#and they think davis is a fucking middle name

[fagnumopus]

I work with interpreting calls for Portuguese speakers and BOY OH BOY do a LOT of US-ians and Canadians struggle with this concept!

Having to constantly say "the patient has three words in the last name" because the nurse was waiting for just a single word and is now annoyed for some reason, or having to try out different versions of the last name because patients/customers were listed with only one of their last names in the system... people often have not just one, two, or even three words, I've seen people with 4 surnames, consisting of 6+ words!

A lot of US forms don't even allow for as many characters in the last name field as a lot of Latinos require for their full last names, a lot of people have to pick one or two surnames to write in a form and forego the others. This can cause issues with finding medical files, registering for subsidies, getting a bank card, etc. Many Brazilians just pick their last surname for most things because a lot of US-ians treat anything between the first name and the last surname as a "middle name" (a concept that we don't really have? At least in Brazil we say someone has a "composite name", nome composto, if they have "two first names", like Ana Júlia, Maria Antônia, etc)

Don't even get me started on the accentuation. I don't have any accents in my names, "luckily", but if I did I'd demand that it be added everywhere (Idaf, find out how to use your keyboard, Stephanie). The fact that many GOVERNMENT AND MEDICAL US/Canada online forms don't allow for accents is fucking outrageous. Mendonça and Mendonca are completely different words with completely different pronunciations!

Also, fair tip for non-Latinos: if a last name has da/do/de/de La, that is a particle, the surname is that particle and the following word.

This has been: an annoyed Brazilian

[xxanaduwrites]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

from the hive 🎙️🐝 : session 1

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

🐝 main hive | sweet talkin’ | honey, are you comin’? 🍯

summary: based off the two parts listed above, spoken from honey’s pov. some never before seen bonus tidbits included to be extended upon in future residue parts ;)

warnings: smoking, talks of violence, arson, potential stalking, some cursing here and there. nothing too crazy.

word count: idek tbh, i oddly wrote it in my tumblr drafts to get me inspired before writing the main residue installments.

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

↻ ◁ || ▷

↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

honey: “y’want some honey in your tea?”

danny: “sure, thanks.”

[ a clanking sounds of what must be a spoon is heard in the background of the recording ]

honey: “anytime, sweets.”

danny: “wait, i’ve seen this before.”

honey: “huh?”

danny: “this company. isn’t that — wait that’s your last name ain’t it?”

honey: “yeah, my pa’s a bee keeper. ma jars the honey with some top secret ingredient that’s got the town buzzin’. whole family business.”

danny: “ah, no wonder you got that nickname.”

honey: “yep, since the womb.”

danny: “interestin’. did benny know that when he met ya?”

honey: “hm…not that i know of. might of. if he didn’t, m’sure johnny must of told him.”

danny: “how’d you meet benny then?”

honey: “how’d i meet benny?”

danny: “yeah.”

honey: “well…you know, i was just mindin’ my own business. working a regular school day at the elementary school on phipps. i was teaching the third grade at the time and johnny’s girls just so happened to be in my class. the main office sent me a note in the middle of the day informing me that the girls would be picked up by their uncle benny. i didn’t think too much of it at the time, hey it wasn’t unusual for kids to be picked up by extended family members, y’know? but i guess i — i had this vision of what he’d be like. fucked up i know, but ya see, i knew johnny. not in the way one would expect. [ honey laughs ] johnny was — well he was mr. davis to me, respectfully so, just like any parent would be to one of my students. but he was also the mr. davis i knew from mass at st. caron’s on the corner of rose and dawn. he’d be walkin’ around in a suit and tie, the whole get up, solemn as he ushered pew to pew with the collections basket for the poor and during communion on sundays 12pm sharp.

danny: “interesting. so i suspect you saw johnny rather often then?”

honey: “oh yeah, every week. went with my ma and pa all the time and like clock work he was there. such a clean cut dignified family man. so it was no surprise for me to be taken aback by benny’s appearance when he pulled up at the school yard.”

danny: “did he bring his bike?”

honey: “hell no! had johnny’s car. ‘twas a real trip with his colors on and a cigarette propped between those pillowly lips of his.”

danny: [ laughs ] “i can imagine. when was this exactly?”

honey: “oh it had to be close to the end of june, right before the start of the summer of ‘65. school was just about ending. had a week left or so. oh yeah — yeah, i remember cause it was real hot out too — sweltering heat, like that sticky kind that can only be equated to bein’ stuck in a classroom with a half broken fan. aw it was the worst. i had on this baby pink tank of sorts with thick straps under this overall dress i decked out a while back. it was real cute. had all these flowers and things i embroidered on it.

danny: “right, the embroidery. heard a thing or two about bedazzled patches on the vandal jackets.”

honey: “‘course you did. the skill got me going with the boys. when sonny started riding with ‘em he let me bejewel the fringes of his jacket real pretty. always a good sport. but anyways — yeah so i had this cute little get up on and my hair was all up and out of my face, real messy for the 60s. kinda stuck out like a sore thumb at school, but what shits did i give?

danny: “none?”

honey: “damn right. so yeah, it was kind of funny when benny came strolling up to me, weaving through all the parents like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit one bit.”

danny: “what were your first impressions of him?”

honey: “i was impressed to say the least. only had my reservations for what — half a minute? yeah, i’d say a good thirty seconds before i was smiling up at him.”

danny: “did he scare you? scare any of the parents, other teachers?”

honey: “i wasn’t scared of him no…as for the others, sure. mrs. rubin was all this and that and the other thing ‘bout him after that, especially when it got more serious and he was waitin’ round the school. she didn’t appreciate the loitering, but he was harmless, as harmless as benny could be. though, i was more refreshed really to see somebody so interesting….so different from everybody else. it made me feel seen, y’know?”

danny: “so what happened next? when he got to you?”

honey: “he’s standin’ in front of me and i’m bein’ a good egg with both girls at my sides, small fingers wrapped around each hand, and i go ‘hi, you must be uncle benny. i’m miss. honey.’ and he takes a good minute to give me a once over, like introducing myself was the craziest thing i could of done. then that thick smokey voice of his went “honey, huh?” and my tummy rumbled up so much so i was sure the butterflies i stitched ripped right off and flew about my dress. [ honey laughs again ] i was kind of just like ‘yep, that’s me’ or whateva, and god i was so sure i fucked it all up.”

danny: “how come?”

honey: “anyone that knows benny knows he’s not a man of many words by any means, so at the time i took his silence as a sign of unimpression. i mean if you took a look at us two — and i mean a quick glance or somethin’, we definitely seemed like an odd pair. but if you really looked rather closely, takin’ the time to absorb every detail, i’d definitely say we were far more similar past the common eye. but, i’ll go into that later. [ honey pauses for a moment ] sorry did i answer the question?”

danny: “you did, you did.”

honey: “good, good….so where was i?”

danny: “you were talkin’ about introducing yourself to benny and him being unimpressed.”

honey: “right, so one of johnny’s girl starts gettin’ all antsy. wants to go. has herself practically all over benny in a beg. her sister — no. her sister doesn’t wanna. the little thing has her hand practically chain locked to mine. so i did what any teacher would do and sweet talked her into going.”

danny: “how’d you manage that?”

honey: “i reminded her that her pa was a good man. that his interests were just as important as her own. that was all it took really.”

danny: “did you still think that later on? still do? after everything?

honey: [ honey sighs and puts out a cigarette she’d been smoking throughout the session ] “i did and i still do. i know some people will say that johnny was no good, that his club only created chaos. really though, the johnny i knew was trying to keep the peace as my benny well — wasn’t. one wrong look in my direction and my man was jumping the fool in seconds flat. and if they got a hand on me, oh they’d have to have a death wish upon ‘em. benny would not stand for that. he’d make their life a livin’ hell for as long as they lived. johnny — no johnny wasn’t like that unless it was real bad. unless someone got real hurt, then he’d fight back.”

danny: “like the bar fire?”

honey: “exactly like the bar fire. sure, a part of me felt bad for the owner. that his establishment just went up in flames like that. but the other part of me was glad those fuckers couldn’t step foot in such a place no more. and on top of i was rather pissed off — still am — by the fact that the owner just let my benny get attacked like that. did nothing to stop it. boils my blood just thinking about it. just thinking about my sweet benny minding his business and gettin’ swarmed for just wearin’ his colors. colors that wouldn’t come off of him once i got my artsy hands on it. he was absolutely obsessin’ with the patches i made. especially the one that said “honey’s hubby” with a big ol’ heart. made my cheeks burn real bad when he’d kiss it before tossing it right back on.”

danny: “i remember seeing that.”

honey: “you do?!”

danny: “yeah, the times i rode with the guys. i caught ‘em doing it here and there. especially when he was ‘bout to mount his bike before a ride. figured it was some sort of good luck charm before i really took a good look at what the patch said. then i realized it was you.”

honey: “danny?”

danny: “what?”

honey: “you gotta stop or i’m gonna be gushin’ the whole rest of this interview without giving yuh the real stuff.”

danny: “alright, alright [ lyon laughs ] back to business. so, what happened after you got johnny’s girl to go with benny? when’d you see him again?”

honey: “funnily enough, ‘twas the very next day. saw him first in the mornin’ y’know at drop off. i figured he gave a ride to the girls again or somethin’ — but no. it was betty who did. she came right up to me that morning to say hello. the hell was i thinkin’? i mean benny had his whole bike on him. no shot in hell he’d bring the girls on it.”

danny: “sure.” [ sarcasm is apparent in lyon’s words ]

honey: “danny no! [ honey laughs ] benny was wild but not that wild. he’d never let anything happen to those girls.”

danny: “i know, i know. only jokin’. i’m assumin’ that’s what drew you to him though?”

honey: “it was definitely a solid factor.”

danny: “understandable. did you go talk to him, at drop off?”

honey: “no, no. I didn’t think too much of it at the time and i couldn’t go shoot the breeze with him anyways. the lot was packed with all these little ones. i had to roll call mine. it wasn’t until after lunch hour during recess that i did.”

danny: “he was still there then? never left?”

honey: “as far as i know, no. had a whole garden of cigarette buds circling his feet like he’d been there for hours.”

danny: “what’d you say when you approached him?”

honey: “said something about the girls not getting out for another few hours and then asked him if he was stalkin’ me off the bat. oh — he offered me a cigarette too, and i took it.”

danny: “ripped the bandage right off i see. how’d he take that?”

honey: “seemed amusin’ to him. he made one of those faces that had all his features turnin’ up real pretty. can never forget that. flat out told me he wasn’t which i found strangely adorable. then — i don’t really know how it happened, but he was changing the subject completely. y’know when you’re having a conversation and ya kind of just naturally switch topics easily, but it’s done so smoothy, like the segue isn’t rough or whatever?”

danny: “yeah, i know what y’mean. the previous topic is wedged in there somehow subtly, but it makes sense why you got there.”

honey: “exactly. but, benny. no — when benny was in the midst of a conversation and started going on about something else there was no ease there. yet, you’d be fooled to think so. that’s how he got us out of most arguments honestly. one minute i wouldn’t be too happy with him about somethin’. probably somethin’ stupid anyways. if not stupid, than definitely about him ridin’ with an injury. always got me nervous. but then of course the next he’d have me wrapped up in his embrace as if five minutes prior hadn’t happened. here, for instance though, i guess the transition kind of made sense? i mean i was goin’ on about my co-worker freaking out about him just parking ship near campus, blabbing about and he’s asking about what time i get out, and if i wanna go on a ride. now, i’m dumbfounded by this. cause what the hell does he want to do with me, y’know?”

danny: “so what did ya do? did ya go with him?”

honey: “what’a ya think, daniel?”

[ an unknown interruption cuts the session here, but lyon obtains all the information from honey he needs — for now, that is ;) ]

[ the tape ends ]

↻ ◁ || ▷

author’s note: hope ya liked this! i’m such a sucker for an interview writing style. daisy jones & the six is my favorite books ever if you can’t tell! <3

my requests are open for any miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

da bee hive 🐝🍯

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[siffrins-therapist]

🦄unihorns4salenotscam follow

can the nation-people rpf shippers STOP posting their headcanons and fic in the main tag????? People use the main tag for REAL information and news about the reps!

🚬fruityfag follow

says the person wiht a link to their scotnor fics in their pinned

🦄unihorns4salenotscam follow

did I say anything about NOT writing nation-people rpf AT ALL?? No?? I said to keep it out of the 👏MAIN👏 TAG. piss on the poor ass website I swear.

🌋hallgrimskirkjafucksnotredame follow

Yo guys? I think one of the nation-people found this post. Mr France literally posted this an hour ago:

🥑anavocadothaaaaaaaanks follow

NOT EVEN A THOUSAND NOTES??? I FEEL LIKE I'VE SEEN THIS EVERYWHERE

9123 Notes

🧭lostwanderer69

Hey uh........... did anyone tell the US rep that those panera bred lemonades are hella caffeinated??

🧟zombie--davie

how. how many did he drink?

🐗40to50wildhogs follow

He's literally immortal he's fine.

🦬alfredfjoneshater follow

FUCKING 12????????????????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

👻givemeblueflowers follow

He was in the middle of drinking lemonade 13 when he kicked the bucket. Some tiktoker was recording him on a Live

👑lotrmonarchist

apparently he was with m. Denmark. who. kept drinking more lemonades until the manager cut him off...

🥀valentinorose follow

P sure dude said once he ate hellebore like salad. Not surprised.

👑lotrmonarchist

i thought he only said that to make historians leave him alone

🧭lostwanderer69

No no, I believe it

869 Notes

🪆theinn3rm3

OK. Let's settle this.

3 Notes

🎪thenightcircusstolemylunchmoney follow

🏴stopdraininmeswamp-deactivated

Anyone else notice he does this when some senator or w/e pisses him off?

🏒ruscanhockeyrpf follow

the fbi got him

#war thunder #nation people bs

10.8K Notes

❄️snowmiserbottomsurgery follow

not the swifties acting racist af after mr. korea called taylor "that one a-pop artist" 💀💀💀

❄️snowmiserbottomsurgery follow

me looking at the notes ONE FUCKING HOUR after i hit post:

🧟‍♀️realzombiedavie

I'm convinced tswifts has mind control powers like how england sees fairies or miss belarus sees ghosts

🥐iaminlepain follow

Everyone needs to stop spreading around that the nation people have magic powers it's been proven again and again that it's fake.

☕blackcoffeegayweexist follow

realzombiedavie why'd you use an honorific for Miss Belarus but not Mr. England?

🧟‍♀️realzombiedavie

Cuz I actually respect Miss Belarus lmao

#RIP to OPs notes #turning off my asks in case england stans come after me again

14.2K Notes

📰nationrep-rpf-confessions follow

Dear god wtf is up with all the colonizer/colony (or ex-colony) ships lately??! I know RPF is already a gray area morally, but can we at least not be gross about it?!

✂️ausprutoxicyuriscissoring

This is some of the most low effort bait I've ever seen.

12 Notes

📎cl1ppyrev1val follow

Thanks for using my correct pronouns tho ig?

📍geoguessr-lowscore follow

the "schrodinger's country person" is sending me

🗡️teutonicsword follow

#negative tag #nation people mention #doesn't op write liechtenstein x reader? why's anon salty about the pruliech?

if anon's the person i'm thinking of, they selfship with Miss Liechtenstein and harrass anyone else that selfships with her or ships her with another cuntry-person

#oh god i'm p sure i know who anon is #hasn't staff termed them like 6 times? #how many accounts have they made?

593 Notes

🐻‍❄️hibernatingkumaku follow

🐻‍❄️hibernatingkumaku follow

@ everyone asking me for the link here it is enjoy.

[narcolini]

white room - pt. 1

johnny davis (the bikeriders) x reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 2.8k words, 1 of ? johnny as a miserable bisexual divorcee and reader as someone too chilled and lonely to give a fuck a/n: it's written to be gender neutral, but there are a few references implying they may be afab (not overkill its just a very gendered landscape)

“Go fuck your good self, then.”

The door slams behind you and the window pane shakes with it, piece of shit car that it is, with an equally large turd of a guy running the thing. 

“Crazy bitch,” is the cab driver’s goodbye call, and yeah, maybe. But he’s the one dumping you in the wrong end of town—and after dark, no less. All you’d done was get a cab after a party, knowing you left all your cash in one of the boots under your bed, with the mad hope that the guy behind the wheel might just be kind enough to let you ride along on a promise. You had every intention of running upstairs to get him his fee, while he kept the engine running, mind you, but that uptight jack didn’t wanna hear a thing about it. Even had the nerve to ask you to comp him 'with those pretty lips o’ yours’, which is round about where you started calling him a filthy no-good perv, and he started pulling over in the middle of nowhere. 

Now you’re standing in the dark in nothin but your too-cheap denim jacket, that you never should’ve bought ‘cause you got shirts thicker than this, staring at a corner side bar that’s almost definitely filled with a hundred more of those cab driver types. Not in the driving sense, but in the fuck anyone that isn’t a man like us sense, you know? 

But what can you do? It’s in there, or out here, and you’re not in the shoes for walking, never mind running, so it’s not much of a choice at all.

You go up in a way like you been here before, like you know the name of the place even though the paint’s chipped off and the light ain’t lighting anymore, and in the time it takes to cross the street, you see three guys go in, three come out, and not a single woman or anyone else, so much as look at the place. It’d be a lie to say your heartbeat was going a speed anywhere near close to normal. Which is another thing you try and hide as you push through the door into the chaos of it all. 

It’s not a bar, it’s a God damn wolf den. 

You make it two steps and already you seen enough beer, and enough skin, and heard enough dogwhistles to consider just how bad it could really be to run barefoot across town. Your feet would only hurt a little bit, right? They seen you now though, and with the amount of bikes they got lined up outside, you wouldn’t even make it to the next block before one of them caught up to you. And then what? Might as well try talking wolf while you’re in here, better that than squaring up with one of them in some stinking alleyway.  

“You got a phone, big guy?” you ask, to the first one that really looks at you. He’s a head taller than you but it seems like that head’s spinning, so you figure he needs a little more explanation to get going. “Behind the bar or something? A payphone?”

He takes a while to reply, like you’re speaking some other language, then he says, “I got something you can ride, honey.”

And now you’re back in the cab all over again, and you’re still going fuckin' nowhere.

“Forget about it.”

You shove past him, and another two men smelling of liquor, until you can plant both hands on the edge of the bar and speak to the owner directly. At least, you think it’s the owner. Cause he’s stood back there, with a towel slung over his shoulder, and he’s the only one giving all of these animals their liquid feed for the night. 

“Hey," you start, “do you got a phone? One I could use?”

Instead of answering, he looks right over your head. Imagine that, like you ain’t there at all, right over and into the space behind. It takes a second, but then you realise it’s not just bad manners, it’s only that there’s someone else coming up to the back of you who’s much more important, to him anyway. 

And now, that’s a guy you look twice at.

He’s not tall, but he’s not short neither, something in the middle that suits you just right, if it mattered. Face like he’s seen some things too, but his hair’s combed all neat like he hasn’t seen nothin. If it weren’t for the bent pinky on his one hand and the scar on his knuckles across the other, you might think he was some sort of regular guy. But he got a walk like he owns the place, more than the barman, that's for sure, and the shirt he’s wearing is plastered with the same exact name as the rest of all these guys: VANDALS. Doesn’t take much to figure that he’s top dog of them. Vandal of the Vandals.

He slides right up to you like you asked him to, sitting his forearms on the edge—next to where your hands are. 

“Nah,” he says. Just like that. Nah.

You feel like laughing. “No?”

“Nah,” his head shakes, “you don’t wanna be in here.”

If it’s advice, it kinda feels like a threat and, well, if it’s a threat, it sorta feels like advice. A decent bit of it at that, cause he is right. You don’t wanna be in here. 

“Don’t want doesn’t make up for need,” you tell him. “And I need to use a phone, if you got one.”

“What for?”

“A cab?” Then you do laugh. “What? You worried I’ll ring your bill up by calling international?”

He makes a strange, sorta dismissive noise as he’s pushing off from the bar. “Worried you’d call some little boyfriend of yours,” he mumbles, then he walks round to the serving side and pulls a phone from under the lip of it.

“No boyfriend, sir. Just a mighty need to get home.” And the fuck outta this place.

He picks the handset up, spinning the dial without asking you for nothin, his eyes sitting on something you can’t see right in front of him. A number maybe. “Not many drivers will pick you up from here,” he says. "This one…yeah, well, you can try it.”

Any hope you had is fast disappearing on you. “That bad, huh?”

He passes you the phone, the twisty cord going all the way straight just to reach you. 

It connects as you put it up to your ear, and some lady with a voice all too quiet for telephones greets you on the other side, rushing you to the point before you can even try and warm her up a little.

"Hi, yeah, so I need a cab but I won’t be able to pay the guy until we get there, is that something your—hello? Hello?” You tut. The empty tone in your ear is a stinging slap to the face, right there, right across the cheekbone. “Motherfucker,” you say, but she’s already all the way gone. She didn’t even hear you out.

And this guy? Well he’s smiling when you look back at him, doing an awful bad job at pretending like he ain’t been listening. “Yeah," he clears his throat to hide a laugh he won’t laugh, “you should’a said you had no money. No cab’s gonna—”

“I know,” you snap. “Still had to ask though, didn’t I?”

He shrugs, nodding at sorta the same time like he agrees with you, even though his face is fixed like he don’t agree at all. Like you’re awful naive for thinking they might even listen to you in the first place.

“Guess I’m walkin’ then,” you decide. You pass him the handset, but he’s too slow to take it, so you go on your toes to lean over and put it back yourself. Hard and pissy with it. Shitty taxi service. Shitty phone. Shitty bar.

“You want a drink?”

Your heels hit the floor again. “What?"

He puts his hand out like he works here now, pointing to all the dingy bottles waiting behind him. “A beer…or?”

“Yeah," you test, “what’s the or?”

“Or,” he says, slow with it, "you sit round drinking nothin’ and wait until I can take you home.”

Your brows shoot up like he’s told a lie bigger than any you’ve ever heard. “You gonna take me home?” you ask, thinking yeah, he’s gonna take you home, and you’re gonna be the next big Santy Claus. 

He nods and it keeps going, like his head gets away from him. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can give you a ride.”

For a second, you find yourself worrying about it. “That code for something else?”

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jeans and sets one in-between his lips. “No. S’just a ride.”

You watch the lighter flip, the cigarette catch. Watch him take a drag and blow it out again. He isn’t acting drunk, and he don’t seem like he cares either way, whether you take a ride from him or not. All he seems bothered about is finding the end of that smoke, and popping the cap off another beer. 

If these are wolves, then he’s the oldest of them. The most tired and nicked with battle scars. From where you’re standing, that makes him the least threatening too, cause you come with a whole load of baggage, and he looks like he’s got even more than that. And anyone with all that shit on their shoulders? Yeah, they’re not gonna be no sort of trouble at all. They just wanna get home at night with their head pinned on straight still.

"Well alright,” you say. “I’ll take a beer and the ride, too.”

“Beer and a ride,” he grumbles back, not moving the cigarette and losing his words because of it. “I’m Johnny."

“Johnny?”

He nods, handing you the beer he just readied for himself. 

“Thanks.” You give him your name the same way he gave you his, and he says it back to you, the way you did with him, though you know you didn’t mumble it the first time. He heard you just right. “This the part where I tell you how far away I live, and you say actually, I don’t got the gas for that, right?”

“How far d’you live?”

“Other side of town.”

He shrugs. “I got gas enough.”

And that’s how you end up on the back of his bike, clinging on like some sort of koala bear thing, with the town going past like it’s made of nothing but air, cold, loud, air. Flooding your ears and the collar of your jacket, even the ends of your pants are filling up with it. Going so fast nothing feels like anything, only that, everything feels of everything. Way too much. By the time you’re pulling up to the house, your head’s spinning like you had ten beers, not two, and he has to offer his hand just to get you off in one piece.

“God,” you say, “does it feel that crazy every time?”

He looks like he wants to smile, but something inside don’t let him. “Guess so.”

“Well, you got bigger balls than me, that’s for sure.”

Then he really wants to smile, you can see it in the little crinkles by his eyes. “Night, kid.”

“Not a kid,” you tell him, cause you lived through too many years of shit to not get the respect an adult deserves, plus, you ain’t even that much younger than he is. Anyone without a stack of lines down his forehead must look like a kid to him. “Thanks for the ride. You really saved my ass.”

He waves it off, like it really was nothin, though actually it was a pretty big something, a real good favour. “Ah. Wasn’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you.”

“Oh yeah? Saw me walking in like some sort of square and the alarm bells went ringing?” 

“Yeah. Like that.”

You hum a little, shrugging while you think on it. “I could’a handled myself,” you tell him. Which isn’t all the way the truth, but it’s not too far from it neither. You can get mean when you have to.  

“Maybe, but you didn’t have to, did you?” He kicks the bike to life again, and there goes that engine, so loud his ears must be working half as good as they should be. “See you around,” he says.

You nod. As far as last words go, those are some pretty boring ones, but it’s later than late now, and you’re not feeling like standing outside any longer until one of you comes up with something better. So he gets a “see-ya” and that’s the last thing either of you will ever say to each other, cause when are you ever gonna find yourself in the middle of some roughed up, leather wearing, bike club, ever again? 

____

Well. Turns out you got a whole lot wrong when it came to figuring Johnny out. Not even a full day goes by, and you’re hearing that rumble, that big bru-bru-bru, clattering noise coming right back down your street. And Mrs Saccone, who’s normally deafer than deaf, is banging a broom on your wall telling you to get rid of it. To get rid of him. Can you imagine? Old lady, never done nothin wrong in her life, as far as your Pops ever knew, and suddenly, big mean man on a bike, sitting outside and ruining her TV dinner. 

You couldn’t get out there fast enough. Half-dressed, you know, you were ready to settle down for the night. Work stuff off and replaced with those big, old man type boxer shorts. If it weren’t for the bathrobe, wrapped all up round yourself, you’d have blushed so hard it’d burst a blood vessel.

“You forget something?” you ask, parking your feet and slippers right onto the concrete next to him. “I got neighbours, you know.”

He frowns, pursing his lips as he looks you over. “I wake you up?”

“No. But I’d be lying if I said you weren’t disturbing my peace.”

He nods, still running that engine, one foot on the ground to keep him in one place there. It goes so long without him saying nothin that you start thinking maybe it’s your turn, and you forgot which one of you spoke last or something.

“Can I help you, Johnny?”

“Let me take you out,” he says. Not a question, but not bossy with it neither, just ‘let me’. If he’d said it like an order, you would’ve told him to stick it where you told the cab driver to stick it last night, but he seems to know better than that.

You pull the robe tighter, right up to your neck. “I’m not going back to that bar,” you tell him.

“No, not there.” He flicks a gloved hand over the bars of the bike, imagining some fancy, high-class sort of place, right there in front of him. “Somewhere nice. You and me.”

It’s a good thing your mother is on a whole other continent, because without thinking much about it at all, you say, “Alright, sure. You can take me out.” 

He smiles, and it might not be, but it feels like it’s the first one he’s shown you, all real and bunched up in that stubble of his. “You should go get dressed then.”

You feel the life drain right out of you. “We’re going now?”

“I’m here." He shrugs. "So, yeah, why not?”

“You know most people would hate you for that,” you say, “giving a person no warning.”

The bike goes quiet then, and he swaps the keys for a pack of smokes in his pocket, leaning back like he got all the time in the world. “D’you hate me?” he asks.

“I might.”

“Oh, might.” He says it back like you don’t mean it, and won’t mean it, with another one of those funny throwaway noises following on after it. ���I’ll take my luck with might.”

And what d’you say to that? Nothin, you say nothin, all you can say is, “Give me ten minutes.” 

Then you’re trotting back up the porch steps, hoping Mrs Saccone isn’t peeping through the curtains, and wondering what the Hell you’re gonna put on that’s any kind of suitable to go to a nice place with a Vandal on your arm. 

If it weren’t your life already, you wouldn’t believe any of it. This time just yesterday, you were at some square neck, office party, saying goodbye to some upper-level fucker—who never learned your name, and didn’t even thank-you for the half serious farewell note you left in the communal goodbye card—and tonight? God, if you weren’t so used to shit going unusually, you’d be pinching yourself. Real hard, too. 

Some man called Johnny, who you don’t know from Adam, swinging by to pick you up on his motorcycle. Yeah, ‘crazy bitch’ really is starting to feel like an appropriate title for you to have. Who would’a known?

........................

part two here

tagging: @drabbles-mc @garbinge

[kuchikopi33]

Thinking about how you and College!Levi got together....

wc: 1131

This is my first ever post! Please don't judge me if this is horrible I'm just a girl :(

Thinking about College!Levi and how you get together…  (fem!reader)

You and him had been (best) friends for months, awkwardly dancing around the obvious romantic tension that was lingering between you two. You never thought you were a coward, but it truly scared the shit out of you when you thought about telling him how you felt. He wasn’t scary—no, he was all things good and kind. Contrary to popular belief at your college, Levi wasn’t a stone cold, stick-up-the-ass loner who took no interest in anything that remotely involves human interaction. Levi was fun, hilarious, and a man of honor and morals. He never fails to tip more than is needed or expected when you guys are out, he never turns down an offer to watch movies all night at your place while talking shit about your classmates, and he always lends you his jacket when you (conveniently) forget to bring one for the second time that week. 

He’s just so great. Great is an understatement. Levi is amazing. You would hate to ruin what you have, a true friendship. You can’t predict what Levi’s response would be. Would he be turned off? Would he distance himself because he doesn’t feel the same way? Would he kiss you? Okay,  that one might not be a bad outcome.

Levi calls your name, successfully pulling you out from your pondering, his hands crossed and body sat up on your bed. You almost feel bad. He’s been here for a half hour to work on your english project, and all you can seem to think about is how much you care for him. You’ve never been this soft in your life. 

“What’s up?” You hum from your place on the bed.

“This project is due in four days, and we’ve yet to even go over what the hell we’re even doing. What’s stuck in that stupid head of yours?” Levi snarks. 

Keyword, almost. 

“My stupid head?” You ask incredulously, with a slight smile. You hate that he makes you smile even when he’s calling you stupid. “I’m not the one who picked me to be your partner. That was on you.” You couldn’t have used any other word than partner?

Levi’s movements stutter there, “You’re the only one I can remotely tolerate in that class. I’ve seen the others, they can’t even write a thesis,” he says. You laugh softly, as you know that he’s bluffing. You also are familiar with your classmate’s work, and it’s nothing short of decent. Levi glances at you, eyes set on your upturned lips. You immediately feel butterflies, and you internally curse yourself for acting like such a cliche middle-school child. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Levi says, with a look on his face that almost makes him look amused. 

You falter, “What question?”

He rolls his eyes—his perfect, beautiful, silver eyes— and asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“Just how the fuck Professer Davis could assign us this project without giving us any kind of rubric or expectations, or even a sense of what he wants from us,” you lie. You hope the stumbling of your words comes off as anger-induced speaking rather than nerves. 

Levi doesn’t look satisfied with your answer, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead he looks back at his computer. “What are you doing tonight?” 

Your eyebrows raise, he’s never asked that. Usually you just whine for him to stay and watch a movie, and he makes a gruffly remark about how you’re annoying, all the while sitting back, and grabbing a piece of candy from your own bag. 

“Really nothing, just probably watch a couple of episodes of some trashy reality tv show,” you say, “why?’ 

Levi pauses, for some reason it looks as if he wants to say something but doesn’t. You catch this and try to encourage him, you soften your gaze, and smile. 

“I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out tonight,” Levi mumbles. For a man that doesn’t wince when he saw a garden snake on the college’s trail (true story), he looks incredibly nervous. 

You give him a deadpan look, “Levi, you look like you just asked for one of my kidneys. Of course you can!” You chuckle, internally questioning his sudden mood shift. You really wanted to add that you would give your kidney for him if he asked, but atlas, that’s an inside thought. 

He looks almost relieved. His (beautiful) lips upturn at the slightest angle, unoticeable to anyone who isn’t well versed in the expressions of Levi. You’re then taken out of your thoughts when he lifts his eyes to yours. He doesn’t have the usual neutral, subtly dickish look, it’s…softer. 

He’s making it so fucking hard not to kiss him. 

“It’s rude to assume though, right?” he grumbled. 

“Not with you,” you reply without second thought. Fuck. You quickly find yourself and causally (you hope) turn to your computer, praying that the thick tension in the air would dissipate. You don’t look back up at him. Typing needlessly at your computer at what looks like a terrible and incoherent essay draft. 

You hate this. You’ve always been inpatient. You were always the one to admit to your crush that you like them without waiting a second moment, but you find yourself. Levi is still looking at you when you glance up from your laptop, and you have to admit that you’re incredibly nervous as of now. Levi doesn’t make eye contact like this. Levi doesn’t look like anyone like this. Levi doesn’t like you, right?

You’re really trying not to look at him, but it’s hard not to when you can literally feel his eyes burning into your skull. But you do, as casually as you possibly can, and give him the look of a girl who holds absolutely no feelings for the (very) attractive man in front of him. Although, you swear you can feel beads of sweat form across your forehead. 

“Why are you looking at me like that Ackerman?” You say with a casual smile on your face, “You’re scaring me!”

He lets out a sound under his breath that almost resembles a breath of a laugh. Your smile widens, questioning him in his silence. You usually have to hold back the urge to tell him to shut the fuck up (endearingly of course). Instead he just…stares. 

“Do you wanna go out tonight?” Levi finally mutters. He face conveying a look of nervousness you’ve never seen on him. It looks pretty on him. You internally note to tell him that one day. You want to ask him if he means a date, but you already know he does, and you don’t want to say anything but,

“Yeah. Yeah I would really like that.” 

[twistedinthreads]

Lost In The Labyrinth

Felix Catton x Fem!Reader

Part 2.

You came to Oxford to get away from America; from your mother's fame and the ghosts of your past. You get more than you bargained for when you meet Felix.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: drinking, drugs, mentions of sexual assault (not detailed, though it is very implied, and we will probably get into it in later parts), mentions of wounds/blood/a scar, sex talk, mentions of being called derogatory names during sex (no mention of what those names are though), movie references, Elvis reference (because I think that requires a warning lmfaooo), sweet Felix, Americanisms (there WILL be more, lol)

Playlist (a work in progress!)

A/N: we are soooo back baby! a little more reader lore and sweet Felix. Let's go!!! also if anyone has suggestions for songs to add to the fic playlist, let me know.

The pub is crowded; of course it is. It’s Friday night and there’s an abundance of college students who wanna get fucked up, your friend group being one of them. You’re already a few rounds in, the alcohol flooding your system and your brain fuzzing. It feels nice, a subtle buzz that doesn’t completely overtake your senses but has you feeling relaxed and calm. The calm before the inevitable slurring of your speech and blurry vision as you get more drinks deep. 

“So, like,” Vera begins in her posh London accent. “Is he good?”

“Huh?” You ask, sipping at your pint, confused. You’d just been talking about Bette Davis in What Ever Happened To Baby Jane?, and have no fucking clue who the he could possibly be.

“Felix. Is he good in bed?” You nearly spit your drink out. Of course you talk about this stuff, but your friends have never really taken much interest in him in particular. “Has to be, the way everyone falls over him.”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “He’s good. I mean… sometimes he forgets I also need an orgasm, but when he does make me come, holy shit.”

“What about that other guy you fucked? At the beginning of the year?” Katie interjects. “Farleigh?”

“Oh,” you chuckle a bit. “Farleigh is Felix’s cousin.”

“Ooh, keeping it in the family I see.” Vera teases loudly, and you lightly slap her shoulder. You know she’s had too many when she gets rowdy and raucous like this. 

“Shut up,” but you laugh. “He was… he was good. Kinda mean? Like, he asked me if it was okay and stuff first but he called me names and shit. It was kinda hot. But Felix… Felix is sweet. He’s really like… earnest. I don’t know.”

“Someone’s in love,” Michelle sing-songs from your left. “I can’t blame you.”

“I’m not in love,” you mutter, though it’s a lie written in bold right across the page. “I could be, though. Like, if it keeps going. But enough about me! Vera, we know about that girl you’ve been seeing, stop keeping it a secret and tell us!”

Vera’s in the middle of a practical sonnet about Jade, this girl that she allegedly hates so much yet let eat her out for hours a few nights ago, when she abruptly stops and lets out a loud cackle. Your friend motions toward the door, her bobbed black hair bouncing on her head. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Of course it’s Felix and his posse; Farleigh, India, and Annabel never far behind. There are a few stragglers that you’ve seen before, but can’t remember the names of. You hadn’t made plans for tonight, telling him you were all booked up, so you’re not surprised to see him. Farleigh meets your gaze, and he taps Felix on the arm and points to you, giving you a smirk. 

Felix’s eyes light up and he makes his way through the maze of tables. “Darling!” 

“Hey, Felix,” he leans down to kiss you on the cheek, and you feel them heat up. Your friends are watching, eyes glued to your interaction. “Nice to see you.” It’s all so formal, but you don’t really know how to act with all eyes on you… though you’re so used to it. The paparazzi photographed you many times with your new “boytoy” as they always loved to say, or your “friend” whenever it was a girl. But this, somehow, feels like the exposure of something too intimate to share, something confined to dorm rooms and club bathrooms. He’s touchy in public, sure, but it's usually just your hand in his or an arm over your shoulder.

“Mind if we join you?” There’s enough seats, you guess, and you look at your friends. Katie purses her lips and nods, Vera is giving you a smirk, her red lips contorted toward the right side of her face, and Michelle just shrugs and says “sure!” and you know they’ll tease you later, but it’s not like you care.

“Lovely!” He hits both palms on the table, knocking your drinks so they fizz and move like the undulating sea in their glasses. “Farleigh!” He shouts over the noise, catching his cousin’s attention. 

“Oh my god,” Annabel’s eyes widen when she looks at you. “That jacket is gorgeous! You have to tell me where you got it.”

You hide your distaste; hanging out with Felix’s friends is when your pedigree really shines through. Your mother always did say you could really be an actress if you wanted to be, and your prowess is never on display more than when you have to lower to their shallow whims. “Oh! It’s one of my mom’s vintage Versace pieces. One of a kind. It was from one of her premieres, but she didn’t want it anymore so sent it off with me.”

“I love that!” She replies, and settles in across from you. 

If you were just buzzed before, you’re properly plastered by round 5. You can barely walk yourself up to the bar to order your round. Felix has to help you up, and walk you to the bar, and carry the shots for you. 

“Okay, okay,” Felix says when all the shots are distributed. “Last round. Seriously. Need to get this one home.” He kisses your cheek, just like at the beginning of the night. If you weren’t drunk, you’d be embarrassed by how sweaty you are. You’ve shed the jacket, leaving you in a black ribbed tank top, and still, you almost feel feverish. 

Once the drinks are downed and the conversation has run out, Felix helps you out of your seat and helps put your jacket on. Even in your stupor, you manage out an “I’m pathetic. Letting a man do everything for me? Humiliating.” It’s meant as a joke, but only kind of. Your cheeks, already warm, feel the embarrassment of having to have him assist you with everything. 

Felix laughs his hearty, genuine laugh, and you immediately sink into his arms. You wave a goodbye to your intoxicated friends, fumbling to light up a cigarette as you leave the pub and begin to make the trek back to your dorm. It’s not far, but it feels like forever, even with Felix’s help. 

“Woah there,” he grabs your waist when you nearly twist your ankle on a curb. “Gotta be careful, now.” 

“I am so drunk,” you slur out, laughing maniacally. 

“Believe me, I know,” he laughs. 

“I really want chips,” you murmur. “And a Diet Coke.” 

“I think that can be arranged,” he replies, as you stumble up the steps to your dorm building. “And chips as in…”

“The American kind. Crisps!” You mimic a British accent, nearly falling down in the process. 

When you get to your door, Felix takes your clutch, rummaging around to find your key before unlocking the door and ushering you inside. “There we go. Here, come here.” You sway a bit, and he helps to steady you, leading you over to your made bed. Your room is free of clutter, everything in its place, such a contrast to his. You fall back, moaning at the feeling of your mattress, though it’s much stiffer and bumpier than the one back home. 

Felix then goes to your closet, picking out the softest t-shirt he can find, and a pair of shorts with little blue stars on them. He finds them endearing; they look worn and well loved among your designer clothes and hand-me-downs from your mother. 

“Okay, I’m going to change your clothes, is that okay? And you should probably be sitting up, in case you throw up, okay? Can you do that for me?” His voice is so gentle that your eyes well up with tears. 

You’ve never been this gone in front of him before, and though you know he won’t take an apology in the morning, you’re going to give it. 

You reposition yourself on the bed. “Good girl,” he says under his breath. “Alright. First order of business, let’s get these shoes off.”

“You’re so nice to me,” it comes out dreamily. “And you’re really cute.”

That makes him chuckle. “As are you, darling.” He asks for your cooperation as he pulls your tights off, followed by your skirt, and then pulls the shorts up over your legs. He then asks you to sit up and put your arms above your head so he can take the tank top off gingerly. 

“Bra or no bra?” Is his next question. 

“Literally no one sleeps in their bra,” you reply matter-of-factly, booping his nose. “It just isn’t done, Fe. Women around the world resent you for assuming that’s a thing that happens.” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” But he knows you’re joking, knows you’re drunk, and unclasps the bra before sliding it off your shoulders. 

“No funny business, mister,” your voice has grown less amused, less enthusiastic, taking on a lethargic timbre. Your sentence trails off and your eyes flutter for a second, and Felix takes that time to stand up and make his way to the door to go get you the packet of crisps and Diet Coke you’d so desperately wanted, and a bottle of water for the morning. 

“Don’t leave,” you murmur, almost barely audible. “Please. Stay with me.”

“I’m just going to get snacks,” he reassures. “Go to sleep, I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

You nod your head, and by the time he’s halfway down the hall, you’re out like a light.

The light streaming in wakes you up, barely recognizing that there’s a body next to you. It feels so normal, like this is the way it's always been. His arms around you, holding you so closely and tightly like if he lets you go, he’ll float away. You’ve gotten so used to this morning routine, especially on weekends, that it feels strange when you don’t wake up beside him. Two months of hot-and-heavy, constant time together, yet you still don’t know everything about him, and you’ve still got secrets you’ve yet to spill. 

You notice the pounding in your temple a few seconds after admiring the man next to you, and groan viciously at the pain. Maneuvering your hand out of his grasp and to your head, you find Advil and water neatly placed on your makeshift bedside table. You swallow the pills and chase them with the water, gulping it down before collapsing back into bed. 

“Rough night, yeah?” Felix chuckles, voice with a scruffy edge. 

You groan. “I’m so sorry,” you start lazily, still groggy. “Looks like old habits do die hard. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Any time,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “Can you pass me the medicine? I’ve got a headache.”

“Sure thing,” you grab the glass of water and the bottle of pills. The rattle of them sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you now, and you cringe a bit. He swallows them down quickly and then grabs at your hips, pulling you back down with him. 

“Come on, we don’t have to be anywhere today,” he says quietly. “Let’s just be here.” You nod, and the two of you drift back to sleep. It reminds you of that interview you saw with Priscilla Presley once, about how she and Elvis would just stay in bed for days at a time. It doesn’t sound like such a bad idea when you’re wrapped up in his arms.

Later, once you’re awake and showered and dressed, after Felix has agreed to join you for a special screening of Lost in Translation at the local art house cinema, you utter it. While sitting at the American themed diner not far from campus, a tempered thank you. 

“For what?” He asks as the two of you walk, hand in hand. 

“For taking care of me,” your cheeks heat up once again, just like last night. “I just… I’ve been in some compromising situations before and you didn’t have to do that. No one else ever has. I’ve kinda just been on my own.”

He frowns and leans forward, dipping a fry in ketchup (he’d laughed at you when you’d called them fries, and you’d rolled your eyes and mocked his accent playfully, correcting yourself to the waitress.) “I’m so sorry… that’s… that’s rough.”

“You see this scar here?” You point to the one right above your eyebrow. “One time I passed out completely at a party… it was some executive’s kid’s birthday. Unlimited alcohol, unlimited cocaine. I must’ve hit my head on the tiles of the bathroom or worse… because I woke up completely naked with a bloody forehead.” You shudder, and he reaches his hands out to grab yours, letting the two of you bask in the stillness. “I still don’t know what happened but I’ve always assumed… I guess it’s good I don’t remember.” You feel the tears coming, and pinch the bridge of your nose to try to stop it. 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Fuck is right. I used to be a different person. That shit woke me up, quickly. But, uh, let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? Just uh, thank you. It means a lot.”

He rubs the back of your hand. “I care about you, okay? Just want you to be safe.” You nod. 

You eat in silence for a little bit. You take small bites of your burger and sipping at your Coke. None of it is as good as your usual haunts in New York, but it still makes you feel warm inside, gives you a little bit of home. 

“Are you going back to the states for winter break?” He asks later. 

“Yeah,” you dab at your mouth with a napkin. “Christmas in New York with mom, New Year’s in Charleston with dad.”

“And that’s a good thing, yeah?” A shrug in return. 

“I guess,” you take a bite of a cold fry. “I don’t really have… like, friends there. In either place. That’s the funny thing about New York. There are so many people, and yet, that allows for so much loneliness. Here, I feel like people care? They know me, it’s a community. I didn’t go to Columbia or NYU so I could get away from there. I don’t know. I love it, but I also hate it.” 

“Maybe someday you can take me there,” he says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He sips at his soda and you look down and smile. “What? I’ve never seen New York, it’d be perfect.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. It’s a deal, Catton.” 

“That way it’ll be less lonely.” And it feels as though your heart breaks and mends all at once. 

[lvlyghost]

Salvation

Pairings: John Price x F!Reader

Summary: after a few months since his last visit, john finally gets the chance to see the girl.

Word Count: 1.7k

tw: fluff, angst, allusion to human trafficking, NCA, terrified girls. nothing too descriptive. bad english and poor grammar as usual. if i missed anything just lmk💕

A/N: so this took a little longer since it was supposed to come out during the weekend. i was planning on making it longer but didn't, maybe a second part could happen🐸 anyway, i love price✨🩵!

Masterlist✨ | Part 2

She hears it while cooking her homemade cherry pie. As far as she recalls, no one was supposed to come today. No. Officer Davis came that morning at eight o'clock like he always did. He had handed her some new books she's been wanting to read for a few months now and was kind enough to buy for her.

Since she wasn't allowed to give her address to anyone,and let alone type it on some random website, she was always asking officer Davis for favors. He was truly an amazing man. Although, even if they ever let her do such thing, giver her some freedom, who would want to go to the house in the middle of the forest to drop off a package?

Freedom. She scoffs. Such a strange word.

Making her way out of the room she walks towards the front door, but not before taking the remote that was given to her by the NCA. All it takes is pressing the red button twice and she'll have the whole police in her doorway. She stands behind the white wooden door, hesitating. Her heart begins to race, feeling it beat against her ribcage.

What if someone had finally found her location?

I can't go back there.

Frozen in her place, hand barely touching the doorknob and tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

"It's me, sweetheart." A deep voice comes from the other side. "It's okay. I'm sorry for not coming sooner."

John.

She mumbles his name, like a prayer, and then opens the door.

He stands there, tall and broad. The same baby blues that saved her a year ago looking back at her. The lines on his forehead soften at the mere sight of the girl. He's wearing that black beanie that once sat atop of her head when the winter had begun that first time he visited her here.

The only other one that knew where to find her. Because she knew, they all knew, he'd do anything for her.

-

John can hear the river outside the old house. The rustling of leaves moving against the wind, soon it'll be dark. The humid weather making his green shirt stick to his skin layered with sweat. He inhales deeply. This mission. This fucking mission has been going far too long. But everything they found les the task force to this very place. He goes room by room, entering with his gun aiming ahead and the safety off. Always.

Despite not having execute authority he wanted nothing more than to put several bullets in their bodies. Whomever they were.

A creak echoes on the second floor so he rushes upstairs stealthily. The place above doesn't look much better that the bottom part of the house. There's a weird smell in the air. Like blood and death.

After checking the first room, the bathroom and all the cabinets just in case he sighs.

"Only got one room left to check. Anything out there?" He waits for an answer, in the middle of the bedroom. The mattress was torn and dirty. He thinks of all the atrocities that must've taken place there.

"Negative, Captain. Got you on my sight just in case." Ghost's monotone voice interrupts the eerie silence engulfing his surroundings.

"Copy."

The radio dies and John walks to the next door across the hallway. Except it's locked.

Of course.

"Last door locked. I'm going in. Gaz, Soap you're in position?" He asks

"Aye sir. Both ready."

Next thing that happens is a bullet. He shoots the doorknob and the door bursts open with a loud sound of his firearm.

And screams.

Terrified screams and cries from... girls. At least seven of them. Price swallows hard, his eyes scanning the room when they land on the girl shielding a younger one. She's terrified, shaking, yet still looks him in the eye imploring to be saved.

-

She's hugging him in an instant, almost making him stumble back on his steps, but embraces her body nevertheless.

"What took you so long?" She asks, her face resting on his hard chest. Price can feel the softness of her skin against his calloused hands.

"Special Ops." She smells like strawberry and caramels. Pulling away so he can look her in the eyes. "How're you doin' love?"

Her heart skips a beat. Never gets tired of hearing Price calling her that.

"Come in and I'll tell you."

Taking his hand she guides him to the kitchen where the pie is almost finished. John drops his duffel bag on the wooden floor, contemplating her small form moving around effortlessly.

"I got some new books this morning. Turns out I've been missing a lot. Davis was kind enough to bring them since... you know." She shrugs.

"They're still not letting you out?" He asks with a serious tone.

"Nah. Might be dangerous." Taking out the pie from the oven she places it on the counter between the two. Price doesn't say anything for a moment, merely looking at her, pondering. "The boys are alright?"

"Yeah." He nods,"Had to drag one or two out of a burning building but that's not new."

She laughs softly, taking a seat, motioning for him to do the same. He obliges.

"How long do you think they'll keep me here, John?" It's a genuine question. It's only been a few months. A year, almost.

"Love..." he sighs. "It's complicated. I don't know much."

"Yeah but, but once they're all captured..." she stammered.

Price could never say he understands what she's going through. What she endured was beyond him. Whenever he thought of it it just made him want burn the fucking bastards. All of them.

"I promise you this. Once it's safe for you I'll personally come and give you the news. And we'll go wherever you desire, yeah?" Although it's not entirely what she wanted, she could wait a little bit longer. John had never let her down. He saved her and in all honesty she'd trust him with her life. "I'll tell you what." He stands up, making the small kitchen look even smaller with his tall form. "Have you heard about the town fair?"

Her eyes light up.

"No... is, is that..."

"Let's go." She doesn't move. "Why don't you go get ready."

"John, I'm not supposed to leave the house you know that, I mean I want to, but... you said..." She's mortified, yet excited. A breath of fresh air. That's what that man meant for her. No one ever cared about her like he did.

"I've got contacts, love. I don't need their permission. For all that matters you're safer with me. Come on, out we go." He points to the front door. "I'm a patient man but don't keep me waiting for too long eh."

-

He was right.

It was a sight to behold.

John watches her eating the snack he got for her. She loved sweets so much therefore he couldn't let this opportunity pass. When was the last time she got to experience something like this? Sometimes so simple.

Something so mundane.

Her eyes are glimmering whenever she looks at the different attractions at the fair. John takes a long drink from his beer bottle. Right hand finding her lower back whenever she's about to bump into some other person when she's distracted.

"You like it huh?" She looks at him confused. He points the stuffed otter in her left hand. A smile crossed her features.

"I do. And I still don't know how you did it... I mean, I guess being in the military does help when you try to shoot a moving horse toy at the fair to win something." She laughs, embarrassed about what she just said. She thinks she sounds stupid, almost making her want to hit her head against the nearest tree.

He smiles, the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes more prominent than the last time she'd seen him.

"I guess it does, love." He agrees wholeheartedly.

"How long are you going to stay?"

Price looks down at her when she stops before the ferris wheel. The wind blows her hair swiftly. What was that in the air? Her perfume?

"For as long as I can, dear." He takes a strand of hair in his hand, and gently put it behind her ear.

There she is.

"John..." she breathes. "I feel so lonely when you're gone." The grip on the stuffed animal tightens. "I've no one. If it wasn't for you..."

"No." He gently reprimands her. "Don't say another word. With or without me you'll be fine, love."

"What if I don't want to be fine when you're not around?" He's silent, yet his mind is so loud. "You saved me, John." She states. "Any other person would just continue with their lives. You were just doing your job. Another one in the endless missions you're assigned." Swallowing, she asks: "Why are you still here? Why do you keep coming back?"

He doesn't answer the question right away, instead looks over her head, lost in his own thoughts as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. He then clears his throat and looks back at her, who's waiting with wide eyes and lips slightly parted. She was right. Any other day John would've turned page. He would sure remember, after all these are stories that will stick with him until his last day. What made this mission different?

"I think you know bloody well why."

-

Price helps her sit inside the helicopter to get medical attention. Feeling her weak body trembling even under the black blanket she was tightly wrapped in. He had carried her body all the way outside from that house when she collapsed. The adrenaline running through her system disappearing when she realized they were being rescued at last.

Simon had side eyed his Captain when he didn't let anyone take the girl from him. Why her? He couldn't say. So he went away and led one of the other girls out of there instead with Soap's help.

"There's nothing to be afraid anymore, kid." He reassured her, voice soft trying not to startle her more than she already was. "We got you. All of you."

Her big eyes once terrified and filled with tears of despair finally saw the light at the end. It was him. What she always prayed for. Salvation.

It was staring back at her.

[berkmansimagines]

Question...?

A/N: Can I ask you a ❓❓❓

Summary: You ask Barry for a favor.

Pairing: Barry Berkman x hitman!wife reader

Barry is sitting on the couch playing video games. You’re not home. You went all the way out to Malibu to meet up with your handler, Diane. Barry hasn’t heard from you but he figures you’ll get back soon.

BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ

Barry quickly glances down at his vibrating phone. You’re calling him. He answers the phone as he continues playing his game.

“Hey Y/N. What’s up?”

“Hey babe. Are you home right now?” you shyly greet your husband.

“Yeah. Why?” Barry replies.

“Can I ask you a question? It’s more of a favor really…” you mumble.

Barry scrunches his forehead, suspicious. He knows something’s up. He pauses the game and puts down the controller.

“What’s going on?” Barry asks with concern.

“Well, uh, some guy is following me,” you’re trying your best to remain calm.

Barry’s eyes widen.

“Are you serious? Who?!” 

“I have no idea! He’s been following me since I left Diane’s place. I tried losing this guy a couple times but couldn't shake him. He’s very persistent,” you explain.

“Shit,” Barry curses under his breath.

“I think I might have a plan. That’s actually why I called-” you begin.

“Oh yeah?” Barry raises his eyebrows. 

“Yeah! Ok so I’m going to drive home, wait for him to park and then I’ll confront him. Could you sit out on the balcony with your rifle and cover me just in case something happens?” you ask your husband.

Barry sighs. Of course he’s going to help out and have your back, but he’s concerned. He’d rather confront the guy with you instead of watching the situation unfold from the sidelines.

“Do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because I’ll totally kill that guy for you,” Barry offers.

“Not so fast, trigger. I need to suss out the situation first,” you reply, “But if he tries something… then yeah you can kill him.”

Barry nods, understanding the instructions.

“I got you,” your husband reassures you.

“Thanks babe. I should be home in fifteen minutes,” you tell him before ending the call. 

You continue your drive home. When you get back, you park on the street instead of going to your designated spot. You park a few numbers down from your building. You know that whoever is following you will park on the street and leave some distance between your cars. You’re hoping he parks in front of your building, that way Barry will have a clean shot if he needs to take one.

Watching through the rearview mirror, you see the car park across the street outside your building. You smirk to yourself. You’ve got him right where you want him. You get out of your car and make a beeline towards the man who’s been following you. You harshly knock on his car window.

“Hey asshole! Why are you following me?” you call him out.

The man gets out of the car. He puts his hands up in defense.

“Woah sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he tries. 

You shake your head.

“You didn’t scare me. You pissed me off. And you didn’t answer my question - why the fuck are you following me?”

“Can we just start over? I’m Mel Davis. I’m a Private Investigator,” the man introduces himself, and then, “You’re Y/N Berkman, right?”

Your heart skips a beat.

“How do you know my name?” you question him.

“I’m a PI and I’m good at my job,” he chuckles.

You cross your arms against your chest.

“What do you want?” you ask.

“I’m trying to find Shane Taylor. His buddies are looking for him. They hired me to track him down…” he explains.

“I don’t know him,” you reply coolly.

That’s a lie. You know exactly who that guy is. You killed him. It all goes back to Shane’s girlfriend - Este. Este used to work with your handler, Diane. They had some sort of falling out that ended with Diane killing Este. She called you in the middle of the night to clean the crime scene and dump the body. Barry helped. It took the two of you all night to finish cleaning up that mess. 

Shane started looking for Este shortly after. When Diane caught wind of this she hired you to take Shane out. You did the job to protect yourself and Barry. You just wanted to cover up your involvement with what happened to Este.

“How do you know Diane?” the PI asks you.

“I’m her personal assistant,” you lie again.

Mel is not buying it. He knows you’re not telling the full story.

“Before Shane disappeared he was looking for his missing girlfriend Este. She was last seen at Diane’s place. So that got me thinking… What if Shane went looking for Este at Diane’s house? Maybe he disappeared the same way Este did?” he wonders aloud.

“It sounds like you have an overactive imagination,” you try squashing his theory.

Mel looks you up and down. 

“You know what happened to him don’t you, Y/N? Yeah. See, I can always tell,” he smirks.

You shake your head again. Mel shrugs impatiently.

“Look, I’m not the police and I’m not out to get you. I don’t really care if Shane is dead or alive. All I need to know is where he’s hiding out or where his body was dumped. I just want to finish this job so I can get paid. Can you help a guy out?” Mel pleads his case.

You sigh, unmoved. You’re not giving him any information that could implicate you or Barry.

“Like I told you, I don’t know anything about this. I have nothing more to say. I think you should leave.”

Mel stays quiet for a moment. He doesn’t believe you. He has a gut feeling that you were involved in Shane’s disappearance but you’re not going to budge. He’ll leave you alone…for now.

“Ok. But before I go, I have something for you.”

Mel opens his coat. As he reaches inside his pocket, you spot a gun in a holster attached to his belt. Your entire body tenses up. You keep your eyes locked on the weapon.

Meanwhile Barry is sitting up on your balcony, rifle at the ready. He’s watching everything unfold through the magnifier. He spots the guy’s gun the same time you do. Barry clenches his jaw.

“Don’t pull that gun on her, man. Don’t pull that gun on her,” your husband mutters to himself.

If the guy reaches for his gun, Barry is pulling the trigger. You and Barry are both on edge, waiting for Mel’s next move. And then -

“Here’s my card,” he takes a business card out of his coat pocket and hands it to you, “If I were to get an anonymous tip, I'd be all ears and no mouth and out of your life for good.”

You roll your eyes. Mel opens his car door. He’s about to get in, but stops himself. He nods to you.

“A word of advice, the guys who hired me to find Shane seem kinda rough. You should probably get your facts straight before the bad guys do something bad to you,” he warns.

“Is that a threat?” you raise your eyebrows.

Mel snickers, shaking his head.

“If I was threatening you, you’d know it.”

And with that, Mel gets into his car and drives off. You watch him go, making sure he’s driving away and not staking out somewhere down the street. 

You let out a deep breath, shrugging off this whole conversation. Mel was just trying to intimidate you to get you to talk. When you tell Barry what happened, you decide to play it cool. People like Mel are all bark no bite. You don’t want Barry to worry about Mel’s thinly veiled threat. That PI was full of shit. 

Everything will be fine.

Once the coast is clear, you look back up to the balcony and wave to Barry. You know that he’s still watching.

“Thank you,” you mouth to your husband.

[iantimony]

this tuesdaypost was drafted on monday, please clap

we are cookin with Gas this week

listening: listened to antimai a few times through, favorite track i think is 'ring 5: middle class'. dorian electra - man to man: really fun video too charasho (benny friedman): was linked in jew chat. very charming and funky. 5 Old French Dances: No. 5. Le Basque (arr. for 2 recorders and harpsichord): i heard this a billion year ago on the radio (my wakeup radio station on my alarm clock is classical) and i finally got around to saving a link for it. very bouncy very cute. makes me think of rabbits running in circles a la beatrix potter.

EDIT TO ADD: i also finally listened to beyonce 'cowboy carter'!! i know im late! it's good i like it! not a revolutionary opinion! obsessed with her jolene cover! that's all!

reading: big one this week! i FINISHED 'the left hand of darkness'! i really liked it! still marinating on the themes etc. i started 'the dispossessed', also by le guin, and am devouring that as well. there's some stuff in there that oof ough. existential. but i'm liking it so far, i'm around chapter 5 right now. physicists!

fanfic: imposter syndrome (mikkeneko): i might have already linked it but i can't be assed to go back through a few weeks of tuesdaypost to see if i already have. so if i did, here it is again. really charming premise, gut-punch of an ending, cool twist on the doppelganger setup from dungeon meshi with svsss.

the articles, some of which were actually read a while ago but i forgot to link and am now cleaning out my phone tabs: how will the golden age of 'making it worse' end? (david roth) new canada policy lets indigenous people reclaim their names (emma bowman) what happens to the stay-at-home girlfriend after a breakup? (erika w smith) unschooling is the parenting trend that's pissing everyone off (ej dickson) in defense of 'coffee badging' (monica torres): if i had a job that was all zoom calls i would literally go insane over being made to go into an office to take zoom calls. fuck that what my mother's wardrobe taught me about style and grief after she died: thinking a lot about all my dad's shit will semen destroy your shower drain? granny davis' geocaching page: found when i was looking at some reviews for caches near my apartment. im kind of obsessed with her. she also has a facebook page called 'granny's geo page' if you don't have a geocaching account. literally she is everything to me. she has found So Many fucking geocaches good god. wedding trivia questions: used as reference to create some wedding trivia for a bridal shower! similarly, the wikipedia page for morganatic marriages my fight with a sidewalk robot (emily ackerman): my school has these. hate them. my boyfriend just linked this to me and im obsessed, laser etched paperweights, i am not a huge paperweight girlie but wowwww prettyyyyy. the electron orbitals!!!! i had a search open for "anti mega #1 cray street". i have no idea what this is.

special edition: the link dump from my trip to the uk last month! some very related to the trip itself, a few random extras! top of the poops, an architectural firm bc i saw a sign with their logo and thought it was cool but now i can't find their logo, waring ader space invaders because i saw someone's shirt with the little space invader guys and was like ooh the tate museum joel meyerowitz (and another page about him) wikipedia on gratin dauphinois, wikipedia page on doncaster for some reason i did not go there list of artworks at the national portrait gallery of scotland wikipedia page on the jacobite uprising of 1745 washi tape that would match the edinburgh one i bought there, tintin in the land of the soviets postcard that i didnt end up getting wikipedia for a quaich which is a traditional scottish bowl, a wiki page on the geology of arthur's seat, a book in the scottish national galleries that i thought about purchasing but didn't want to try and fit in my luggage (she is definitely one of my new favorite artists though) wikipedia page on lauryn hill for some reason not sure how i got there, wikipedia page on salome halpir this post was on tumblr and i tried to find the item in the victoria and albert museum but it was sadly not on display, one of the audio guides i listened to a bit of in the v & a, a scarf i almost bought in the v & a a google search for the fabric library at harrods because my mom mentioned that it existed but i could not find it search for blinq (apparently spelled that way) blossoms because of a cocktail my brother's friend ordered that had one as a garnish wikipedia page on the mechanical explanations of gravitation

watching: from wool to cloth using a historical weaving technique (jillian eve): oughhh colors

emma in the moment/made in the moment: a deep dive into the chunky boy crochet lore the crochet stardew valley pillow drama untangling the shocking tale of mystical creations yarn i tried red heart's new all in one granny square yarn

some crochet tips videos from play hooky with me

tiffanyferg: 'personal style' discourse hgtv is a gentrification masterclass cleantok villains and the morality of messiness

playing: a teeny bit of wizard101

making: fallow. well i guess i drew on some cards for my friend's bridal shower. but generally fallow.

eating: made deb smittenkitchen's delicious carrot cake recipe. mine was a little ugly but really really delicious. i bought a bag of preshredded carrots and just sort of roughly chopped em up a little smaller because i couldn't be assed to grate them. i also couldn't be assed to trim the cakes, i did two smaller round pans and stacked them up but because i didn't trim them they were a little wibbly. oh well.

i'm going to bake another cake for my brother's birthday next weekend and i'm between her chocolate olive oil cake (looks really easy) and bittersweet chocolate and pear cake (a little more involved but highly recommended by bee)

misc: my mom wanted to take a sailing class but didn't want to do it alone so she offered to pay for me to come. sure, said i! i have never sailed! i like learning new skills! reader, it is So Fucking Hot Outside. the wind died and we had to get towed back to shore. the sun was so strong. there are so many ropes with all different names and they all Do Something. sunday's class got cancelled/rescheduled because the weather was That Bad (hot as fuck and no wind) so we're doing it probably friday instead (and saturday. and sunday. it's two weekends in a row of both days at 9am yayyyyy) but i just hope the weather is. better.

[harryleatherfit]

Upper East Side || AU Frankie Morales

Chapter 2: Classes

word count: 4108

warnings: people being mean cunts, mentions of relationship with a teacher, anxiety

authors note: ok this was written so fast, i’m genuinely in the middle of moving and i plopped my ass down for a break and wrote this. i want to give as much depth i can to characters but not make it boring if that makes sense. i also have not reread this so expect errors. cheers!

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List 🪩

——

You wake up in your room. After the meeting you decided to walk around the campus and go into a few boutiques, unpack your car and decorate as you seem fit. You smile at the Caroline Polachek posters you brought with you. You hear the three of them chattering about in the common area.

“I only have Stage Managing classes with Mr. Morales this semester, I’m taking on an internship with this director in October.” You hear Rose say.

“I have The Art of Interview, History Documentary of Film, and Making of Webisodes on Fridays and Wednesdays with the other Mr. Miller. Then Professional Lighting and Camera Techniques 2 on Tuesdays. I’m also taking ZIne Scenes on Mondays. Those are all with Mr. Morales, ” Hannah said.

Mr Morales.

You wanted a class with him. Schedules came in this morning.

“I have Special Effects makeup on Monday with Mr. Davis, Tuesday, and Wednesday along with Queer documentaries with Mr.Garcia. Then on Fridays and Thursdays I have ballet classes with Ms Cheot.” Laylah replies.

“L I didn’t know you were taking up ballet?” You walk out.

“Good morning joker face, check your schedule yet?” Laylah

You open your phone and pull up your recent email.

“I have Advanced Acting for the camera, Expanded approaches to practical acting with Ms.Roylance on Mondays and Tuesdays. Then I have Stage work: Acting with Props and its combined with a set building class with Mr. Morales on Mondays , Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.” You mumble off.

His name on your phone made you shake. 5 days of the week fuck.

“Damn busy bee, what's the interest in stage work now? Mr Morales is a good teacher but he’s kinda cold and closed off from his students.” Hannah asks.

“I figured I should dip my toes into a couple worlds, be as well rounded as I can be.” You reply. You didn’t want to ask any questions about Mr. Morales, you didn’t want any suspicions from your friends.

“And then on Wednesdays and Thursdays I have Writing your life and Casting and Auditioning with Mr. Gracia. Fuck, and I have voice on Mondays and Fridays too with Mr. Miller.” You finish.

Your semester was fucking filled. You didn’t mind though, you wanted to be busy.

“Oh shit I heard that that Mr. Miller is good in bed, he’s such a hottie.” Rose chimed in.

“Oh he completely is, but he’s such a player you can tell.” Hannah responded. “Those 5 teachers, Mr. Miller, Mr. Miller brother 2.0, Mr. Davis, Mr.Garcia, and Mr. Morales are all a big friend group. People have seen them around at clubs and stuff. They’re all just secretive but they are the sole reason why our arts department is the best.”

That made your pussy shake. But even more that you get the whole school week with Mr. Morales.

“We must go thrifting, we need to clothes for the Semester, fucking show up to classes looking and feeling the best.” Hannah spits out cheerfully. “We have one week to get our lives together and then it’ll be 4 months of non-stop working.”

You all agreed and left your suite to hit the perfect NYC vintage stores.

--------

After a long day of shopping, you all successfully got bags of clothes, used your meal cards and Cava, oddly enough meal swipes were just like a debit card, it was all so new to you.

You went to bed that night thinking of Mr. Morales. About how you would act around him. How you would ask questions. You had the longest class with him and for 5 days. Honestly, you didn’t understand this feeling you got from thinking about him.

Why not any of the other teachers from that set of 5? He was going to be your teacher for fucks sake. You couldn’t do anything to fuck up your chances for being here.

But that way he stared at you, the way you kept running into him. He turned you on in half a second by just staring at his hands, the way he looked alone in that suit. Those gold rings and how they wrapped around his thick fingers. His polished black shoes, you’d lick them real fucking shiney for him.

What the hell was wrong with you?

------ * 1 week later *

Monday morning. Classes started today. You put on your outfit and pack your bag. Truly feeling and looking your best. You spent the week working out, only for you and nobody else, and trying to take care of yourself. You could’ve stressed yourself out, but you took everything minute by minute. Spending this week with your friends made you confident with yourself.

You walk to your first class, Advanced Acting for the Camera. You walked in and gave Ms. Roylance a small smile. Your class was pretty intimate with 15ish people and she got into the syllabus right away.

You all introduced yourselves and did icebreakers, everyone already knew each other so this was the most for you. It felt like you were being interviewed by Gossip Girl herself. You genuinely noticed a Blonde girl giving you a death stare. Her name was Nina. It looked like she was dressed in all vintage Channel and of course she had a model body. You could smell the plastic surgery from a mile away. Not that getting work done on yourself was bad, but for Nina- this seemed typical. You couldn't wait until you got to actually work with her in class.

Ms. Roylance went on about the material you were to start for the next few weeks, monologues and learning how to deliver and cry in front of the camera, she mentioned Lady Macbeth. Auditions were to be held in the next few weeks and there’d be more information on that next week.

That made Nina scoff. You sank into your chair and looked away from her.

The next class you had with Ms. Roylance again and it was just added techniques to make you a better actor, simple and easy.

After your class ended you got a text from Laylah

Lala: Lunch Break, Bagels? Some girl recommended this hole in the wall place not so far from here.

Okok: That sounds amazing, I already have shit to spill

Lala: Shiiiit me too.

-------

“So how were classes?” She asks.

“Honestly not bad. So far just classes with Ms. Roylance. She seems like a sweet lady. I hope they pay her well for all the attitudes she has to fucking deal with. We were doing icebreakers and this fucking girl Nina was staring me down like I was fish and bones. Just because we transferred does not mean I’m going to demote you sweet thing.” You said bitterly.

Laylah laughed. “Yeah people were staring me up and down, can’t blame them.”

She truly was a goddess, she had a septum and her hair was the most beautiful shade of aquagreen. She had tattoos all over her sternum and arms. You were used to the looks she gets because she’s truly infatuating.

You yourself had tattoos, miscellaneous here and there, but your favorite was your “To be both free and safe tattoo” on your collarbone. It was lyrics from your favorite Caroline Polachek song, Laylah got the same thing but on her rib cage.

“There's this hottie in my Stage Makeup class, he looks like a Bridgeton, it made me so distracted during the Syllabus I had to ask Mr. Garcia to repeat himself twice. And then I was distracted by Mr. Garia for fucks sake”

“ Ooo 1 of the best 5.” You taunt. “Get the boy's name?”

“No, I was literally staring at him the entire time and my brain short circuited.”

That’s how you felt about Mr. Morales. You get to see him next class.

“Mr Garcia was also talking about Lady Macbeth and how Tech auditions will be like. I’m super excited to see what I can do.” She adds.

“Oh god, I’m terrified. Having to audition and then chancing to mess up and make myself look like a fool in front of all those judges. Imagine I literally forget everything.”

“Oh bitch you won’t because we’ll be helping each other and practicing while we're high so we can 100% memorize our craft.”

Smoking to memorize was like a foreign ritual you and Laylah did at UNCSA, you didn’t feel nervous so you just soaked up your lines and their emotions in a blink.

“Imagine getting to perform on Broadway… as a college student. That’s just unfathomable.” You mumble.

“Yeah it truly is.” Laylah thinks. “Imagine you’re Lady M, and you get to do that stellar gaslighting batshit crazy monologue. I think you’d personally fuck that shit up.”

You laugh, “I’ll audition but no saying yes right now. I have to lay low and not get my hopes up for anything.”

You look down on your phone and realize you’re going to be late to Stage work.

“Fuck I gotta go Lay. I love you.”

-------

You finally find your way to the auditorium. You got lost so that tacked up your time for being even more late. You opened the door and held your breath. You saw kids in the front row seats and saw him leaning against the apron of the stage.

God, he is fucking mouthwatering. You had to stop. Does he always wear a suit?

“Why Hello Ms. North Carolina, late are we?” He asks. Giving that same fucking warm glare.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Morales I won’t let it happen again, I got a little lost.” You took a seat.

‘I’ll repeat again, this class will be easy but I need you seniors to put in the work. Props may be fun to look at and fun to touch as an actor, but hell to make.” He paces in the front.

“I need to trust that none of you will break anything and will show me that you’re willing to work. Or I will drop you from this class. Is that understood?” He asks.

You and your classmates give nods.

“In this class we may or may not make props for actual broadway shows, depending on how well you guys create, and we will begin making sets and props for Lady M. Here and there I’ll give subunits but that's the majority of the class. In the winter we will have a showcase.” He finishes.

He tells you you all are immediately going to start using saws and cutting wood. This was his entrance test. Good for you, this was the only language you had with your dad when you were a child.

You would sit in the garage with your dad when you were in elementary school watching him build and create, as he would then teach you. It was your fathers release after fighting with your mom.

Mr. Morales all had you use the basics and everyone held their breath when it was your turn. But as you thought in your head, you made cuts perfectly and were a natural. Mr. Morales didn’t need to assist you or tell you once a hint. You're glad your hands didn’t shake, if the shaking came you were going to have to opt out.

You stepped back and took off your safety glasses with a smile. Your class cheered for you.

“Points Carolina for not messing up or splitting the wood.” Mr. Morales says over everyone. You noticed he had a Southernish accent, it was thick and dark. Rich and raspy.

He stares at you again. What the fuck does he want?

You stand back with your classmates and as everyone continues you decide to stare at him. He was wearing black dress pants that hugged his hips and a polo looking black long sleeve with a collar that made his arm muscles look huge. You could sympathize with Laylah now. Mr. Morales had style.

He was wearing a cartier watch and his chain looked heavy on his neck. You imagined grabbing it while on top of him. You imagined his rough hair in your hands, looking into those glistening dark brown eyes. You were probably really fucking wet.

The bell ringing got your attention.

“Ok everyone this class is everyday this semester so buckle down.” He says.

--------------

Your next class was voice, and that was the class you were most excited for. Sining has been your guilty pleasures. You had Hot Mr. Miller, but you wouldn’t let his charm distract you. You took singing seriously. You’ve been operatically trained since high school, your range being interestingly expansive, even after smoking for quite some time.

You chuckle to yourself, you’ve smoked so much to the point that you probably should have had your voice box removed.

Most actors in Hollywood knew how to sing and you obviously couldn’t get in a musical without knowing how to sing.

You walk into your class and Mr. Miller looks chipper.

Immediately you notice Nina, for fucks sake. Of course she takes voice.

You take your seats, less people than your acting classes.

“Hello everyone, I know you’re all probably tired as it's the last class period of the day, but we do have a lot to go through.” He starts off. “You’re in this class because you’re good and can sing so no worries, you already made the team. No need to show off.”

You could tell he was already an amazing voice teacher. Gentle but also had tough love in him. That's what choir really needs.

“Here in this packet you’ll see future details of my class. The Winter Recital, the pieces we’ll be singing together and if you stay with me for the Spring semester just a few details on that. For the Winter Recital, you’ll be able to pick your own piece. But you just have to review it under me and hear me listen to you sing it. If you stay with me for the spring we’ll continuously work on your audition songs and work on your tones and they way you all stress on dynamics.”

He really knew his craft.

“There's a list of vocal teachers in the area that I highly recommend, some that may go on over zoom.” He says.

You see Ms. Kims name, you chuckle.

“There's a mix of teachers for mixing, chest, belting and head coaching. I have down teas that help, foods and drinks to avoid before singing, spots that have amazing tea and last of all-.” He pauses.

“No smoking.” He stops. You hide your smile.

“Who am I kidding, it’s New York and you’re all over 21, if you do immediately drink water and make hot tea.”

No can do sir, and you saluted in your head.

“Now we’re gonna head to the theater to sing on stage, figure out our class balance and sing some scales.”

Your heart drops. Would Mr. Morales be there?

Your class follows Mr. Miller and you falter in your step, staying behind everyone.

“Why are you so slow?” Nina asks.

You didn’t even notice her near you. “Because I’m not in a rush to be first.” You reply, not with a bitch tone but you were being honest.

She laughs at you and walks ahead. This was going to be a long semester with her in your classes.

You walk into the theater and see Mr. Morales is teaching a class, it looks like a bunch of freshmen.

“Hey Fish, how was the first day?” Mr. Miller asks as they hug.

Fish. Was that a nickname?

“Not too bad Ironhead, I won’t lie. Can’t wait to see what the freshmen have in store though. Here to use the stage with your seniors?”

“Yeah I feel like this semester is going to be good. I can feel it in my heart.” He winks to Mr. Morales.

The man shakes his head to Mr. Miller and he smiles. What is this all about?

“Okay class. We're gonna head to the booth and I’ll explain the lighting board to you all.” Mr. Morales addresses his class.

You felt nervous that he was still in the same room as you. Good that he was still in your presence, but nervous that he could hear your singing.

You and your classmates get in a semi circle one the stage and Mr. Miller instructs you to sing the 2 octave major scale, minor scale, harmonic, chromatic and melodic scale. He got out a paper for you all to individually sight read.

You noticed Nina went a half step higher on the paper.

“Ms. Wyatt, what did you mess up on?” Mr Miller asks?

She looked horrified, “My timing was off?” She sounded like a little baby. You almost felt bad.

“No it wasn't that but it’s okay we’ll be sight reading almost every class this semester.” He responds.

Now it was your turn to sing the piece. As you started singing the lighting in the theater changed, probably due to the class messing around with the board and once you finished you were scared that made you mess up, as you could barely see your sheet in front of you.

You could hear Mr. Morales telling a student to yell out calling dark to the people on the stage. Theater 101 rule.

Mr, Miller yelled back, “Don’t scare the shit out of them, Fish. Thank you dark.”

“Wow, first time no mistakes and the lights going off. Plus this was a hard one.” Mr. Miller exclaims.

You were on a fucking roll today.

You smile and pass the paper to your next class mate.

Once you were all done he instructed that he was gonna have you all sing on Do and rearrange you in rows to see where you sound the best. He put you on the right in the back. Nina was placed in the front.

“Mr. Miller last year I was in the back, I’m a third row singer.” She says quickly.

“Ms. Wyatt I’m sure you may be a third row singer but this is the place where I think suits you best.” He replies. She immediately sulked.

Thank god he told her off, even if it was in a nice teacher way. She needed to be humbled.

He then assigned everyone their semester voice parts. You got S1. You didn’t even care about Nina’s groaning, she got alto, but being an alto was a privilege. Most female singers were sopranos, it took much work and dedication to become a rich alto. You’d prefer to be a rich alto then a breathy Soprano 1 anyday. But you were still honored to think Mr. Miller thought you’d fit S1.

“Ok now for our last part of class I’ll have everyone pick a song and just sing. No matter genre or voice type. I’ll sit in the audience and just have a paper out. Trust me this is not a test, this is just me to assess your growth on dynamics and tone how heavy you are on consonants. See how well you can fake emotion through a song. And to see how clear you can produce plus your breath work. I’ll give you 5 to think of a song for yourself.”

Shit you think, now he’s really gonna hear me. You finally decide on Smoke by Caroline of course.

She herself is operatically trained, and you honestly sang because of her. Her voice sounded autotuned thats how fucking good her voice was. The hums she made in her songs were so easy to create and the head to chest flip sounded so easy. That alone took you years to master.

In Smoke there were some head to chest flips, belts, and humming with your mouth fast singing. You had to breath correctly or you’d fuck it up. Your hands started to shake, you tuned everyone out until it was your turn.

You get up to the stage and see that Mr.Morales was front row. Fuck.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Mr Miller says with a smile.

What if you’re never ready.

You breathe in and start. This was your favorite song so you did know every beat, every stop, every note and breathe that Caroline took. You just needed to block him out from being below you.

“It’s just smoke.” x2

“Floating over the volcano. It’s just smoke. Go on, you know I can’t say no. It’s just smoke” You pause and do her hums. Hums were meticulous, you needed to produce enough sound with your mouth closed and to only breathe through your nose.

“It's just smoke. Floating over a volcano. It's just smoke. Selling me out on the down low, and here you are the big answer tonight and you are melting everything about me. Oh don’t worry about me, it's just smoke.”

“And the fallout doesn’t phase me to take a bullet for my baby for the one thing that’ll save me, I know.” That was Carolines autotune part, you can get it down but it was fucking hard. If you pushed too hard it would sound flat.

“Throw it out and replace it with a brand new kind of crazy don’t believe it when you praise me, do I? And you are the big answer tonight and you are melting everything about me oh don’t worry bout me. It’s just smoke.” And at the very end you do her belt, you had to force and mix at the same time which scared you shitless. Most daunting 3 minutes.

Once you were done your class got out of their chairs clapping, even the freshman were. Nina was sitting down.

Mr Miller asks, “Do you have perfect pitch?”

You notice Ms. Morales leans forward in his chair.

You respond, “Yes I do actually, for a while I thought it was relative but I don’t need to think about it just pops in my head and I know. It’s strange but helpful” You smile.

“That's rare, wow. Would you like your comments now or paper?”

I’d prefer it on paper.” You rush off. Mr. Miller was talking to Mr. Morales while writing your notes and you couldn’t help but have butterflies, what were they saying?

Those familiar eyes met you and you could feel his warmth engulfing again. You wish you could sit next to him.

The last few people sang and you were quite impressed. The class ended and Mr. Miller handed you your paper last, you stayed to read it.

Where have you been in my years of teaching? You got on that stage and rocked it! I knew from the start of meeting Kim and coming to your recital/Cabaret the whole team picked the right choice. You were a little anxious, but no worries you hid it well. I’m trained to notice. Your pianissimo to forte was perfect. Your belt was incredibly well done, how did Kim teach you that? Your breathing with the hums, incredible. The tempo was on the dot, you had no jaw or tongue tension. How did you learn to mix like a pop singer? Those K consonants were present and never skipped. And to top it off, I knew you had perfect pitch, those chest to head flips gave it away. You immediately knew your next note without having to search for it. 100/100. I can’t wait to see what this year has in store for you.

-Mr. Miller

You almost had tears in your eyes. You couldn’t believe it. He was there for everything? Who else was with him?

You looked up from the paper and Mr. Morales was still there. His legs were crossed and he had his elbow propped on his knee, holding his face.

You locked eyes with him and you were curious what that head of his was thinking. What was he saying to Mr. Miller? It wasn’t awkward, it just felt needed.

“Good job.” He stated. He looked like he was in a different world. “I have to lock up, have a good night, see you in class tomorrow.”

It felt like you were walking on eggshells when you didn’t want to. You could do anything with him since you were alone. You could easily walk up to him and run your fingers through the tufts of hair as you dreamed, but that would be embarrassing if you mistaked all those stares and shared searched looks of each other. Your brain does love to play tricks on you.

“Thank you, have a good night.” You give him your real true smile. You’re eager but you let this night stay at rest.

You walk to your dorm in a trance.

——

previous chapter || next chapter

[childotkw]

Rumour has it you have got a Potc plot bunny in the works?

Oh dear, is it going to breach discord containment? 😂

But yeah I do! And it’s been haunting my mind every day lmao - I’m so quietly obsessed with the idea and getting my grubby hands all over the characters.

Context for non-discord people:

I wanna write a female!Jack story.

——————— (Taken from discord)

Jacqueline Teague was born in the middle of a typhoon aboard the Misty Lady, and she knew the rocking of a ship in the wild sea long before the steady feel of land under her feet - and it showed.

(Miles and miles away, deep in the swamps of Cuba, surrounded by trinkets and humid air and the bitter tang of memories, a bound goddess tilted her head back and hummed, thoughtful and amused and satiated.)

Little Jack was as wild as the waves and free as a bird, and even from a young age Edward looked at his daughter and knew she was going to shake the world.

And she did. Oh, she did.

But the world was a cruel place and it left its mark on Jack just as deeply as she did it.

——————

Other elements include:

Jack not acknowledging that she’s the daughter of Edward fucking Teague for the longest time, so her lineage is only really known by the older generation of pirates, and when it comes out that she basically the equivalent of pirate royalty Will and Elizabeth and Barbossa and the rest are blown away

We'll explore Jack’s relationship with Tia Dalma, how long they've known each other, and heavily imply that Jack is 'god-touched' because Calypso likes her

So much symbolism with Jack's hair. All the symbolism.

Jack and the Pearl and the connection there

And exploring these core relationships and how they shaped Jack:

Salazar and the whole significance of him giving Jack her new name, and so feeling some kind of inherent claim on Jack because there is power in that - and there being an undeniable connection between them that was forged on the day she tricked and killed him

Barbossa and the betrayal and all the bitterness between them, and him slowly realising that while the Pearl was still the fastest, deadliest vessel on the water; she would always be faster, deadlier with Jack’s hands on her wheel. Seeing Jack again after ten years is the closest he comes to feeling anything since they parted - since he parted them, turning on his young, bright, brilliant captain. And Barbossa hating that he itches every time she calls him 'Barbossa' instead of 'Hector'

Beckett and his fucked up possessiveness over Jack, because he met her when she was young and brilliant and just making a name for herself and she was so wild, so different from any woman he'd ever met, and the impression stuck. In another world, they might have even loved each other, but he wanted the one thing Jack refused to surrender - her freedom

Davy Jones knowing the second they pull this sodden, grief and rage-filled girl from the water that she’s marked, and he can practically taste Calypso’s hands on her sun-tanned skin; and while a part of him snarls at it another part of him wants to take something else from his old lover, even if it’s a Favoured slip of a girl. He makes the deal thinking he’ll get the best damn helmsman on the sea at the end of it - even though it feels like the very winds are laughing at him for thinking he might be the one to chain another wilful woman from her nature

Elizabeth still being in love with the idea of Jack, because here is a woman that spits in the face of everything society tries to tell them to be - and a part of her wants with a soul-deep ache

And Will also being somewhat entranced by Jack, just like he is in canon, because there's something undeniably other about her and as someone who longs for adventure, he can't help but want to press closer.

I've got so many fucking ideas for this - the discord chat is full of little snippets and ramblings 🤣🤣

[thewanderingace]

I hate this I hate this I hate this I HATE THIS

This whole renaming season 14 to season 1 weirdness Doctor Who/Disney/RTD is doing is so stupid and unnecessary.

First of all why would you call season 14, season 1? It made sense to call 2005 season 1 because Doctor Who hadn't been on the air in 16 years. But Doctor Who has not been off air at all in the last 13 years. It's been ongoing. There is zero reason to rebrand this season as season 1. What would be the point? Is it not still the doctor? Is it not just another regeneration and another new companion? That's been happening for decades. Big whoop. It's kind the whole thing about the show. It's also changed showrunners before and didn't feel the need to to do a weird reboot. So why?

If this is because there been lower viewers and Disney+ is going to have it now and for some reason they think it'll be confusing for new people to see a season 14 and no other previous seasons I have two thoughts on that. First, that's so insulting to the intelligence of your viewers. Seeing season 14 isn't as confusing as you think it'll be. Seeing season 14 means there are previous seasons so new viewers should watch those. And any new fans going into the show season 14 seeing that this is "season 1" are going to end up hopelessly confused because this is not season 1. There are 13 years before it and another 30+ before that. But leaving out classic who for a moment, how can you watch s14 as though its s1? It's not. Won't it reference things from previous doctors? Or is it just going to pretend those eras never happened which would be so fucking awful I can't even begin to state how much I hate that. So new viewers will have to figure out which season 1 is the actual season 1 and if they choose s14 as their s1 won't the be insanely confused about what's going on? Or is the story for this new season going to completely give a middle finger to those who have been watching all this time and treat every viewer like a new viewer? Cause that's dumb too

Also I have a simple solution, Disney+, if you're worried about new people being confused. PUT EVERY SEASON ON DISNEY+ INSTEAD OF JUST SEASON 14! If all the seasons are on there then people will know where to start and will be fine! Jeezus.

And if this is all to attract new viewers its incredibly insulting to the intelligence of your potential audience. As if new people watching the show won't want to start with the 2005 season 1? As if 14 seasons are too much to watch? People LIKE shows with a lot of episodes. This whole 6 episode season and theres only 2 season is old and annoying and no one wants that. People like shows with a lot of episodes to watch and anyone wanting to get I to doctor who should have no problem going to season 1! But you're just going to confused them even more by calling this season season 1. Because it isnt!! Its season 14! So they're go I to thinking everything will be just starting and it'll all be explained and what not and it wont! Because it isn't the start of a show it's the fucking middle!

And if they are taking the whole reboot start over version then your ignoring everyone who has stayed with doctor who for the last 13 years in order to cater to new fans who can just catch up. We've been here. We don't need another relaunch or to relearn everything about the doctor and the tardis because its been stated for the past decade!

The whole idea is awful, makes no fucking sense, and is insulting to both new and old fans. I hate it so much.

[cjmontgomery]

nina dobrev + she/her + female  –  have you seen cj montgomery around los angeles? the thirty year old is usually jamming to radio reject by magnolia park. word around the city is that they’re independent, yet, they can also be pessimistic, but you didn’t hear that from me. they’re currently a/an courier/waitress/occasional stripper and are typically seen walking the streets of los angeles with her old, tattered sneakers. when i think of them, i think of random colors in her hair, never expecting anything good to happen, and growing up too soon. let’s hope the city treats them good! ( cally / 31 / she/her / cst / none )

So this is my girl with a troubled past CJ! Read more about her!

Full Name: Cordelia Jane Montgomery

Nicknames: CJ, Cordy

Age: 30

Birthdate: December 29th, 1992

Birthplace: Los Angeles, California

Occupation: Courier/Waitress/occasional stripper

Parents: Neil Montgomery (currently in prison) & Linda Montgomery (current location unknown)

Siblings: 3 younger (WCs!)

Children: None

Relationship Status: Single

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 5' 7"

Hair Color: Dark brown (often with additional colors)

Eye Color: Brown

Piercings: Lower and upper lobe in each ear, industrial in right ear, helix, orbital, and tragus in left ear, nose, both nipples, belly button

Tattoos: A scattering of stars on her back, a dragon on her left hip bone, a middle finger on her ass, a dead rose on her left lower arm, a snake in the shape of a heart on her right thigh, a pawprint on her right wrist, moon phases on the back of her neck

Residence: A rundown apartment building in a terrible neighborhood in LA

Character Inspo: Max Black (2 Broke Girls), Fiona Gallagher (Shameless), Joey Potter (Dawson's Creek), Maya Hart (Girl Meets World), Shawn Hunter (Boy Meets World), Feyre Archeron (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Lysandra (Throne of Glass), Brooke Davis (One Tree Hill), Callie Adams-Foster (The Fosters)

(TW for Toxic Relationships, Sex work, Drug mentions, Alcohol mentions, Parentification, and Sexual Assault)

CJ was pretty much born with a reputation thanks to her parents. They were both known for trouble and had quite the tumultuous, toxic relationship, not getting married until after CJ was born. Neil's family was constantly in trouble with the law and he was no different. He probably spent more time in prison than CJ ever actually saw him. And her mother was a piece of work as well, being a prostitute and con artist, but not to support her kids. More for her own drugs and drinking habits.

She always came from the wrong part of town, the older, more beat up, poorer part of Los Angeles. You know, that part of the neighborhood people say to avoid, especially at night. They moved around from shitty housing to shitty apartments, mostly to avoid parole officers and people looking to get their money back. And as she grew up in that area, CJ found her own trouble at times. It quickly led to rumors about her, everything from the things her dad did to get put in prison (mostly true), the things her mom did around town (definitely true), and even questioning if her dad was really her dad (possibly true). And for some reason, everyone seemed to think she was just like her mother, who she looked a lot alike.

(TW: Sexual Assault)

She didn't realize people were drawing those conclusions until eighth grade, when she went on her first date and the boy tried to feel her up. She slapped him and told him no and he said she should probably be used to it considering what a whore her mom was. The next day, everyone had heard the rumor that she had slept with a boy on the first date, even though she had only had her first kiss.

From there, the rumors grew. CJ was known as the slut all through high school, the homewrecker and easiest girl in town. What those people didn't know is that she had only slept with a few people, that most of the guys who claimed they fucked her she had never spoken to. Some guys even tried to force themselves on her, thinking they were entitled to it. Those people also didn't know that the reason she skipped school so often was because her mom was on a bender and she had to take care of her sick siblings, or work extra shifts wherever she could get hired to pay the bills her mom forgot about.

Yes, as her father was in jail and her mother usually disappeared, it was up to her to raise her three siblings and try to keep the lights on and food on the table. She was the one who made sure they got to school, even if that meant she was late. That they got their homework done when hers hardly ever did. All her dreams were pushed to the side for her siblings, who she loved most in the world. She even ended up dropping out senior year because she needed to be able to work full time.

She quickly took any work she can, except prostitution. It reminded her too much of her mother. CJ was a waitress, a babysitter, a gardener, a delivery person... basically anything that would pay the bills. Not all of it was legal, but at least she got cash and could make sure they weren't kicked out. The first time she stripped was the month before Christmas. Her siblings knew better than to ask for a bunch of stuff, but she knew what they really wanted. And she told herself that for once, they were going to get a damn good Christmas. So she let go of her past and became a dancer, taking her clothes off for more money than she usually made. She didn't tell her siblings, not wanting them to think of her like their mom or be ashamed. But they did have a good Christmas that year. It wasn't something she wanted to keep doing, especially with the expectations of some customers of wanting more than just a dance, but she occasionally would do it when money was low.

It all paid off though, since her siblings got to live out their dreams to the best of her ability. They got to graduate and go on to do what they wanted. She told them not to worry about her or the others, to just get out of there the minute they could. Even if she felt stuck in her life, she didn't think they needed to be. They had a chance to escape. CJ had given up on her dreams of escape, of any sort of better life. She felt like this was just what she deserved now, that she didn't get happiness. But she would fight like hell for her siblings to have that. If she had gotten the chance, CJ would have loved to have actually gone to college, to become a veterinarian like she always dreamed of, but that's not the case.

Now that her siblings are all grown up, CJ has their shitty apartment that really isn't livable at all (hell, the entire building should be condemned) all to herself. She still has lots of debts to try and make up for, but she's getting by. She got a slightly fancier job as a courier, making bank taking those expensive contracts and papers around Hollywood for big shots. It means she has to strip less, but doesn't fully make up for everything, hence still waitressing.

When she gets the chance, she has her own fun. She is always dying her hair different colors or having her friends give her tattoos. She makes friends with the right people, the same ones who work shitty jobs like her. And often, they'll help her out by telling her if they need extra hands at a catering event or letting her in to the cool parties in Hollywood. They let her in the side doors or no cover charge and she has their backs too. Might as well take advantage of free food and drinks whenever she can.

Personality wise, CJ grew up way too quickly, giving her a very jaded and pessimistic view of the world and especially people. She doesn't trust people easily but those she does, she will fight for. She is very used to people knowing her reputation, so she assumes they do even before they open their mouths. Granted, she has learned that not all people believe the rumors, but it is still hard for her to shake. She has a lot of resentment for her parents and people who aren't thankful for the privileges they have, like not having to worry about money or family that cares about you. She has a habit of downplaying her struggles, not letting the people that care know how bad she has it.

She has had very few actual relationships because of the rumors, afraid that people only want her because of what they can get out of her. So she has sworn off of romance and dating entirely, instead preferring to read about it and have one night stands to scratch that itch. She came out as bisexual when she was twenty-one. Frankly, she is terrified of having kids, worried about screwing them up like her parents did to her. She feels like she isn't loving or good enough to be a mom. She doesn't seem to see that she was a mom to her siblings and they thought she did a damn good job at it.

[dalesramblingsblog]

Heroes and the Grand Myth of the Writer's Strike

It's time to counter the propaganda that Heroes only became bad because of the Writer's Strike. I'm about fifteen episodes into Season Three and I feel like I can say, with a reasonable degree of confidence, that it's way more complicated and frustrating than that.

Quite frankly, the strike had nothing to do with the show turning out the way it did. I think the single biggest problem was Tim Kring being paralysed by the increasingly mixed audience and critical reaction to the show's direction.

I'm gonna be honest, I don't actually hate Season Two of Heroes. It is a definite step down from Season One, but not like... irretrievably so. What happened is that people thought it was too meandering and slow-paced - which, ironically, is one of the things I liked best about that season, namely that it took its time - and so in Season Three you see them hit the reset button *hard*.

Virtually all the characters introduced in Season Two are written out over the course of the third season, some much more unceremoniously than others. Given the way the show had already treated leads like Tawny Cypress and *especially* Leonard Roberts, writing them out with barely any thought whatsoever - and with Roberts speaking out against how he felt Ali Larter had been pretty racist in their scenes together - the fact that Dana Davis' Monica just gets completely forgotten about feels especially galling.

This has nothing to do with the Writer's Strike, quite frankly. This is a problem that Heroes had long before the strike, and if anything intensified it it was the lukewarm audience reaction, not the strike.

Further evidence to support this comes in the massive tonal shift that seems to happen halfway through Season Three. I'm sorry, I know I'm only two episodes in, but Fugitives is quite possibly the least interesting direction they could have taken this whole show in.

"The superheroes are on the run from the government! It's a paranoid conspiracy thriller done... reasonably competently at best!"

Look, half of this is just me venting about the problems I'm having with Heroes - I will never vent about Zachary Quinto as Sylar though, he's easily the best thing left in the whole show at this point, mainly because he's separated from the generic Bush Era conspiracy stuff - but I do think there's a deeper point to be made here about the way in which pop culture talks about strikes and the fate of TV shows.

Two of my favourite shows, Pushing Daisies and Battlestar Galactica, also ended up with the strike happening in the middle of their run, and didn't instantly turn into dumpster fires like the anti-union propaganda always likes to insist happens.

(BSG Season 4 is great, I will not accept counterarguments at this time.)

Heroes was the kind of show that had problems that were completely independent of the Writer's Strike, so to see it get dragged up as evidence for the claim of "Well these selfish writers' actions will end up ruining all your favourite shows!" is frustrating, to say the least.

(And yet there's a part of me that still enjoys Heroes after all this. It's a mess, but a fascinating mess. Just don't try and use it to push down on the WGA and SAG-AFTRA, because it's both shitty and completely unsupported by the actual material reality of its production. Support the strikes, and I wish all executives a very "Please fuck off.")

[cripple-punk-dad]

Holy fucking shit why can't we make movies like the second Escape to Witch Mountain again

-relatively diverse cast

-weirdly kinky mind control old guy

-a street gang of literal children who live in an abandoned house

-a secret lair in what appears to be a dungeon in the middle of the city of new york

-Bette Davis

-A guy named Victor Gannon (mind control professor)

-aa gang of literal children with matching battle jackets and srm cuffs that are constantly covered in dirt

-the main girl protagonist is dressed like a politician for the whole movie (she's like, 14?)

-it takes place in the 70's so it was filmed on 35 mm film which gives it that crunchy delicious quality

-weirdly good cinematography

-a guy named Sickle who wears only black turtlenecks and black slacks.

-nuclear fission I think

[recallthename]

I posted 1,266 times in 2022

That's 358 more posts than 2021!

315 posts created (25%)

951 posts reblogged (75%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@underthecitysky

@mydaroga

@inspiteallthedanger

@scurator

@spuffygifs

I tagged 1,205 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#the danger of being very enthusiastic - 302 posts

#the person i actually picked as my partner - 113 posts

#they all belong to each other - 107 posts

#kat does the beatles - 82 posts

#laugh rule - 59 posts

#god - 42 posts

#paul mccartney - 41 posts

#she's not that dismissible - 32 posts

#there's no denying he's golden - 30 posts

#i can be alone with you here - 25 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#dear god you're repressed. you’re driven sensitive and passionate. you are harsh corners and brittle bones your sharp teeth and soft gums.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Meeting Paul was just like two people meeting.  Not falling in love or anything.  Just us.  It went on.  It worked.

John Lennon - The Beatles by Hunter Davies

258 notes - Posted March 21, 2022

#4

Paul's earliest memory, probably from around the age of three or four, is of his mother.  He remembers someone coming to the door and giving her a plaster dog.  'It was out of gratitude for some delivery she had done.  People were always giving her presents like that.' 'I have another memory of hiding from someone, then hitting them over the head with an iron bar.  But I think the plaster dog was the earliest.'

The Beatles, Hunter Davies

um hey paul.  what the fuck.  

280 notes - Posted March 20, 2022

#3

The last time John Lennon set foot on a concert stage, it was Thanksgiving 1974, making a surprise appearance with his friend Elton John at a sold-out Madison Square Garden.  When he and Elton cut "Whatever Gets You Thru" together, Elton proposed a bet - if it hit Number One, John would sing it with him live.  John agreed, never thinking he'd get called on it.  But he was.  The performance sounds shaky - John's all nerves after a few years of hiding from live shows - but he steps up there to mach shau with Elton, doing the hit as well as Elton's remake of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."  John announces, "We thought we'd do one last number so I can get out of here and be sick.  This is a number of an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul." They do "I Saw Her Standing There," their big finale.  Even in the raw recording Elton released as a B-side, you can hear John get caught up in the crowd's excitement.  It's his night to shine - onstage in New York, for the first time in years and the last time ever.  Why is he doing a Paul song?  Why is he making this moment about him and Paul, when all anybody wants is to cheer and shower John with love?  But in the middle of the crowd, he calls Paul's name.

Dreaming the Beatles by Rob Sheffield

313 notes - Posted July 5, 2022

#2

a running list of things john lennon has compared paul mccartney to:

yoko ono god heroin

321 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

No matter how anyone reminds me of John, they're not John.

Paul McCartney - Conversations with McCartney by Paul Du Noyer

325 notes - Posted January 13, 2022

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