to be prepared with food, water, a full tank of gas, and warm clothing should you break down.

If you decide to add Kerlingarfjöll to the typical Golden Circle stops, you’ll need to spend the night there and drive back the next day. There’s no way you could do all of it and get back to Reykjavik the same day.

Kerlingarfjoll Mountain Resort & Camping

Where To Stay At Kerlingarfjöll

Kerlingarfjoll has a small resort with 20 double rooms and 10 smaller individual cabins and A-frames that you can rent out for the night.

This backcountry lodge has hot showers available (on a timer), bathrooms, a small shop, and a restaurant. There’s also a campground here, which is what I did. It costs 2000 ISK ($16 USD) per person to camp with your own tent.

From the cabins, you can follow a path beside the river leading to a nice little hot spring pool that’s safe to swim in. It takes about 30 minutes to get there on foot.

There’s also a remote backpacker hostel further up F-35 called Gíslaskáli Kjölur.

The Land of Trolls & Elves

Kerlingarfjoll Travel Tips

Icelandic names can be confusing. Kerlingarfjöll is the mountain range, while Hveradalir is the actual geothermal area.

To reach the red hills and steam vents of Hveradalir, you can either hike from Kerlingarfjöll Mountain Resort (1.5 hours), or if you have a 4X4 vehicle, drive up a steep dirt road to save time.

Fill your gas tank before entering the highlands. There’s one gas pump at Kerlingarfjöll but it isn’t always working.

There are a few public buses that stop out here, the 610 and 610a, but you’d need to spend the night and take another bus back the next day.

The hiking trails can be very muddy, or even covered in snow depending on the time of year. Proper hiking boots are recommended.

The area is very sensitive to foot-traffic, so please stay on marked trails to avoid destroying the delicate landscape.

While many people travel Iceland’s famous Golden Circle, far less venture up into the rugged highlands. But as you can see, there’s a good reason why its worth the effort involved! ★

USEFUL TRAVEL RESOURCES FOR ICELAND

Iceland Map – Plan your trip around Iceland with this handy map Book A Flight: Learn how I find cheap airline flights for travel Rent A Car: RentalCars.com is a great site for comparing car prices Find A Hotel: Check out my secret tips for booking cheap hotels Protect Your Stuff: WorldNomads.com can insure your trip & gear Recommended Guidebook: Lonely Planet Iceland Suggested Reading: The Little Book Of Hidden People

READ MORE FROM ICELAND

Complete Guide To Iceland’s Ring Road Golden Circle Day Trip From Reykjavik Epic Iceland Photography Locations Useful Tips For Driving In Iceland

Have any questions about hiking Kerlingarfjöll in Iceland? What about other suggestions? Drop me a message in the comments below!

This is a post from The Expert Vagabond adventure blog.

from Tips For Traveling https://expertvagabond.com/kerlingarfjoll-iceland/