#arnie hammer

[yuesya]

“Hey! Over here!”

There’s a heavy storm going on; black thunderclouds rolling across the skies and blotting out the heavens above. The rain is so heavy that it’s impossible to make out individual droplets –it feels like there are bucketfuls of water hammering them down into the muddy ground, making each step forward more of a struggle than it already is.

Luckily, it seems that Arni had managed to find a small cave ahead, perfect for waiting out the torrential tempest. Brynja pauses to make sure that none of the children are falling behind, waving her other clansmen onward ahead of herself–

Lightning flashes, illuminating the terrible darkness. For one moment, Brynja can see in perfect detail the weariness on her clansmen’s faces, the tremble in their frames even as they grit their teeth and force themselves to move forward–

And, to the hills behind them, there is a white-haired stranger standing in the rain.

What?

Brynja is one of her tribe’s best archers; her eagle eyes don’t lie. For a single instant beneath the lightning’s glow, Brynja sees a white-haired stranger standing stock-still in the middle of a dangerous storm, and–

And Brynja is moving before she knows it.

“Asco, take over for me for a minute!”

“Brynja, you fucking–”

Asco’s words are drowned in the rumbling thunder that echoes around them, a terrifying roar that Brynja can physically feel down to her bones.

But Brynja is not called fleet-footed for nothing. She reaches her goal swiftly enough.

“Hey! You alright, stranger?” Brynja calls out as she approaches, “This storm is strong and dangerous to wait out with no cover. Would you like to seek shelter with us?”

Even through the gloom of darkness, the stranger’s silhouette is clearly visible –particularly so now that Brynja has closed the distance between them. It startles Brynja to realize that this is quite a young girl, lost and stranded by herself in the middle of a storm like this. Had she been separated from her own clan?

The thought strikes a pang of sympathy within her; Brynja herself was a lost child who’d been fortunate enough to be accepted into her clan when one of their scouts had come across her. Her memories of those times are faded, but there are faint snippets and pieces that she remembers from living like a wild child in the woods.

“Are you lost?” Brynja gentles her voice. “My clan can help.”

For a moment, the white-haired child does not respond. Then, the young girl moves, turning around–

“I’m not lost.”

–and oh, she’s quite pretty, isn’t she? There’s something that’s almost scary about those blue eyes of hers, too; Brynja is a seasoned hunter, and yet even just an idle gaze is enough to send shivers down her spine.

But this does not change the fact that she’s a child.

“If you’re not lost, then why are you standing by yourself in this storm like this?” Brynja coaxes patiently.

“… his voice.”

The wind whips wildly around them; Brynja had lost most of those words just now. “What?”

“I was listening for his voice,” the girl repeats herself quietly.

… She was listening for someone’s voice? In the middle of a storm?

Brynja feels a sudden burst of pity for the child, “There’s no one else out here, child.”

The strange girl shakes her head, “No. He’s still here.”

Brynja thinks that she’s starting to put the facts together: The girl had gotten separated from her clan in this storm, and was listening for a familiar voice in order to find her family. But as far as Brynja is aware, she and her clan are the only other humans around this part of the woods, so the girl must be quite lost.

But, it should be alright. “Even if you’re looking for someone, there’s no point getting yourself sick in the rain like this. Your clan must be headed for that new settlement around these parts too, right?”

“… New settlement?”

“Yup,” Brynja nods. “That’s where my clan is headed, too –apparently the god of these lands is powerful enough to keep their people safe from roaming beasts, so we’re also here to seek sanctuary, gods willing. If your people are headed for the same destination, then you’ll definitely be able to reunite with them there.”

The girl looks at Brynja for a moment, then turns away. “That’s unnecessary.”

Brynja huffs, “Now’s not the time for pointless pride; this storm is dangerous–”

Lightning flashes again. Brynja finds herself freezing, words cutting off on their own in her throat, because…

Why? Why is the girl smiling?

A soft little smile, no more than a slight curve of pale lips on a pale face.

“No storm is dangerous to me.”

… What does that mean? Brynja opens her mouth to ask–

“Brynja! Gods, Brynja, why did you suddenly just take off like that?”

Brynja whirls around, “Asco? Why are you–”

“Do you really need to ask that?” her fellow hunter gives her a withering look, then rolls his eyes and grabs her by the wrist. “C’mon, you’re the last one, let’s get out of this goddamned rain already.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Brynja struggles against her friend’s grip, “We need to help the kid–”

“What kid?”

“Are you blind? There’s a little girl… right… here…?”

Brynja trails off slowly. Because in the spot where that strange white-haired girl had been standing, there’s no one at all.

There’s nothing but empty rain, falling incessantly from the heavens.

Asco frowns, and reaches his other hand up to press against her forehead. “You’re not running a fever, are you?”

“I’m not hallucinating and seeing things!” Brynja knows what she saw. And she’d literally just been talking to the girl! … Even though the girl had somehow just… managed to disappear in the blink of an eye. What was up with that?

“If you say so,” Asco responds dubiously.

Brynja scowls, and kicks him in the shin.

“Motherfu–”

[dynared]

I've been hammering on Transformers Earthspark a lot lately (partially because I think the Energon Universe has shown the fandom there's a better way to bring in new fans and excite older ones), but even beyond the superiority of the Energon Universe and the hope it gets animated one day, something I've discussed with people that annoys me about it is that while the show is not devoid of good ideas, it often pays mere lip-service to them, and is shockingly insistent on tackling concepts it does not have the ability to tackle. Case in point, an episode around Kali of all things.

Kali, for those of you who don't know (because it's not like Earthspark bothered to explain it!) AKA Arnis or Escrima, is a Filipino martial art based on both weapons and hand-to-hand combat, favoring sticks and knives. It actually became popular in the martial arts community when Dan Inosanto, a student (some would argue the most prolific student) of the late Bruce Lee, began teaching it alongside Jeet Kune Do as part of his "JKD Concepts", an attempt to expand Bruce's Jeet Kune Do with additional ideas from other martial arts. The old Fight Quest show on the Discovery Channel tackled Kali in its second episode, showing training methodologies and the philosophy behind the art with the two hosts, including an ending where the hosts have to engage in sparring with stick fighting, which is as rough as it sounds.

Now Kali gets bought up in Earthspark as part of Alex Malto's Filipino background, but the show does virtually nothing with it, other than Alex waxing poetic about his heritage in one episode and then hitting a few Arachnamecs. You'd think that the idea of training the Terrans in a native martial art would have a lot of potential, especially since Cybertron in certain continuities has martial arts, particularly Metallikato and Circuit-Su. But instead, the concept is dropped almost immediately, making it seem like mere window dressing to show that the show is "diverse" rather than actually having some substance with the main plot.

The idea seems pretty simple to integrate. Have the Terrans be put in a situation where they would deem learning a martial art necessary, either a poor performance on the field, their instructors telling them that their skills in close-range-combat are poor, or being forced to fight someone like Bludgeon or Drift, a Metallikato practitioner who the Terrans feel outmatched by and who Alex volunteers to train in kali so they can fight their opponent on an even footing. Hell, that could be directly linked to the whole issue of culture, with the Terrans finding kali far less flashy than Metallikato and kind of lame, only for its effectiveness to show itself in combat.

And while Kali isn't the only example of such, it's probably the biggest example of the issues with shows that are surface-level in their concepts, and why Earthspark seems to have utterly failed to capture the imagination of kids and casual audiences.

[silveragelovechild]

I was looking forward to seeing “a Complete Unknown”, not because of Bob Dylan, but because of Timothee Chalamet. I think is one of the greatest actors of his generation. I first saw him in “Call Me by your Name” (2017). His performance was great, but there was a moment at the end where he was brilliant. As the credits rolled, Chalamet sat staring into a fireplace. It was a long uninterrupted take. His character Elio was reflecting on his relationship with Arnie Hammer’s Oliver. Although the audience couldn’t “hear” what he was thinking, we could see what Chalamet was “feeling”. It was both painful and exquisite to watch.

Regarding Bob Dylan, of course I know of him, but I never following his music. The movie covers Dylan’s life between his arrival in New York City in 1961 as “a complete unknown”, until 1965 during a career transition. We see him meet his idols Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie, the release of his earliest albums, and his rise to fame. The trailer suggests the movie is entirely about Dylan’s switch from acoustic guitar to electric, but it covers probably less than 20 minutes of the 141 minute running time.

Here’s another confession… I’ve never followed folk music. But I was surprised by how familiar I was with most of the songs used in the film - nearly 40! I’d be curious how much of the movie’s budget was used to pay the licensing fees for those songs.

As to the film itself, I think it’s worth seeing - especially if you’re a Bob Dylan fan. Did I mention they used nearly of his 40 songs? The movie is wall-to-wall songs with occasional dialogue.

In a biopic, you hope to learn something about the subject of the film - and I did learn a little of what kind of person Dylan is (more on that later). But I think I learned even more about the people surrounding him.

The cast includes characters such as folk artists Pete Seeger (Edward Norton) and Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy); Dylan’s contemporaries Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro) and Johnny Cash (Boyd Holbrook); his agent (Dan Folger); his recording and touring band (Norbert Leo Butz, Will Harrison, and Elia Btieb, among others). And last but not least Elle Fanning as Dylan’s on again off again girlfriend.

Throughout the film, the camera lingers of these other people as they stare at Dylan from across the room or up on stage. They see something in Dylan - admiration? love? contempt? Or all three. A recurring theme in the movie is Dylan’s frustration with the people around him (friends and fans) who think they “know” him but don’t or who want a piece of him.

And here comes the part of the film I didn’t expect… ultimately it made me think the real Bob Dylan is an asshole.

As Dylan’s fame rises, so does his ego and unwillingness to give people what they expect of him. So much so, that when his mentor and friend Pete Seeger invites him to perform at the “all acoustic” Newport Folk Festival in 1965, Dylan suborningky insists on playing amplified electronic guitar - very loud and brash. As depicted in the movie, the audience in attendance hated it and even throw trash at him on stage. But Dylan won - dagnabbit, he wasn’t going to play acoustic music as the audience expected, he was going to do this own thing!

But it felt like an incredible betrayal of Dylan’s friend Peter Seeger, who had been trying to develop the festival to further folk and acoustic music and performers. If you’re a fan of Dylan’s you might not think his betrayal makes him an asshole. But that was the character Dylan evolved into over the course of the film.

That’s not to say I didn’t like the film. And Chalamet is good. Earlier in the film, when Dylan is shy and unsure of himself, I think Chalamet is too introspective (he hides behind the prosthetic nose). But in the middle part of the film, he opens up.

Edward Norton is great as Seeger. I would be surprised if he doesn’t get nominated for a supporting Oscar award. (Benedict Cumberbatch was originally cast as Seeger - thank gawd he dropped out!)

Both Elle Fanning and Monica Barbaro are very good as well. I like Boyd Holbrook as Johnny Cash but he’s only in a few scenes.

Scoot McNairy plays Woody Guthrie. In the opening scene he’s ill and in a hospital. Guthrie is a shell of a man, unable to speak. Just seeing McNairy’s face evoked an emotional response from me that took a few minutes to shake. The movie never explains what’s wrong with him. I assumed he was suffering from a stroke. He wasn’t. (So you don’t have to check Wikipedia yourself, Guthrie suffered from Huntington's chorea, a hereditary disease that causes involuntary body movements and eventually dementia.)

Four out of five stars.

Note: There is an annoying aspect of the film. Several times the action stops to introduce a minor character by name. But they have no impact of the story of the film. Introducing them is distracting. It felt like director James Mangold (who cowrote the script) was including footnotes in the dialogue for you to check later. It’s a movie, not a musical history lesson.

Because of this, if you plan to see “a Complete Unknown”, see it at a theater. If you wait to see it on TV via streaming, you’ll constantly be checking every name and song on Wikipedia.

[accihoe]

I have a headache that hurts like ass. Only thing that helps is the RHCP. So here's my first publicly posted Anthony fic.

Pairing: Anthony Kiedis x fem!reader

Summary: She helps him through a migraine.

Warnings: throwing up. Swearing

A/n: my account died overnight, like some posts get zero likes. So I'm positive this won't reach anyone, and ik the tumblr writers aren't too fond of writing for Anthony.

Xxxx

When he woke up that morning, the telltale signs were screaming. His neck ached, his skin felt uncomfortable, and his head throbbed with a dull ache. Did I drink? He thought, sitting up. The movement caused a wave of nausea to rush through him.

Anthony looked around the apartment room, desperate for any trashcan or bowl or anything. The stupid apartment floor had one bathroom for 5 people to share. The nausea slowly calmed down. His hair clung to his forehead, which was drenched in sweat. He brought a palm to his forehead, wiping the hair away from his hot skin. Bad move.

His forehead felt like it had been hit with a numbing and uncomfortable sensation across the sensitive skin, and another wave of nausea arose. He decided he'd have to make his way to the bathroom. The walk there was painful.

The light hurt his eyes, and every noise was too loud. With every step he took, the nausea became worse. Eventually, he was dragging himself along the wall. Where is Flea? Where is Flea? Where is Flea? He thought to himself. A door opened, and his heart sped up. Please don't let it be her. Pleas-

"Anthony?"

He heard her angelic voice call. The magnitude of it sent a pang through his head, and he curled deeper into himself, on the verge of bringing up whatever was in his stomach.

"Tony, hey, you alright?"

She crept closer. The thud of her bare feet against the carpeted floors hit his head like a hammer, and the nausea became unbearable. He was so close to the bathroom. His voice strained as he tried to speak, and every gross thing he ever ate came to mind. He doubled over, arms crossed over his stomach as he retched.

"O-oh-"

Was all Y/N managed to get out. Her heart pounded as her brain shut down for a moment. She shook her head, jogging to the bathroom. The door was locked. She tugged on it, banging the door.

"What!? I'm in here!"

Arnold, the divorced 55 year old called.

"Arnie please just hand me the bin! Please, its an emergency!"

"What you gonna be sick or something?"

She heard the water shut off.

"Yes- well, not me... just give me the bin!"

The door opened moments later, and a hand stuck out, holding out an old plastic bin that's color had worn out. Y/N took it, muttering a rushed thanks as she ran to her friend, who was kneeling on the carpet. He grabbed the bin from her just in time, hiding his face in it as he brought up what was in his stomach.

Y/N kneeled next to him, moving his hair away and stroking his back. She sent a nervous smile to the traumatized old lady who walked by.

"Ant, baby, lets get you out of the passage huh?"

He shook his head as another wave of nausea wrecked through his body.

"Tastes fuckin' awful..."

He mumbled. Y/N chuckled, shifting so that she was sitting down.

"Too much to drink?"

"No, wasn't even drinkin' las' night.."

She tilted her head, concerned.

"Ant come. Let's go to your room."

She urged, having to have given yet another awkward smile to someone who passed the corridor. Arnold, who lived for drama, burst out of the door as soon as he could, shirt on back to front and his jeans inside out. Y/N suppressed a giggle.

"Poor kid." He tutted.

Arnold gathered his things and walked past them. Finally, she was able to help her singer friend to his feet. He clung to the bin like a lifeline as she guided him to his room, hand on the small of his back. The light hurt.

Once inside, she hung towels over the light curtains, shoving some at the bottom of the door in an attempt to drain out any sound.

"You've probably got a migraine."

She noted as he got onto the bed. He hummed, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Fuck. Everything hurts."

She sat at the side of the bed, sympathetically stroking his arm.

"I'll be here if you need me."

"What 'bout work?"

"It's my day off."

Though a pang of guilt swarmed in his chest, his selfishness was grateful that he had her a whole day to himself. With a squeeze to his wrist, she got up, going to the tiny kitchen.

"Ant, baby, block your ears. I'm going to boil the kettle."

"Are you fucking nuts?"

"I read in a health magazine that coffee helps with migraines."

"Oh..."

He plugged his ears with his middle fingers, biting down on his teeth, even that hurt. A few minutes later, she arrived with coffee and a warm cloth.

She laid it under his neck, dabbing the sides of his neck. She helped him to take a few sips of the coffee.

"'M good for it.."

He mumbled.

"Yeah, cowboy."

She spoke softly.

"Get some shut eye. I'll be here."

He did as told, his eyes fluttering shut. Within moments, he was out cold.

[hagbrigade]

i cannot and will not stand for matt bomer slander… he is not the same as Henry Cecil not by a long shot… matt bomer will be getting an egot by the time he’s 50 and Henry cabin will still be doing movies with Arnie hammer

[vrbanmouse]

Hammer Girl from The Raid sequel is a huge inspiration for Mouse's weapons of choice and fighting style (along with Arnis/Eskrima).

[mpreghotties]

Rafael Silva swallowed Arnie hammer while

[msclaritea]

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy: The Story Within A Story

In Tinker, Control resigns his post on November 14, 1973. I thought Control to be an odd name, and I know how dates are very important to the Brits. They lost Control....control of what? Recall all of the references to Gold, Gold Dust, Treasure, so on.

The full description of dropping the Bretton Wood structure makes it clear that Connelly was behind the push to remove gold reserves.

According to Wiki, the Nixon Shock as it was called has calamitous results:

The Nixon Shock has been widely considered to be a political success, but an economic failure for bringing on the 1973–1975 recession, the stagflation of the 1970s, and the instability of floating currencies.[citation needed] The dollar plunged by a third during the 1970s. According to the World Trade Review's report "The Nixon Shock After Forty Years: The Import Surcharge Revisited", Douglas Irwin reports that for several months, U.S officials could not get other countries to agree to a formal revaluation of their currencies.[citation needed] The German Mark appreciated significantly after it was allowed to float in May 1971. Further, the Nixon Shock unleashed enormous speculation against the dollar. It forced Japan's central bank to intervene significantly in the foreign exchange market to prevent the yen from increasing in value. Within two days August 16–17, 1971, Japan's central bank had to buy $1.3 billion to support the dollar and keep the yen at the old rate of ¥360 to the dollar. Japan's foreign exchange reserves rapidly increased: $2.7 billion (30%) a week later and $4 billion the following week. Still, this large-scale intervention by Japan's central bank could not prevent the depreciation of US dollar against the yen. France also was willing to allow the dollar to depreciate against the franc, but not allow the franc to appreciate against gold. Even much later, in 2011, Paul Volcker expressed regret over the abandonment of Bretton Woods: "Nobody's in charge," Volcker said. "The Europeans couldn't live with the uncertainty and made their own currency and now that's in trouble."

A note about Armand Hammer, the grandfather of actor, Arnie Hammer. An American of Soviet descent, he was singlehandedly responsible for the reviving of the Soviet Union. As for Billy Graham...

Mendel: "My friend just wants peace and quiet to work, Mrs. Pope-Graham. No Disturbances."

To Smiley: "Real name is just Graham. Added the Pope for a touch of class."

2005

"Billy Graham. We know that his messages are solid gospel. Few in or out of the Christian World have not heard of him. Since 1949 he has held the spotlight as the most prominent evangelist in Christendom. He has just finished his 416th crusade in Pasadena, California that drew over 300,000 people in four days. 13,000+ responded to his altar calls. Graham is now 86 years old and has one more crusade scheduled in New York City next year, health permitting.

The Pasadena crusade was on the anniversary of his first Los Angeles revival 55 years ago. It was after that meeting that Graham was "kissed by William Randolph Hearst" according to Dr Cathy Burns in her book, Billy Graham and His Friends. This meant that Hearst had decided to promote Graham's ministry in his nationwide chain of newspapers.

Immediately, reporters and photographers were crawling all over the Graham meetings. Front page articles began to appear in the leading local papers wherever Graham held meetings. One reporter was assigned full time to travel with Graham's team.

In 1991, Graham claimed that this sudden attention remained a mystery. Burns describes a more complex scenario. Regardless, the publicity propelled Graham into the national, if not international, limelight.

Jesus warned, "Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you." Over the years, Graham became the friend of presidents and kings, a beloved "America's Pastor."

But the fame came with a price. In his book, Smokescreens, written in 1983, Jack Chick describes how Roman Catholic leaders viewed and used Graham as a key player in their ecumenical plans. As early as 1965, he was a guest speaker at Catholic Belmont Abbey College in North Carolina where he received an honorary doctor's degree. A college official's letter describes Graham's address as "theologically sound" as may have been given by "any other Catholic preacher." The letter further states, "I would state that he could bring Catholics and Protestants together in a healthy ecumenic spirit." Graham was also speaking at several other Catholic colleges at that time..."

Connelly was said to be on secret peace mission with Hammer. Richard Nixon gave a speech that talks of 'the challenge of peace' in unveiling his new economic plan. In Tinker, Irina is taken and killed by Russia. Irina means Peace.

John Le Carré really is a genius writer because this was brilliant.

[cantstayawaycani]

Another woc here, ty for your intellectual honesty! For a lot of women the situation will be very triggering - reminds me of Arnie Hammer in some ways actually. As a black woman there is also a lot of emotional and social labor unrecognised and unappreciated in being in communities.. Take the time for yourself if you can.

I'm glad I saw this before I try to go to bed.

Thank you. I'm sure you know, but I can't even begin to tell you how hard it is to catch myself and rejigger my way of thinking on a regular basis. Being a progressive person, especially a feminist, is constant work. It's not easy. It never will be. Other women will tell you to piss off. And that rejection can be a hard pill to swallow.

I am constantly looking internally to check myself. I look to the work of others to set as a barometer for my own progression.

Today, just by happenstance, one of my favorite womanists, Kimberly Nicole Foster, posted this on her For Harriet YT channel:

Black feminism teaches us to love men even when they ain't sh**. |

She is speaking specifically to the symbiotic relationship BW have to BM, and how hard it is to be both a feminist, AND a pro black, anti-racist idealist as a Black Woman when the men we love don't love us. It HURTS when we are rejected by and abused by the men we want to save and love.

In the case of Tenoch -- he is not black, but a persecuted dark skinned man of color. I REALLY wanted to believe that he was for us. He could be -- down the road. But I can't save him. I gotta let my idea of who that man is GO.

Thank you for recognizing what this took -- to do this work publicly. To go through this back and forth with myself where everyone could see it.

All I want is to be honest and fair, learn, grow, and treat people with kindness and respect.

[number1girl]

not cat marnell defending arnie hammer lmfao

[tuttle-did-it]

...Have people forgotten about the Communist Witch hunts in the 1950s? McCarthyism? Second Red Scare? Cold War and accusing everyone of being a Russian spy? Is this really an argument the right uses? That no one got cancelled in the 1950s? because... what?

People weren't just getting ~cancelled~, people were getting blacklisted, thrown in prison, and their lives were completely demolished for decades after.

The Civil Rights Movements in America were pushing ahead, and people were fighting back the inequalities-- Linda Brown, Thurgood Marshall, The Highlander Folk School, Brown Vs Board of Education, Rosa Parks, Emmett Till, Montgomery Bus Boycott and the white people who bombed Black churches and homes, Autherine Lucy, The Montgomery Bus Boycott, Civil Rights Act of 1957--- people were getting thrown in prison, their lives destroyed, or MURDERED.

People were not just getting ~cancelled~ in the 1950s. They were getting imprisoned and murdered.

THIS IS WHY HISTORY CLASS IS IMPORTANT, PEOPLE

Also... I don't really believe in ~cancel culture~ anyway.

Am I supposed to feel bad because Roman Polanski is having a hard time getting work?

A few years after Mel Gibson was ~cancelled,~ he was getting a ten minute standing ovation, winning 30 out of 85 nominations, including several Oscar nominations. He's had steady work for all these years, only taking off a couple of years here and there-- and he's doing quite well, now.

JK Terf Rowling ~cancelled~, a billionaire, continues to sell out HP merchandise like there's no tomorrow, cheerfully and intentionally and very publicly just flouted a new anti-hate crime law with absolutely no consequence to her, and has a HP tv show coming out. She's fine. She and her billions don't care that we are furious at her for repeatedly attacking and harassing trans women.

Kevin Spacey is fine-- making millions doing movies. Brad Pitt, fine. Bill Cosby and Roseanne and Louis CK are all touring again. They're all just FINE. Kevin Hart, Ellen, Mark Wahlberg, Arnie Hammer, Johnny Depp, Brad Pitt, Woody Allen. They are all FINE.

Dave Chappelle made millions off his TERF rants on Netflix. Most of the men who were named for #metoo have completely recovered.

They're all FINE.

It's not cancel culture. It's consequence. And even then, most famous people are immune. Their "cancellation" only really lasts a couple of years, so they live with their millions, take walks, have coffees, travel-- and then a few years later, their much richer and influential friends send them work or get them some positive article, and within another year or so, everything is erased.

They're mad because we want consequence to their actions.

They call it ~cAnCeL CuLTurE~ because we're finally asking for some kind of consequence when the commit a crime, harass or abuse people, or are just, in general, awful people.

Accountability ≠  Cancel Culture.

[twinchester27]

Chapter 19 - A Trap

-

The knock on the door came sharply, jolting Saphie from her spiraling thoughts. She’d been laying on her bed the whole time, trying to release some of the tension from the office, and also trying to figure out what Connie had meant.

“Open the door,” Michael’s voice commanded. It was calm, as always, but there was an edge to it now, a quiet impatience that made her stomach churn. Her breath caught in her throat. Ah he’s here, so soon after…that.

For a moment, she froze, staring at the handle as if she could will it to turn on its own. When it didn’t, she stumbled to her feet, pulling the door open with shaking hands. It revealed Michael, stood in the hallway with his hands behind his back. His dark eyes cut through her like a blade.

“Are you packed?” he asked.

Her mind blanked. Uhhhh…shit. The suitcase she’d meant to fill sat untouched in the corner of the room, still open, still empty. Oh fuck why.

“…No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She braced herself for whatever was to come. Michael’s expression didn’t change, but the weight of his disappointment crashed over her like a wave.

“You had one thing to do, Saphie,” he said, his tone low but sharp enough to sting.

“I—I forgot,” she stammered, panic bubbling up inside her. “There was so much happening, and Connie—”

“Connie isn’t your concern,” Michael interrupted, his voice hardening. “I gave you an order, Saphie. I don’t repeat myself.”

Her stomach twisted painfully. She wanted to explain, to plead, but the look in his eyes warned her not to push him any further. “You have ten minutes,” he said, his voice cool and unrelenting. “Pack what you need. One of my men will come to check on you. If you’re not ready…” He trailed off, but the silence that followed was more menacing than any threat he could have voiced.

She nodded quickly, her heart pounding. Michael lingered for a moment longer, his gaze holding hers as if daring her to defy him. Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance.

The second he was gone, Saphie’s knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the bed, her hands trembling. Thank fuck. God how did I forget?? Her mind raced as she scrambled to pack. Her fingers fumbled with the edges of the suitcase, her movements clumsy and rushed as she tossed in clothes and personal items at random. Why is he doing this? she thought, her pulse hammering in her ears. What does he want from me? And where am I going?

But no matter how many times she asked herself, the answer wouldn’t come.

Her hands froze mid-motion as another, darker thought surfaced.

Arnie.

Her breath hitched, and the clothes slipped from her hands as her brother’s face filled her mind. He’s gonna kill him, is he-is he sending me somewhere so he can do it here? Or is he going to make me watch? I- Saphie’s panic grew sharper with every passing second, her hands trembling as she zipped up her suitcase. She needed to do something, even if her brother was the reason she was here, she couldn’t help but feel like she needed to warn him. My phone…it might be in the office? I could tell him…

Her feet carried her to the door before she could stop herself. She reached for the handle, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of Michael’s room and her spiraling thoughts. But when she twisted the handle, it didn’t budge. Her heart skipped a beat. She tried again, harder this time, but the door didn’t move. It was locked. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She jiggled the handle, panic rising as the truth sank in. He locked me in?!

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stumbled back from the door, her mind spinning wildly. She pressed her hands to her head, trying to steady herself, but it was no use. She sank to the floor, her back pressed against the door, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as her thoughts spiralled further and further out of control. If I don’t do what he says, he’ll kill Arnie. If I do, it won’t matter. He’ll kill him anyway.

Time was running out, and there was nothing she could do. The room seemed to close in around her, its opulence suddenly suffocating. The gilded edges of the furniture and the dark, polished wood of the wardrobe felt oppressive, as though they were mocking her helplessness.

She tried to focus, to think, to find a way out. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept circling back to Arnie.

He doesn’t even know.

Her nails dug into her palms as anger and fear twisted together inside her.

He doesn’t even know he’s already a dead man.

Saphie pushed herself to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her. She paced the room, her thoughts racing. If Michael was planning to kill Arnie, then she had to stop him. She didn’t know how—didn’t know if it was even possible—but she couldn’t just sit here and wait for it to happen.

Her gaze landed on her packed suitcase, sitting neatly by the bed, and her stomach churned. She didn’t know where Michael was sending her—or why—but she knew one thing: if she wanted to protect Arnie, she would have to play Michael’s game.

For now.

…

By the time the knock came again, she was standing over the suitcase, watching it, her mind a blunder of worry and regret. The door opened before she could reach it.

A tall, broad-shouldered man she didn’t recognize stepped inside. He looked at her with mild disinterest, his dark suit crisp and perfectly tailored, a thin scar cutting across his cheek. His presence wasn’t as oppressive as Michael’s, but it was still enough to set her on edge.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

“Yes,” Saphie said quickly, stepping back from the suitcase. Ok, I guess I’ll see where I’m headed. The man walked over and picked it up effortlessly, carrying it as if it weighed nothing. He gestured for her to follow, his tone curt as he spoke. “This way.”

Saphie hesitated for only a moment before trailing after him, her steps hesitant. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards beneath their feet.

They began walking down the hall, the man leading her past Michael’s office, the dining room and the living room where she’d shared a bottle of whisky with Sonny. She hadn’t been quite this far into the house before, not without creeping around after dark of course. Her confusion deepened with every step. Where could we possibly be going?

When the man finally stopped, it was in front of a set of double doors at the far end of the hallway. They were larger, more ornate than any other doors she’d seen in the house, with dark wood that gleamed in the faint light. The man pushed the doors open, revealing a room that made her breath catch.

It was vast, far larger than her previous room, with high ceilings and tall windows draped in heavy, luxurious curtains. The bed was enormous, its dark mahogany frame intricately carved, the silk sheets gleaming in the muted light. A sitting area with plush armchairs and a fireplace sat to one side, while the far wall was dominated by a grand wardrobe and an adjoining private bathroom with marble fixtures.

The room felt suffocatingly lavish, each detail a reminder of Michael’s wealth, his power. The man set her suitcase down near the bed. Without another word, he turned and left, the doors closing behind him with a soft thud*. Well…this is surprisingly nice.* Saphie stood in the center of the room, her pulse racing as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. It’s certainly an upgrade, but is this some kind of way to keep me obedient? By giving me…nice things?

She stepped into the ensuite, marble, with a large shower and bath. Fresh towels and luxury soaps were sat in the wicker basket next to the doorway. This is…actually really nice…Why? Her confusion deepened looking at the wardrobe to the right of the bed (there were, of course, multiple wardrobes). Within, she saw silk dresses and blouses, with designer heels and boots lining the floor. I-this is…

She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the space. …suspicious. There was something intimate about it, something personal. The faint scent of cedar and smoke lingered in the air—the same scent that clung to Michael. Her gaze fell on a jacket draped over the back of one of the armchairs, its crisp lines unmistakably his. A cold realization swept over her, making her stomach drop.

This is Michael’s room. I’m in Michael’s room. Her legs felt weak beneath her as she stepped toward the wardrobe. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against the polished wood before she pulled it open. Inside hung a row of suits, all perfectly tailored and undeniably his. He-he’s moved me to his room.

She stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes darted to the bed, then to the doors, as if expecting him to walk in at any moment. The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls pressing in around her. He wasn’t sending her away. He was keeping her closer.

She turned to her suitcase, desperate for a distraction. Everything is just…way too much. Her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of it. The weight of what was happening settled over her like a lead blanket, suffocating and inescapable. She wanted to run, to hide, to lock the doors and refuse to face him. But she knew better. Michael always got what he wanted. And now, he wanted her.

…

She paced the room aimlessly, her mind running in circles. How long would he make her wait? Was this some kind of test? A punishment? Saphie’s hands clenched into fists as anger sparked beneath her fear. He’s controlling me again, even when he isn’t here.

The longer she waited, the heavier the room felt. The faint smell of smoke and cedar hung in the air like a shroud, pulling her thoughts back to Michael no matter how hard she tried to push them away. Her pacing slowed as her anger gave way to something darker, something she didn’t want to acknowledge. Why does he want me here?

The question buzzed in her mind like an insect she couldn’t swat away. If this was about control, he’d already won. If it was about punishment, there were easier ways to make her feel small. But this—moving her into his space—felt deliberate. Intimate. She hated the way it made her feel—how her skin prickled with a nervous energy that wasn’t entirely fear.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Although she was expecting it, her heart sank. Michael entered the room with the same quiet authority he carried everywhere, his steps measured and deliberate as he closed the door behind him. He didn’t glance at her immediately, instead loosening his tie and draping it over the arm of a nearby chair, his movements unhurried. She tried to hide the blush that crept over her face as she watched him. She was frozen, her breath catching in her throat. The weight of his presence filled the room in an instant.

“You’re settling in,” he said finally, his voice calm and even as he glanced toward her. She didn’t answer, her hands gripping the edges of the wardrobe behind her as if it might somehow ground her. Michael’s dark eyes swept over her, taking in her stiff posture, the tension in her jaw. He took a step closer, his expression unreadable. “How do you like the place?”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She hated how small she felt under his gaze, how he seemed to command the very air around her. Michael’s head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “What is it, Saphie?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.

What is he trying to achieve? Her voice wavered as she finally spoke, the words fell from her mouth before she had time to even comprehend what she was saying. “I-I can’t stop thinking about…Angelo.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and trembling. Nononono why did I say that?? Michael’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—something dark and unrelenting. He took another step closer, closing the distance between them. Oh man. She trembled.

“As you well know, my business is none of your concern,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. Fuck. Her breath hitched, her pulse racing as the memory of Angelo’s death surged forward again. Michael’s gaze bore into hers, steady and unyielding. “What you did last night was a mistake, Saphie” he continued, his voice low. “You want to bring it back up?”

“I…N-no.” Saphie’s hands tightened on the wardrobe, her nails digging into the polished wood. “Please, Don Corleone, if you don’t mind…,” she said, her voice trembling. “…you moved me into your room….can I ask why?”

“Because you need to learn your place,” he said simply, his voice soft but edged with steel. Her stomach twisted, and she shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” Michael stepped closer still, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. The gesture was almost tender, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

“What you did…” he said quietly. “You’ve crossed into my world, and there’s no going back. This is your life now, Saphie. By my side. In my space.” Her breath caught as his words settled over her, the weight of them suffocating. I-no. She felt trapped, completely and utterly. She was no longer a few steps away from freedom, for finding a way out. She was now sharing her privacy with Michael. There was no way she could sneak out anymore, move around unnoticed. He would be there, watching. And when he wasn’t, when she would try to relish the spare moments away from him, his men would be his eyes instead. It was like a new level of hell had opened up and swallowed her whole. She had nothing now, only this place. Only him.

Michael’s hand lingered against her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “Do you hate me for it?” he asked softly, his voice almost teasing. She didn’t even try to mask her feelings. Not now. Now that he had stripped her down to nothing. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “Yes.”

His smile widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good,” he said. “Hate me if you want. It won’t change anything.” He stepped back, his presence still looming as he moved toward the bed. “You’ll learn to live with it,” he said, his tone calm and assured. “In time, you’ll see that this is where you’re meant to be, and you will be grateful.”

Her chest heaved as she fought to steady her breathing, her thoughts a tangled mess of fear, anger, and something darker she couldn’t name. She couldn’t think straight. Michael glanced at her over his shoulder, his gaze sharp. “Get ready for bed, Saphie,” he said simply.

…

It had barely been five minutes before the next test.

The room was silent except for the faint crackle of the fireplace, the dim light flickering across the polished wood and heavy drapes. Saphie stood near the edge of the bed, her heart pounding so loud she was certain Michael could hear it. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking the entrance to his ensuite. His arms were crossed over his chest, his posture deceptively relaxed. His dark eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, sharp, and assessing. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The weight of his gaze was enough to make her feel exposed, vulnerable, as if every inch of her was already laid bare before him.

Her fingers twitched, hovering near the buttons of her blouse, but she hesitated. What is he actually expecting here? She said to herself, does the bastard really expect me to strip right in the middle of the room?

Michael tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I told you to change,” he said, his voice calm but carrying the quiet authority that always sent a shiver down her spine.

“I…” she started, her throat dry. “…can’t you—?”

“No,” he interrupted, his tone cutting through her words like a blade. “Do it now.”

Her stomach twisted, her breath hitching as the command settled over her. Asshole. She wanted to argue, to defy him, but the quiet steel in his voice left no room for rebellion. And she wasn’t about to let something like this worsen Arnie’s fate, even if he was already doomed.

Slowly, her fingers moved to the first button of her blouse. She silently cursed him as her hands trembled as she fumbled with the delicate fabric. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor in defiance and fear, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing.

The silence was deafening.

Michael didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He simply watched, his gaze heavy.

She slipped the first button free, then the next, each one feeling like a small act of surrender. Her skin prickled as the blouse parted, exposing more of her to the cool air and to him. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, but something darker twisted in her stomach. No Fuck no. His gaze didn’t just frighten her—it did something else, something she couldn’t name, something that made her pulse quicken in a way that wasn’t entirely fear. But she wasn’t about to admit it, much less give into it.

When the blouse finally slipped from her shoulders, she let it fall to the floor, standing there in just her bra and skirt.

She watched as Michael’s dark eyes travelled over her, slow and deliberate, as if he were cataloguing every detail. His expression didn’t change, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her feel as though he could see straight through her.

“Keep going,” he said softly, the words making her stomach flip.

She hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides. “Don…” she whispered, her gaze dropping, avoiding him completely.

He straightened slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Do you think this is a negotiation, Saphie?”

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, her hands moving to the waistband of her skirt. She slid it down slowly, the fabric whispering against her skin as it pooled around her ankles. Her bra clung to her, the thin material doing little to shield her from his gaze. Michael took a step closer, the sound of his shoes against the floor making her chest tighten. He stood just out of reach, his eyes dark and intense as they moved over her.

“Look at me,” he said quietly.

Her stomach twisted, unable to bring herself to meet his gaze.

“Saphie,” he said, his tone firm, commanding.

She forced herself to look up, her breath catching as her eyes met his. And there was that feeling again, the one she was fighting so hard to supress. Her cheeks were burning. The tension between them was electric, the space between them charged with something she refused to acknowledge.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his gaze locked onto hers, unflinching and unreadable. The silence was suffocating, the weight of his presence pressing down on her. Finally, he stepped back, his expression calm but his eyes still dark with something more.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Get into bed.”

Her knees felt weak as she bent to pick up the nightgown on the side of the bed. The silk was cool against her skin as she slipped it over her head, the fabric clinging to her in a way that made her feel exposed despite being covered.

She climbed into the bed slowly, her movements stiff and awkward as she settled on the far side, as close to the edge as she could manage. The sheets were impossibly soft, the faint scent of cedar and smoke clinging to them, surrounding her, reminding her of him.

Michael turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness save for the faint glow of the fire. The bed dipped as he slid in beside her, his movements calm and unhurried.

She lay rigid, her back to him, her body tense as her mind raced. She could feel the heat of him, the weight of his presence so close it was almost unbearable.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t speak.

But she knew he was awake.

Her chest tightened, her breath shallow as she stared into the darkness. The memory of Angelo’s death flickered in her mind, the sound of the gunshot, the sight of his body crumpling to the floor.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image away, but it was replaced by something else—Michael’s gaze, dark and unyielding, the way he’d looked at her as she undressed.

Her face burned as her thoughts betrayed her, her mind drifting to places she didn’t want to go. She hated him. She hated his control, his cruelty, the way he’d taken everything from her.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Her pulse quickened as her mind conjured images of his hands, his voice, the way he moved with quiet authority. She hated herself for it, hated the way her body reacted even now, lying beside him in the dark.

Saphie could hear nothing but the faint crackling of dying embers in the fireplace, the slow, measured sound of Michael’s breathing behind her. The space between them was small—too small—and every second that passed only seemed to shrink it further.

Her mind had been swimming since he’d demanded she strip before him. It felt wrong feeling how she was feeling for him, and she willed herself to sleep. To disappear into the darkness.

But she couldn’t. Not when he was right there next to her.

She refused to turn. To even glance behind her.

“You’re not sleeping,” Michael murmured suddenly, his voice low and even.

Fuck. She squeezed her eyes shut. How the hell am I supposed to sleep like this?

“You’re too restless,” he continued, his voice dipping into something softer. Not quite soothing, but something deliberate. Calculated. His fingertips grazed the sheet near her shoulder. Not quite touching. Teasing. She tensed, her hands fisting into the fabric.

Michael exhaled, a slow, measured sound. She could almost feel his smirk without seeing it.

“You’re afraid of me,” he said quietly. “And yet, you’re here. In my bed.”

A shiver ghosted down her spine. She hated this. Hated that he was right. Hated that she hadn’t moved, hadn’t bolted from the bed the moment she felt him shift toward her.

But where the hell would I go?

She was trapped in every way that mattered. This house was her prison. This man was her warden.

And worse, he was learning her.

Understanding her the way a predator understands its prey—not just her fears, but her weaknesses. The things that made her flinch, the things that made her burn.

Her anger surged to the surface, breaking through the unbearable quiet. “I stay because I don’t have a choice,” she muttered back. “Not because I want to.”

The silence stretched.

Then, she felt it.

The slow drag of his fingers along the exposed skin of her arm—barely a touch, but devastating.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her body betraying her before she could stop it. Her muscles tensed, but not in resistance. Michael was still so close. And when he finally spoke, it was quieter than before, the weight of his words sinking into her like silk and steel.

“I think you’re lying,” he murmured.

Her breath caught. And he shifted closer. She realized with a jolt that Michael was almost against her now, his breath warm against the back of her neck. Her pulse quickened, her skin prickling as his nearness sent a wave of heat through her. She tried to fight it, but her mind was a mess. She couldn’t think with him so close.

“You’re tense,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost intimate.

Her breath hitched, her body frozen as she felt his hand brush the edge of the sheets near her shoulder. It wasn’t a touch, not really, but the proximity was enough to send her heart racing.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Nothing you don’t want,” he said simply, his tone maddeningly calm.

Her cheeks burned, and she hated herself for the way her body betrayed her, the way her breath hitched at the faintest shift of his presence. She hated how her thoughts twisted, how she couldn’t stop picturing his hands, his mouth, the quiet intensity in his eyes when he looked at her. She felt his hands graze her jaw, guiding her gently to face him. She gasped softly at his closeness.

His dark eyes locked onto hers, heavy, unyielding. They weren’t cold now. They were something else. Something burning. Saphie’s breath stilled. Michael’s gaze flickered downward—to her parted lips, her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Then back to her eyes.

A silent challenge.

A silent dare.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to fight. But when his fingers began tracing her lips she didn’t.

She should have. But she didn’t.

Instead, her breath came in a slow, shuddering exhale. Michael’s lips ghosted over hers, so close she could taste him. The moment she tilted forward, the moment she closed the space, he took her. Her hands curled into the sheets as his mouth pressed fully against hers, his grip firm but not forcing. Demanding, but waiting.

She could stop this. She could push him away.

But she didn’t.

She kissed him back. A small, broken sound left her throat, and something in him snapped.

Michael’s fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, his other hand finding her waist, her hip, her thigh. Saphie’s mind whirled, her passion burning.

The kiss was fire and control. A battle neither of them would surrender. She bit his lip and Michael inhaled sharply. The next moment, she was on her back. His weight pressed over her, not crushing, but caging. His hand skimmed down her side, his palm resting just above the hem of her nightgown, fingers tracing just barely beneath the fabric.

Saphie’s breath hitched—reality crashing over her like a wave.

No.

No, she couldn’t—she had to stop this. She turned her head sharply, breaking the kiss.

Her chest heaved. Michael’s lips hovered dangerously close, his breathing heavier now, his grip still firm on her waist. She felt his restraint, the way he held himself still—waiting.

She had let him in.

And she didn’t know how to take it back.

She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to work. “Don Corleone…” His fingers brushed her cheek, his thumb dragging over the mark of his own kiss. He was still so close.

But then, slowly, he pulled away.

The sheets rustled as he shifted back, rolling onto his side. Saphie stared at the ceiling, shaken, breathless. Michael said nothing, but she felt his gaze.

Her body still burned for him and she cursed herself for it.

It wasn’t that he had kissed her, it was that she had kissed him back.

[the-firebird69]

I have some announcements too and he says why don't we get it out very funny they're important:

--we have to do a lot of work and get stuff done so I don't need to chatter for my husband. And yeah he's a little up and a little bit upset you know I feel better in a few days and Jason is going to be in a lot of trouble I think into a big fight and they both get hurt we think and my husband says there might be a new body in it for Stan but who's and it's a question. Things are going along we are going to start working and it will be a new day fairly soon we have announcements to make now

--today was a rough day and it wasn't supposed to be I started talking about the Vader car and kit cars and the Sterling car and Kamala and Dee thought it was a good idea there are some things that the Saturn will light up Arnie and it will and he needs it and she needs it and the Sterling will light up a lot of things but he touched on one that it really lights up and that's the car accident figure out who it was and what they're up to why they're doing it and some people run around getting an accident with people one of them might have been Sherry but we don't think so and he says I don't think so either the girl was drugged he thinks it's one of the trumpsters that's who it is and then he says no and it's true it was his sister-in-law and his mom is mad and said those two killers had to get out and he says yeah he's a break the other guys are like guns and they don't do half the stuff he was doing in any way I was running around nuka fine everyone it's true too who knows maybe that's why Jimmy chomo has super powers he says no and I put Jimmy chomo I guess you look like Jimmy is this yeah that's Mr Stone he says what the hell the program is being a wise ass now so with all this said today and the incident at the apartment and John remillard being mostly to blame people are examining what he's doing and he's bothering Jason all day long and he's fighting over these two hammers and we said why and he says he wants to look for it and he sucks at it and people say you suck at it and he's using old equipment so he's people think that if someone's going to help him get a Georgia ship out and I'll follow him around fighting so he likes it he says why don't you get off my case it would be bigger and I wouldn't have to sacrifice tech and so what we say is oh yeah and it's not really how it works and we're not going to help him do that and we'd like to shake the hammer's loose and we'd like to do that more than have him run around with them and we're going to do that it takes it to Vegas it's a big mistake and it is Jason and he gets real f***** up and Trump shows up with a nuke threatening for it and her son says it can get a radiated and let me take a while for it to come out but it doesn't do anything to it makes it harder and stronger so here we go is what we're saying today

--two things happened her son got an agreement and it's to stay here at this apartment it's the same rate temporarily until the lease is up on 3511 Palm drive and they haven't agreement and he said okay we can put it in writing it's no big deal and our son says it's really it isn't but there's a lot of pressure and it's kind of back up and he says yeah it is this effect is that really Stan has until March 1st to try and figure out what to do and whether he's going to monkey around with the rent he has until February 1st really it's January 28th and if he wants to raise it he has to raise it by then no it's a new agreement March 1st so he says oh yeah and really he changed the agreement in the middle of the year and the answer is no it was around that day it's true it was close to it close enough and he did it on purpose but it wasn't on the day it was a little after no which is worse so now it's like that it's only like 10 or 8 days or something and he says it makes a big difference in court and does not really so it's kind of like you want to agreement but yeah it was 22 days too late no it wasn't and the new agreement is kind of lame it's kind of building on the first contract it says it a little but this is how it goes they're playing at loose when it's tight and they're making errors and he says you're small and you don't have the manpower but the court doesn't care and stuff but we're not going to court there's nothing really happened that's what he says so we're going to praise you trying to get her announcements out

Thor Freya

Is he Jason nothing's really happened you just being an a****** so people say stuff to you true too but he says to watch out because Tommy f keeps suing people with the drop of a feather the toss of the pan or the toss of a coin he doesn't even have to say it to sue any of the guys running off and opening lawsuits and sticking his name on there somehow we're going to find it too he says and you don't just get these lawsuits in the mail but he does it happened to him like five times oh I'm on a group lawsuit how that happened they signed up for like one and he never got money it's like for a dollar 35 or something and that's what it is he's laughing cuz you never got it so he tells Tommy f the other day I actually signed on and it never worked but it would show that I sign on to these things it's really for like $30 or something so tell me if says it's enough money people would say oh weezy we see so he's going to go ahead and try for it.

--well he told Christopher Walken he wants to have people walk as rodeo clowns some group he doesn't like and it really works and we've seen it a fast walk and they try not to run and people have been running and it's just stupid so he said we're going to make it mandatory and have them sign a waiver so he's going to do this I'm trying he'll do it and try and sue him and then he'll reverse it he thinks it's a great idea and it's one of Trump's guys no cheeseman's guys so our son goes wow like Christopher Walken does he says it's not really a huge surprise he's Clint Eastwood so Terry c says to shut up and he says no no that place they hate driving by it too

Thor Freya

Olympus

[carpe-mamilia]

From Wikipedia:

Þrídrangaviti Lighthouse was constructed during 1938 and 1939. It was originally built by hand without machinery, and it was accessible only by scaling the tallest of the three rocky stacks, whose top is 36.5 metres (120 ft) above the sea. It was built under the direction of Árni Þórarinsson [Arni G. Thorarinsson], who recruited experienced mountaineers to scale the sea stack. Their climbing tools did not allow them to bite into the rock near the top, and there were no handholds, so they made a three-person "human stack" - one man on his knees, a second on top of him, and a third one climbing on the second one - for the final pitch. According to Þórarinsson: "The first thing we had to do was create a road up to the cliff. We got together experienced mountaineers, all from the Westman Islands. Then we brought drills, hammers, chains and clamps to secure the chains. Once they got near the top there was no way to get any grip on the rock so one of them got down on his knees, the second stood on his back, and then the third climbed on top of the other two and was able to reach the nib of the cliff above. I cannot even tell you how I was feeling whilst witnessing this incredibly dangerous procedure." The crew stayed on the rock in tents for a month, during the construction. Electricity was installed three years later. The lighthouse was commissioned on 5 July 1942, during WWII. A helipad for helicopter access was added in the 1950s.

The Thridrangar (Þrídrangar) Lighthouse in Iceland.

[holidayvisa]

16 March 2024 - Woke up at 6:45 am and dragged myself out of bed. I got on the motorbike and rode to Cam's house. Cam offered me some toast with cheese and tomatoes for breakfast. I ate my toast, grabbed the keys to the van, and drove to Auckland. I got to the sky tower and found my clients, three college-aged kids from Utah, Zach, Cora, and Shennai. When I found out that they were from Utah, we bonded over that! They'd heard of Lambs Knoll and Yankee Doodle Canyon! Zach had climbed in and around Zion, and Cora mountain biked all over Moab. In the car ride, we sang along to the "Hercules" soundtrack playing on my ipod from 2007. We stopped at the top of Piha for a quick photo of the beautiful beach and Lion Rock with a clear blue sky above.

When I opened up the AWOL shed in Piha, I found the afghan that Elise had left for me! Agh, she's so sweet!

They were all capable and fit clients. We crushed the hike up to the top of Kitekite in like 10 minutes or something like that. The whole day was cruisy and easy. When we got to the final abseil of the canyon, the marker rock was submerged. Uh-oh.

Some background - Piha Canyon is safe to do at low flows. When there's a lot of rain, the flows will increase. Descending Piha Canyon at higher flows is still very safe for the first three abseils, but the fourth abseil (the one that goes right down the center of the full flow of the waterfall) can be questionable at higher flows. The guides have a marker rock that we use to determine if the flow is at a safe level or not. When the marker rock is out of the water, we continue descending down the fourth abseil. But when the marker rock is submerged, we bail out of the canyon before the fourth abseil because the flow is higher than normal.

Today, the marker rock was just barely submerged. Like, the top of the marker rock was less than a centimeter below the surface of the creek. I looked at the marker rock, and I said to the clients, "I've got bad news, you guys. The marker rock is submerged, so we can't continue down the canyon. We're going to have to hike down to the bottom." We all looked down the waterfall at the heavy flow of the waterfall hammering down the fourth abseil. The clients were bummed. I debated with myself about whether this was an appropriate time to break the rules. "These clients are capable," I said to myself. "Do you guys feel comfortable doing this?" All three of them nodded their heads yes. "Okay, let's do it!"

I gave them the talk about the fourth abseil, stressing that it's important to stay calm and not panic if water is hammering them in the face. I also told them that I was going to lower them, and that they wouldn't be in control of their own descent. They all agreed that that made sense. One-by-one, I lowered them down the abseil, and they were whooping and woohoo-ing the whole way down! They LOVED it! I LOVED it! It felt pretty badass to abseil down the waterfall, just getting smacked by the water, the force of the waterfall pushing down on you, beating down on your head, shoulders, arms, and legs. Everyone did so well, and I felt really good about my decision to continue down the fourth abseil instead of bailing out of the canyon before the fourth abseil. We finished out the canyon, and the clients said that this was one of their favorite guided trips ever! I drove the clients to Piha Beach, and while they were walking on the beach, I picked up a sleeping bag, a sleeping pad, and a tent at Elise's house. I drove the clients back towards Auckland, stopping at my house to drop off some wetsuits and harnesses and gear. I dropped them off at their hotel in Auckland, then returned the van to Cam's house.

I drove the motorbike home to Henderson, and Jimmy and I loaded up his car with all the canyoning gear and camping gear. Jimmy and Arnie were detangling the lights that Jimmy had bought for our upcoming barbeque. Jimmy said, "I look like a bloody Christmas tree, and it's not even Christmastime, mate!"

Jimmy and I drove to Coromandel! We saw the beautiful sunset as we drove towards Sleeping God Canyon.

We stopped in Bombay for some kebabs for dinner; we ate on the road. We arrived at Trestle View Campsite at the Kauaerunga Valley road end. We ate our kebabs in the warmth of Jimmy's car while waiting for Jordan and Wilson to show up.

When Jordan and Wilson arrived in Wilson's van, they invited us to come hang out in their van. We all four of us hung out in the back of Wilson's van, chatting and talking about canyoning, hearing about Jordan's and Wilson's day through Bull's Run/Rangihau Canyon today. We hung out in their van for over an hour, just hanging out and enjoying each other's company. It was super fun; I wish I had a photo capturing that. At a certain point, sometime around 11 pm, Wilson gave us a subtle New Zealander hint to GTFO of his van. Jimmy said that he "couldn't be bothered to set up the tent tonight," so he planned to just sleep in his car. That did NOT sound comfortable to me, so I set off looking around the campsite for two suitable trees. I set up my hammock! I slept in my hammock for the first time in a LONG time! I can't even remember the last time I slept in my hammock. I think it might have been March of 2022 during my WFR course in Kanab, UT. Anyway, I LOVED sleeping in my hammock. I was so warm and cozy, snuggled in my sleeping bag in my cocoon of a hammock.

I'm thankful for capable and fun clients. I'm grateful for a wonderful and fun day in Piha Canyon. I'm grateful that the clients I had today were the right clients for descending the fourth abseil at a higher-than-normal flow. I'm grateful for Jimmy and for our roadtrip down to Coromandel. I'm grateful to Wilson and Jordan for sharing their van space with us and hanging out with us before bedtime.